So, my cool teacher. We all have a cool teacher, right. My favourite teacher was the Art teacher. Of course, he was.
As an Art teacher, he would listen to you, discuss techniques and he would allow you to do things the hard way so you would learn and then he would suggest a far easier way for next time.
If students thought to do art in their final year, to get an easy class, he didn’t pander to their demanding insistence to be helped. He was very firm, he couldn’t or wouldn’t help those that didn’t help themselves. When I had insisted to be moved to his homeroom for Year 12 as I had been put into another homeroom. My form teacher (Let’s just call him Art to make life easy) Art had, had some elective surgery over the Christmas break (don’t know, not relevant) and something had gone wrong. I think they had accidently given him nine times the correct dose of ‘something’ and he had ended up being taken to Melbourne in an ambulance, in Intensive Care. He survived. Thank God.
When he returned to his first homeroom, back rather nonchalantly he stood at the front of the homeroom behind his desk, facing the class and announced he had been absent for the year, until then with a “Sorry about that”, which was perfect. It was really blaze. Although I imagine now knowing what I do about the brain and surgical fuck ups, that it had been a road to recovery.
Lastly, he was so cool, I once overheard a conversation between two older guys (Year 12) talking about driving or flying somewhere at high speed. Art ducked his head into the conversation, stating “Try being in an ambulance on the freeway, 200 miles an hour.” With the sirens blaring.
Totally chill, Right!