FOLLOW US
I was timid and shy in high school. I hadn't yet grown accustomed to my 5' 11" lanky frame and felt obvious and "lurky" most of the time. I was not a big fan of making myself known, and it took almost two weeks of doing nothing before I finally worked up the nerve to walk into class and go to the teacher's desk (had to catch him before the ineveitable car-parking smoke screen business) and ask him when or if we were actually going to do anything. I tried to be polite. He tried to look interested. He mostly looked confused. Apparently, no one had ever asked him anything like this before. (In his defense, I think the "real" art teacher had retired a couple of years earlier and this job had fallen into his lap. Maybe he was a janitor or something before, but even this I doubt, because most janitors probably actually work.) I guess everyone else already knew this wasn't really art class. Maybe I was naive to think it was. Finally, he asked me what I wanted to learn. I told him I wanted to learn how to throw pottery on a wheel. He said he would do his best.
Reverie Fair / MAY., 2015 16