High School French Class; September 1993.
The first day of French class in ninth grade was terrifying. I was timid and insecure. Mr. P partnered us up by passing around a basket full of scrap paper -- numbers that matched classmates for intimidating interviews in a language we'd never spoken. As luck would have it, Mr. P was my match. I learned that he was 34, married, and spent his free time playing in a band. Over the semester, I learned more: Mr. P was kind and sarcastic, spoke slowly when we needed him to, and willingly shared cd's of his music after pop quizzes and rainy afternoons. Years later, as I shakily ordered baguettes in Paris during a semester abroad, I thought of Mr. P conjugating verbs while writing lyrics in his head, hopefully about students he'd never forget. Enjoy!
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When I saw the title of this I immediately thought of Mr. P, so I am glad it was him you wrote about! My fav memory from his class was one time Shosh dared me to throw a pen at him, which I did, and then she got in trouble instead of me for being a bad influence and distraction!
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