(re-run)
When I was a third-year teacher in 1979, I had a new school and a new classroom. One wall was white concrete blocks, cold and uninviting. Nothing would stick to it, so I couldn’t hang up posters, classwork, decorations, anything. That wall really bugged me.
At the time, I was dating an artist, a funky antique-loving, closeted gay guy. He suggested that we paint something on the wall over a long weekend. After all, I did have a key to the school (those were the days). I was young enough and daring enough to say yes.
We took one of Greg’s designs, and a gallon of brown paint and busted into the school on a Saturday night. It sat up on a hill, away from the road, so we didn’t need to worry about anyone seeing us inside.
We took the classroom overhead projector, pointed it toward the wall, turned it on and put Greg’s design on the glass screen. The image was projected onto the white wall. We made it bigger, then smaller, then bigger again. We drew the outline with pencils. Once we had the outline, we turned off the projector and started to paint within the pencil lines.
We might have been drinking at the time. That was long ago, but it popped into my head this morning and I decided to write it down before I forgot about it again.
What an innocent time the 70s were. We didn’t worry about getting mugged or murdered. People didn’t even lock their doors that much in Iowa back then. Do they now?
Anyway, Sunday morning I had some big regrets. What would the kids think? What would the principal think? I had to tell him on Tuesday before some teacher or student ratted me out.
As the saying goes, it’s easier to ask for forgiveness than it is to ask for permission.
I just realized why I thought of the mural this morning. For the past two days, I’ve been hacking away at my neighbor’s invasive vines that have totally choked two trees. I asked her five years ago about trimming the vines, and she said no, that she liked the green. Now she’s gone, the house is vacant, and I am seizing the day. The trees are taller than my house, meaning that the vines go way up, over my head. I’m just cutting what I can reach in order to get some sunlight into my south-facing room with six windows.
I’ve cut so much that now the trees are two separate entities and not one big blob of green. Daylight comes though in between them. I’ve discovered that the vines are so old, their trunks are five inches thick in places. The whole thing shakes when I’m cutting the smaller branches. It could all topple over in a big windstorm. My electric panel is only feet away from this madness, the vines hanging high above my fence.
I could’ve asked permission from the daughter, but she’s got lots to do about the estate and everything. Plus, it wouldn’t be that important to her to get it done in a timely manner.
It’s very important to me to have the light back.
As for the mural (1979), the principal didn’t mind too much. He told the staff that I had balls. At the time, I didn’t even know what that meant.
My students thought the field of wheat looked like pot plants.
FIRST DATE, WORST DATE EVER! 