| So it’s been a long time since I’ve written in this thing, I think I’m going to get my bucks worth of this stupid thing. I was thinking about this earlier today, and I feel this needs a forum. I don’t know where this entry is going to lead to, so if no point is made I wouldn’t be surprised:
You remember those awesome teachers you’ve had through out your whole school experience? Of course you do. They’re the reason you’re doing the thing you’re doing right? I mean I wouldn’t have gotten into the school I got into if it hadn’t been for, Mrs. Nitahara, Mr. Bingham, Mr. Regalado, Mr. Victoria… well you get the point. But here’s the story of one teacher, Mr. Guzman, I never had the privilege to “study” under. I use quotations because he was one of the second grade teachers in my elementary school, and what the hell was I learning back then? Jack shit. But at the age of say, a first grader of the age five or six, I heard Mr. Guzman would be an awesome teacher. Unfortunately the following year was assigned to some old white teacher’s class. She was such a bitch (I never said there weren’t any crappy teachers) that stupid lufay bitch stole my transformer! Well anyway, Mr. Guzman had transferred schools, and life went on.
My mom knew about Mr. Guzman, because she was always at my elementary for one reason or another. I think I remember when I was younger; he lived around my town, so occasionally my mom and I would run into him in a grocery store or something with his wife and kids. “Mr. GUZMAN!” my mom would catch his attention, we’d chat for a while, he still remembered my name, even though I never took his class (that’s just how cool he was). My mom would tell him how I always wanted to take his class, even though I was in like jr. high or something. Well anyway, we’d run into Mr. Guzman pretty frequently, but as the years progressed, high school etc. I never really thought about it too much, he went forgotten.
However, my mom still had a couple of run-in’s with him. She just told me about these instances, and I’m just now reflecting on them. One day, a few years back, my mom was buying cigarettes or something, she saw a familiar face standing in front of the store. “Mr. GUZMAN!! Como estas Mr. Guzman? How are you Mr. Guzman? Dame un abrazo, desde cuando no te he visto! Give me a hug, how long has it been since I’ve seen you?” the other shoppers could not understand why my mom was greeting the man asking for change with such excitement. Mr. Guzman, was asking for spare change, not a familiar face. Mr. Guzman hardly accepted my mom’s welcoming hug, embarrassment drove him away quickly. What happened to this poor man?
A few weeks later, while buying some cigarettes in a liquor store, Mr. Guzman was buying some cheap liquor, and he had no where to retreat my mom’s greeting. My mom’s memory is great, and she needed to know what could possibly happen to what could have been her son’s favorite teacher. Reluctantly Mr. Guzman accepted the offer of a ride my mom had extended.
What the children who attended Mr. Guzman’s class did not know is that, Mr Guzman was a heavy alcoholic. Some years after his transfer, he would find himself with liver cancer, sometime later his doctor would tell him he had six months to live, sometime later his wife would leave him, and sometime later, my childhood role model was on the streets, waiting his for his last breath of life to escape him.
It’s really weird to hear about this man. I mean I still remember being a kid thinking it’d be cool to be in his class, I’d probably be reading than playing with that stupid Transformer that got confiscated. Earlier today (2/8/05) on a walk with my niece, we passed by an old friends house. Hazel died last year in a car accident. On one such walk several years ago, I tricked Hazel in believing my niece had in fact been my daughter. I blushed when my niece teased me by saying Hazel was my girlfriend. It was cute. When we passed by Hazel’s house, my niece asked about hazel, I told her, Hazel moved. Her parents and sister still live in that house. One day Kristy-Anne will find out about Hazel. And I’ll feel like crap about hiding the truth. Well I think that’s all I’ll type for now, thank you for reading if you did. |
