#62 ๐ธ The QUINTESSENCE of a Monday ๐
In brief ๐ฉฒ
- Journal: The elusive Mr Allardice
- Practical: What are Mondays even for?
- Art: The cutesy pictographs we canโt do without
From the journal ๐
I used to be a high school English teacher, and from time to time I still run into former students. Recently at a housewarming for our taekwondo instructors, Stella and Eisa, my partner Vic started chatting to Grace, now in her twenties, who Iโd taught English in her first year of high school. Grace had gone around the room asking people if I was indeed โMr Allardiceโ, the only name she knew me by. This confused most of the people in the room, friends from my taekwondo club who mostly only know me by my first name. Theyโd all answered something like โThatโs just Richard.โ Finally Grace found Vic, someone who knows my full name.
I remember Grace. She was a remarkable bright spark who had written a novel at age 12. We chatted about high school, and Grace was surprised to hear that when I was her teacher it was my first year in the game. Grace had assumed that I was already old and wise at the time. (I was thirty, so... neither.)
โWell itโs not something I would just come out and say to my students,โ I said. โHi everyone! Iโll be your teacher for the year. Just so you know: Iโve never actually done this before.โ
Graceโs uncle, who was listening to the conversation, agreed. โThat would be fatal,โ he said, chuckling.