Early morning discussion at the coffee table about passive and active transport. “What is that?” you say? My husband and I, both teachers, are looking at my clear glass coffee mug, to which he just added my weekend teaspoons of Bailey’s.
A beautiful thing, passive transport, where the slightly darker Bailey’s makes cloudy swirls through the coffee. Passive, because it moves through that liquid with any other energy being applied, versus active transport, which is when you stir it with a spoon. Of course it is the first day of Christmas break from teaching for me, which makes anything quiet and peaceful and that tastes like Baileys even more beautiful.
We’ve had this conversation about passive and active transport often, because George really liked his high school science teacher, Mrs. Vanderpool, who taught him that concept. Great name for a science teacher, don’t you think? He graduated in 1973, and I graduated in 1974, so here we are forty-three years later…still talking about her. Funny thing about teachers, you usually remember what they never intended to teach you. He remembers her as being up there in years (which probably meant over thirty) when she taught him, unmarried and that her mother lived with her. He also remembered that she pointed the fan out the window of the classroom to draw the hot air out of the room. Really, who does that? I didn’t remember that we didn’t have air conditioning in the high school back then. In Texas? I must have been tougher then.
I remember one of my high school science teachers, although I don’t remember his name, for a specific skill he had. In the middle of a lecture, he could kill a fly in the room with a rubber band. He would not skip a beat as he shot it and then would go right on talking. Now that was skill.
But I have to say, one of my favorite teachers was a music teacher. I had a choir teacher named Mr. Potts, which was funny enough all by itself, but he was a kind and patient man. His wife was also a musician and they had small children, so we would describe the family as “Papa Potts, Momma Potts and Potts tots.” We thought it was hilarious.
He taught me that teachers could cuss. I was in a school production of H.M.S. Pinafore. I was one of the “sailors on the side”, which means I couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket and he had to give me something to do. So I was helping him after rehearsal when he accidently stepped into the unlocked footlights on the edge of the stage. They were the kind that flip up and they recessed about three feet into the wood stage floor. He had an armload of sheet music at the time and I remember it flew up into the air and floated down like snow all over the first few rows of seats, punctuated by some words I had never heard a teacher say. He was ok, but I honestly thought he had broken his leg and he carried a bruise for weeks. I loved Mr. Potts because he taught me a valuable lesson. He was a teacher and a human being; with a sense of humor and shortcomings and a family. That thought has sifted down through my teaching all these years. Now that’s passive transport.
image cco Pixabays