Teaching The Pig To Dance: A Memoir - Plot & Excerpts
It’s a waste of the teacher’s time and it irritates the pig. But such was the task that Mrs. Garner accepted at Lawrence County High School—with predictable results. If there is such a thing as teacher’s heaven where the saints of the profession go, then Mrs. Garner is undoubtedly there—for not having someone shoot me, or for not doing the deed herself. And there’s not a jury in the state that would have convicted her. Mrs. Garner was a heavyset, middle-aged lady of mild disposition. Even I didn’t know how steady her temperament was until that day she walked into class—as usual, exactly at the time for the class to start—and took her seat at her desk. I, along with another classmate with no visible signs of redemption, had come into possession of a small supply of “cracker balls,” which were very popular around the Fourth of July and Christmas season. They were like little round firecrackers, not much bigger than a large pea, and when you threw them on the sidewalk they made a pretty loud pop.
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