Turning Point

Until seventh grade, I skated through school
majoring in gym, lunch, and recess.
Rather than doing things right the first time,
I did extra credit to get passing grades.

That was before I met the man.
Tall, lanky, glasses, customarily
clad in a grey suit, red tie, white shirt,
thick dark hair fled away from his part.

Known as a tough but fair teacher, he had
a temper. When he noticed our inattention
he would stop talking and stare at
us with such menace, everyone knew

if you didn’t snap to an eraser would
be flying towards your head. After making
a point he liked to let it sink in as he sipped
cream-colored coffee from his thermos.

He taught pre-algebra, I couldn’t see
the point of balancing both sides of an equation.
Why bother? I was more fascinated
by the girl with brown pigtails who sat

in front of me. As her head moved, her
pigtails called to me, an overwhelming
attraction to grab and to hold, just for a second.
When my math test came back covered in red,

an F circled twice on top, my comeuppance
was inevitable. The man moved my seat
and had me stay after class. I craned my neck
up at him, “Bobby you could do so much better”,

he said, “You’re coasting. Concentrate, check your work.
Check your work, concentrate.” I was never sure
why his words spun the tumblers in my brain.
Was it my new vantage point in class, my parent’s

concern, a blooming competitiveness,
or a push by the right person at the right time?
I wonder how my life would have turned out
if he’d hadn’t bothered to turn me around.