At Isaac Newton School, my third grade Social Studies teacher walked out of The Far Side into our classroom. Mrs. Glotzbecker was a plump middle-aged woman who squeezed into dresses suitable only for Doris Day in her prime. She wore pointy rhinestone-studded glasses, and bleached blond hair in a French twist. She’d taught all my big sisters, and whenever she called on me, it was by one of their names.
On the first day of class we opened our history books and read about Fort Detroit. Our assignment was to draw a picture of it. Every day we read aloud, then worked silently. If Mrs. Glotzbecker caught you chewing gum, like Jerry Fink, she made you wear it on your nose. If she caught you talking, like Jerry Fink, she made you sit in the wastebasket. Repeat offenders felt the sting of Old Harry, the paddle on the wall. Jerry…
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Writing Between the Lines 