Mrs. Duddy

Cartooning, is one of my favorite classes in the Seventh Grade. The teacher, Mrs. Duddy is kind of old. She has a fluffy old-lady hairstyle like my Grandma wears. She uses red-red lipstick and a lot of face powder, and there's a strong smell of perfume that always hangs around her.

I like her class because I don't need to draw realistically in there. The idea is to draw pictures that tell a story, and if the people don't look much like real people, that is okay. I learn how to make angry-eyebrows, and sad-eyebrows in her class. I learn that a puff of smoke behind someone makes it look like they're running. Boobies only have to be one curved line sticking out, and another one in the middle of the girl's chest to make it look like she has two of them. I have a lot of fun drawing cartoons in the Seventh Grade. I fold notebook paper in half and draw cartoons all over it. I make funny stories and suspense stories. The other kids in class like my cartoons. Even the ones that don't like me very much pass them around, and ask for more when they're finished.

Then the next year, there's a problem with one of my electives. Some of the kids in the class I signed up for pick on me. It gets so bad that I complain to the Principal, and he moves me out of the class. Only all the other good electives are full by then. The only class with room left in it is Arts and Crafts, with Mrs. Duddy.

Mrs. Duddy is very happy to see me again. I'm happy to see her too, only I'm not so happy with her Arts and Crafts class. It's nothing but making little balls out of tissue paper and gluing them on a page to make a picture. The pictures are already printed out, and there are lots of them. There are bowls of fruit, and Halloween pumpkins, and Thanksgiving cornucopias. There is a cupboard full of lots and lots of tissue paper, although some of the pieces are cut up or have other peoples' glue on them. We sit at our desks and we glue paper balls all period, and we don't do anything else the whole time I'm in the class.

The other kids are mean to Mrs. Duddy. They laugh at her when she talks to us. They call her Mrs. Fuddy-Duddy, and say that she's a drunk and can't teach. I feel very bad for her. I know what it feels like to be picked on. I'm picked on in her class too though. The other kids say mean things to me. Then one time they steal my purse when I get up to get some more tissue paper. I tell Mrs. Duddy, but the kids all say they don't know where it is, so she says she can't help me. Then I go to the Principal again. He talks to some kids and I get my purse back, but all my money is gone, and so is the pretty ring I'd just gotten for Christmas.

After that, I ask to be transferred out of this class too. I feel very very guilty about doing it. I know Mrs. Duddy likes me. I feel bad about leaving her in there, all alone with the kids that pick on her. But I also don't want my stuff to get stolen. I tell myself that Mrs. Duddy just isn't a very good teacher.

A couple years later, my sister Karen has Mrs. Duddy for a teacher. She brings home assignments that don't look very good. She says Mrs. Duddy still smells like perfume all the time. I tell her that's because she drinks, and she's trying to cover up the smell. I don't know this for sure, but I believe it. It's the only way I can make sense of what it was like in Arts and Crafts.