I suppose it's that authority problem again. That might have explained the reason why students had to trek from classroom to classroom instead of the more efficient method of professors moving from classroom to classroom. This began in the fourth grade and still has not stopped--the more extreme case being the beginning of this year when all the students grumbled about waiting for the shuttle at the ungodly hour of seven in the morning to catch a ride to the medical center where one class was held.
But no, this is not going to be a rant about authorities and efficiencies and waiting about in the dark, in the freezing cold. This is about sixth grade and birthdays.
By sixth grade, I was getting used to this whole changing rooms business although I personally found it annoying. If they wanted us to get exercise, shouldn't they have left us in gym class for half an hour longer? At any rate, the school had three sixth grade classes and we rotated to each of the three teachers: my homeroom teacher with the whiskers on her chin and mismatched pumps who taught social studies and spelling, a thin, silver-haired but prune-faced teacher who taught English and reading, and the kissy teacher who taught math and science.
Of the three teachers, I feared the kissy teacher the most because of that adjective I used to describe her--she was definitely kissy. She had a fad of hers in which when any of the students had a birthday, she would smear on the hot red lipstick and lay a visible smacker on the student's cheek. I feared this because 1) it would be terribly embarrassing and 2) I'm as far from the touchy-feely type as you can get.
One of my accomplishments that year was evasion. I contributed this to luck (that the teacher forgot or never noted down my birthday) and keeping a general low profile (i.e. never telling anyone when my birthday was). By the time someone finally outright asked me about my birthdate, it was far too late for the kissy teacher or anyone else to do anything.
Of course, now that I think back on it, this must have been several magnitudes more embarrassing for the kissy teacher's son who happened to be in the same grade. Just imagine having your mother kissing every kid in sight indiscriminately! That just does not compare to my own mother who only remotely approached that sort of "wide-spread love" by passing out homemade cookies to all the kids in the neighborhood.
