“Parent-Teacher ConferenceAt the parent-teacher conference,my father made a scene.He scared my fifth-grade teacher,with his mask from Halloween. She showed him all my science gradesand said she was concerned,but he just stuck his tongue outwhen my teacher’s back was turned. He drew a monster on the boardand claimed it was her twin.He even shook her soda,which expolded on her chin. My angry teacher crossed her armsand said, “This meeting’s done!I now see where he gets it from—you act just like your son!”

“My Teacher Sees Right Through MeI didn’t do my homework.My teacher asked me, “Why?”I answered him, “It’s much too hard.”He said, “You didn’t try.” I told him, “My dog ate it.”He said, “You have no dog.”I said, “I went out running.”He said, “You never jog.” I told him, “I had chores to do.”He said, “You watched TV.”I said, “I saw the doctor.”He said, “You were with me.” My teacher sees right through my fibs,which makes me very sad.It’s hard to fool the teacherwhen the teacher is your dad.”

“Don't get me wrong. She's a good teacher as long as you don't get on her bad side. She absolutely hates my brother Bryce." he said as he continued to walk straight down the hall. He laughed. "She threw a ruler at him once.”

“She is a walking weapon in society, is what the teachers said. We've never seen anything like it, is what the doctors said. She should be removed from your home, is what the police officers said.No problem at all, is what my parents said.”

“It was my teacher's genius, her quick sympathy, her loving tact which made the first years of my education so beautiful. It was because she seized the right moment to impart knowledge that made it so pleasant and acceptable to me. She realized that a child's mind is like a shallow brook which ripples and dances merrily over the stony course of its education and reflects here a flower, there a bush, yonder a fleecy cloud; and she attempted to guide my mind on its way, knowing that like a brook it should be fed by mountain streams and hidden springs, until it broadened out into a deep river, capable of reflecting in its placid surface, billowy hills, the luminous shadows of trees and the blue heavens, as well as the sweet face of a little flower. Any teacher can take a child to the classroom, but not every teacher can make him learn. He will not work joyously unless he feels that liberty is his, whether he is busy or at rest; he must feel the flush of victory and the heart-sinking of disappointment before he takes with a will the tasks distasteful to him and resolves to dance his way bravely through a dull routine of textbooks. My teacher is so near to me that I scarcely think of myself apart from her. How much of my delight in all beautiful things is innate, and how much is due to her influence, I can never tell. I feel that her being is inseparable from my own, and that the footsteps of my life are in hers. All the best of me belongs to her--there is not a talent, or an aspiration or a joy in me that has not been awakened by her loving touch.”

“Where will you go? What will you do?" he demanded."That need be no concern of yours--""The hell it isn't!" he shouted. "Everything about you is my concern."She opened her mouth to deny this but the look of him stopped her. For a long tense moment he studied her and when he spoke his voice was low and furious and yearning."I don't give a bloody damn if I never share your bed, your name, or your house -- you are still my concern. You can leave, take yourself from my ken, disappear for the rest of my life but you cannot untangle yourself from my -- my concern. That I have of you, Miss Bede, for that, at least, I do not need your permission."His words shocked her. She looked decades hence and she saw a specter of what might have been haunting her every moment, her every act, for the rest of her life."Your concern is misplaced.""It's mine to misplace," he said steadily.”