I apologize for leaning on this group. I follow in Martha’s footprints insofar as craving an outlet for my thoughts. It’s odd to me that I feel more affinity with Hubbard than with where I live now. Hence this misuse. The sense of not quite belonging anywhere is not unfamiliar. I ape fitting but don’t quite fit as a general rule.

I look back on my stint as a “teacher” at Hubbard High with a jaundiced eye. It was horrifying, for me and for students. Eventually, I found some rapport with the role I was supposed to play, but not before wreaking insignificant havoc in a puny way and attracting widespread indifference.

An uptick in the narrative of my forgettable performance is that good times were had. My problem, if it be one, is that the difficult days are receding from memory. I’m stuck, increasingly, with mental images of the good days. The more I remember my students, the more I love them in hindsight. Remarkable young people passed through my classroom. And so… Hubbard is stuck with me.

(c) 2018 JMN.