Mr. Brady,Was that you I saw getting ready to pass out (surprise, surprise!) in a bar? It brought back quite a few delightful memories and I’d like to share them with you, as I’m sure you don’t remember –what with your constant drunkenness (how DID you manage so often to be intoxicated around school-aged children without notice? Do Tell.)
I am a lover of English, and I feel like your love of the sauce is the only reasonable explanation for the things you did as my 8th and 9th grade English teacher.
I wonder if your hazy memory might recall the time that you actually dribbled in your pants a little whilst screaming at the top of your lungs– I think because someone had belched under their breath during your recap of the previous night‘s Chicago Bears game. You were so adorably worked up that your scarlet face actually highlighted the broken blood vessels all around your nose.
Anyway, you always wore very tight sweatpants to school and I vividly recall a large wet spot appearing in the general vicinity of your “junk”. We sure did love that full-on-leave-nothing-to-the-imagination view of your “junk”.
I believe this was sometime shortly before you, in the midst of a defaced chalkboard-related tantrum, shoved a TV-VCR combo down the stairs and STILL managed to retain your teaching position! Remarkable. I think St. Patrick’s Day (on which you made little or NO effort to conceal your intoxication, up to and including ACTUALLY hitting on some of the female students) was my favorite though. That’s the day you became SO enraged at someone’s suggestion that St. Patrick’s Day was created by the Lucky Charms Leprechaun– you actually fell to the floor and had a seizure!
Thank you so much Mr. Brady, for igniting my passion for the language–and especially for making ALL reading material sports related, because I don’t know what I would have done had I never had the privilege of reading “Brian’s Song” 3 times in two years (you silly, forgetful man you!).
Much Love,
The Very Traumatized Girl In the Front Row
Ahhhhhhh, memories. Thanks so much, that just brought back the image of a similar teacher I had in high school. You could smell the booze (bourbon, I believe) each morning, that’s how I knew I had made it to first period’s American History. His fashion statement of choice was freeballing in a pair of extremely tight polyester slacks…(you have to use the term slacks in conjunction with polyester…pants won’t cut it). Thus the nickname ‘mashed potato balls’ was born. You had to look…no way to avoid it. Also being a front row student (due to my tendency to chat and/or fall asleep) I had the best view. Keep in mind, this was the early 90’s so I’m not sure where the pants came from….special catalog? I used to sit and wonder.
Sorry, went off on my own zone for a bit there. So, you weren’t near a small suburb of the Dayton, OH area? Just checking to see if they were related in some way.
The best teachers are the drunk teachers because they actually give you an idea what life will be like after you graduate.