Prompts

Found . . . Prompt #261

Found.

  What do you think of when you hear the word “Found?”

Some Thing you found somewhere?

Something you discovered about yourself?

You found you had . . .  fill in the missing piece.

Something you lost and then found?

Today’s writing prompt:  Found.

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2 comments

  1. jhiller

    Christie, Me & Muhammad Ali

    Mr. Christie, my beloved six grade teacher at West Meade elementary, was a David Lipscomb college graduate and a devout Christian. He was an exceptional first-year teacher with unorthodox teaching methods. I remember dissecting the lyrics of pop songs, like James Taylor’s Fire and Rain, teasing out their meaning. Even though he was deeply religious, he respected the fact that he was teaching in a public school. One time though, a fellow student brought in the album Jesus Christ Superstar, and Christie played the entire double-set album for the class and acted out each scene with deep passion and expression.

    One day, after school, Mr. Christie let me and my best friend ride on the hood of his car (very slowly) to our neighborhood and played football with us. One of his creations was Cousin Sam, a time machine he built and painted red, white, and blue. Cousin Sam had all kinds of cool buttons, dials and switches. He would set the coordinates to a specific date in history and place (e.g. 100 B.C. Rome). Then he ordered us to put our heads on our desks and close our eyes. The lights in the classroom would go dark. Wild sounds were emitted from Cousin Sam (there was a “hidden tape recorder” inside), and our desks started flying across the floor. After a while the sounds indicated that we had landed (roughly) and the lights would come back on. We could then lift our heads and open our eyes – taking in the chaos of the room and our new positions. We were back in time, and would learn first-hand what had happened in the form of a story or presentation.

    One morning, March 8, 1971 to be exact, right before class started, there were a group of boys, including me, hanging around Mr. Christie. We were all excitedly talking about the fight scheduled that night between Muhammad Ali and Joe Frazier. I started dancing around in a circle imitating Ali, I was punching in the air demonstrating the moves Ali would be making that evening. To accentuate the point, I threw a wide right-hook but misjudged the distance, landing it squarely on Mr. Christie’s left cheek. Mr. Christie recoiled from the blow, turned beet-red and put his hand on his jaw. He had somewhat of a temper and the moment loomed large with anticipation for us boys. He looked at me with disbelief and wry admiration. I immediately and profusely apologized. He kept rubbing his jaw while looking at me, but seemed to sense the situation and kept his cool. With a glance and a nod, he accepted my apology. He then asked that we all take our seats so that class could begin.

    I ran into Mr. Christie the following year in North Nashville. It was the first year of school de-segregation and a long ride to Thornton Junior High. I was waiting for the bus to take me home to West Meade, a suburb of Nashville. Mr. Christie (he had been re-assigned to teach at Thornton) walked up to me, more as a friend and less as a teacher. He said Jon, “How’s it going here with you?”

    I said, “I’m not sure. What about you?” He looked me in the eye and said, “Me either. The students don’t seem to like Cousin Sam.” We nodded in agreement – sensing the truth of that discovery and implications therein for both of us.

    1. mcullen Post author

      This is a great story, jhiller. Told with such honesty and a sort of innocence that marks the era. And then the changes that both the narrator and teacher experienced, again illustrating the times. I can feel the tension and the turmoil and also the resignation. You did a great job of painting a picture of this slice of history. Thank you for posting.

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