matthearn.com

this story caused me both great mirth and a certain nostalgia for my teen years.

A Philadelphia school teacher is under investigation for allegedly throwing a stapler that struck a student in the head.

When I was in the 11th grade, I took “Honors Chemistry.” You would expect for someone who is, theoretically, very smart, I’d do well in that class, but I think I was barely making a B. (I was never what you would call “studious.”) Nevertheless, the teacher, Mr. Eshleman, and I got along well, despite the fact that Josh Lewis and I spent the entirety of each class period passing a notebook back and forth which contained our hand-written conversation, in outline form. It was the dork version of passing notes in class, except that since the pages were still attached to the metal spiral, it merely looked like we were sharing important chemistry-related information. (I oughta arrange to have some of the notebooks published after everyone described therein is dead. They were routinely hilarious, and contain detailed descriptions of girls we admired, particularly some of their softer portions.)

Anyway, one day Mr. Eshleman was discussing the difference between potential and kinetic energy. His technique was to take the piece of chalk in his hand and hold it in the air. “This,” he would say, “is potential energy. Raising the chalk in the air gives it the potential to fall, and release that energy. This is kinetic energy,” he would add, and throw the chalk as hard as he could against the wall in the back of the room. At least, that’s what he had done for 30+ years of teaching; on this particular occasion he threw the chalk directly into my eye.

I’m no stranger to having things thrown at my face, particularly now that I’m married to a woman who gets my attention by winging table lamps around the house. But I was completely unprepared for this; I don’t think I even ducked. I remember it hurt like the dickens. Mr. Eshleman was mortified, which actually made me feel a lot better; part of our daily ritual was to try and find ways to irritate him, because his pithy comebacks were amusing. I’m sure he thought he was about to be sued, but since I’m not a completely wuss, I rubbed the chalk fragments out of my eyelid and commenced with the wisecracking.

Our band teacher, Mr. Satcher, was also known to throw shoes at people who misbehaved. Probably doesn’t do that anymore. Those were the days.