In 1975 I attended UBC to become a teacher. The whole experience was quite irritating as the program seemed to have about as much meat as a jet-puffed marshmallow. We were all transfer students from various faculties, so were all stunned by it. We traveled in a group and enjoyed discussing our amazement at the curriculum.
In one class, in which we were to learn how to teach language arts to grades four to seven, one of us nervously asked the prof, “but how do you handle discipline problems?” He thundered, “Be creative, and you’ll never have a discipline problem!”
One day in that same language arts class the prof turned out the lights and had us chant the names of vegetables in the dark. We were each to choose one vegetable and chant its name over and over. He pointed to me, and I began. I chose the word, “squash.”
We were naturally all apprehensive, none of us ever having been in charge of a classroom before, and knowing our practica were just around the corner. Of course I had grade sevens, and they absolutely made mincemeat out of me.
We often wondered if any of the profs would show us how to handle a group of 30 twelve year olds, but unfortunately they never did. I finally came to understand why as a result of a woman in our program named Megan. Just as with a talent like being able to paint or being able to hit a ball, there are those who are born to teach. They just exude ‘teacher.’
Megan would come to class all coifed and cheery, wearing a pant suit. She would colour all of her assignments for extra marks. If anything needed to be done, she would happily volunteer. All the profs would look at her and beam. Naturally, whenever I was alone with the other class members I would do what I thought were hysterical imitations of her and make scathing remarks about her brown nosing.
Soon, however, I found just being near Megan raised my blood pressure. One day I said to my pal Ralph, “This much adrenaline can’t be good for anybody.” Although, I did notice that I was able to do things at a much faster rate.
I was reminded of all of this because of the amount of adrenaline currently surging through my body. It comes from the knowledge that if I don’t sell my product, I have no money. Scary! I therefore have to keep marketing no matter how upsetting or annoying it is. The good news, however, is that I’ve sold Okanagan Fruit and Rum Bars to eight stores, and this would never have occurred if not for the adrenaline.