I'd Like to Apologize to Every Teacher I Ever Had Read Free Page A

company. I was a good bartender. That’s where I got to work on my people skills. Then I became a professional boxer and was discovered, as they say, in the original Gleason’s Gym in Manhattan. Went on to do the TV shows
Taxi
and
Who’s the Boss?
” I’m tempted to ask if any of them have seen those shows but don’t.
    One girl raises her hand. Thank you, Chloe! Another pretty smiler, she chirps, “I’m into eighties retro stuff, so I’ve seen some of your reruns.”
    Eighties retro stuff
. Ouch. “Well, so, you all weren’t born yet when my shows were on. But the point is, all this time I’ve been thinkingabout teaching, and as I’ve gotten older I’ve been consumed with questions about my wasted youth. I used to do this joke where someone would ask me, ‘Were you a hoodlum as a kid?’ and I’d answer, ‘No, I just didn’t have time for team sports.’ I can’t believe I thought that was funny. How stupid and unaware.”
    I’m still losing them. I’m losing them. Nothing is worse for an actor, much less for an actor turned teacher. But I get it. Like a drowning man, I plead, “Okay, enough about me. Let’s hear about you. I’d like you each to come up here and introduce yourself, tell us a little something about you.” They look at me like I have two heads. “Nicky,” I say. First in, first up. Also she’s the only one who doesn’t seem to want to vaporize me. That makes her my go-to girl.
    Nakiya bounces to the front of the room. “I’m Nakiya. I play basketball, lacrosse, and drums in the school band and for my church. I like to smile.” She turns on the brights, and my heart melts. This is some kid.
    “Thank you, Nakiya,” I say, making a real effort to get her name right. “Who’s next?”
    A tall, slim, handsome boy comes forward and tells us he arrived from Russia six years ago. “You can call me Russian Playboy because I
love
American girls!” he says and pretends to toss flowers to the ladies in the front row, who all turn shades of red. Russian Playboy takes a bow. “I’ve got to still work on my English.”
    “Me, too,” I assure him as the girls compose themselves, and our Russian Playboy strolls back to his seat.
    A skinny boy with braces and a black bowl cut comes up next. “I’m Eric Choi, and I’m kinda boring.” He shuffles his feet. “My parents expect so much, and they nag me a lot.”
    I nod. I get that. “Mine did, too.”
    Chloe, the eighties fan with large chocolate eyes, tells us, “I love to shop. I love fashion, love to smile.” She giggles. “Can’t stop.”
    A kid wearing a black Korn T-shirt, his long brown hair draped over his eyes, tells us, “I’m Ben, but people call me Kyle. It’s a long story.” Before I can ask for the story, he tells us the obvious, “I’m a complete metal head.”
    Then Ben-Kyle’s opposite stands up. Monte reminds me of a serious Steve Urkel, the geeky kid on
Family Matters
. Monte’s short with big dark eyes, his striped polo shirt buttoned all the way up. His voice is so monotone, it sounds robotic. “I only care about two things. My family and …” I’m not sure what I expect, but I’m completely flummoxed when he says “tennis.”
    The next girl up, however, bounds to the front like a natural athlete. She has long, straight sandy hair and pretty brown eyes. “I’m Tammy Lea. I play field hockey, and I can’t wait to get my braces off.” She smiles wide for effect. “And I love to sing and dance.”
    The class’s three football players introduce themselves as Howard, Matt, and Daniel, then Eric Lopez informs us that he’s been “breaking for about half a year,” and with that, he drops to his back, spins, and flips back up to his feet like Gumby. The class goes wild.
    There are twenty-six of them, and every one is a character. But there’s one whose expression spells trouble from the git-go. He’s a tall, lanky, good-looking kid with cornrows and an expression of supreme skepticism. When I