Sharon, My Teacher, My Muse

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1970-1971

I’ve written about this time before. It was a formative time in my life, my Senior year of High School in Warrensburg, Mo. I especially remember a crush I had on a particular teacher. Sharon was the English literature and research paper teacher. She was tall, charismatic, and beautiful. She looked like she stepped out of the tv series ‘The Avengers’. All I knew at the time was that she reminded me a little of Natalie Wood, only she wasn’t nearly as petite. She looked like she could gobble you up, chew you for a bit, and spit you out. Without missing a beat. She tolerated my constant attention, and was amused, and probably embarrassed by a drawing I made of her. Inexplicably, the Principal wanted to see the drawing I made, and asked if he could have it. I wouldn’t give it up. Maybe he thought I had crossed the line, and didn’t want to encourage student crushes. I remember when she complimented me on my jeans. They were pretty hot, very tight, and modish. It showed off my tight little butt. What a thrill that this diva of the classroom was checking out my butt. She had a handsome husband that I hated. He was an empty suit, so shallow compared to me. One time I went to a city council meeting which was considering how to respond to some expected protests. I said they had no idea how to deal with a genuine anti-war protest. I basically insulted the hell out of them, expressing my utter contempt for their small town values. I was such a punk back then. Sharon had me come in her classroom after school and scolded me for ‘making a fool of myself’. She thought I had been influenced by my evil friend. I felt embarrassed and also a little angry at being called a fool. She had such a great smile, and seemed to me at the time, to be very hip. She didn’t get along all that well with my evil friend. He took the speaker out of her classroom intercom, and got sent to the Principal for it. Sharon was there, too. According to my friend, they psychoanalysed him, to no avail. I went to school even when I was sick, just so I could be around her. She stands out vividly in my memory, dressed in red, The Scarlett Woman. She had a feisty sexuality, which, of course, wasn’t obvious but implied. The class would read out loud a play she had chosen, which had some bawdy parts. She would laugh at our embarrassment.  I think I succeeded in completely shaming myself, by dropping by after school and talking to her. I would speculate as to whether we might have known each other in a past life. She would indulge me a little. At least she didn’t say that I was probably her dog in a previous life. I don’t remember all that was said, just her face and her smile. What the hell was she doing in a little podunk town in the middle of the Midwest. She belonged on the silver screen!

Approximation of my drawing of Sharon, and the Real Thing

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