Mrs. Erickson

Mrs. Erickson taught English. And drama. Boy, was she dramatic. Things were pretty calm and quiet around my house, and a dramatic woman staging an entrance or exit was something I didn’t quite get.

She was old, or she seemed so to me. Looking back, I realize she must have been an actress when she was younger, before she gave up and became a teacher.

Please use the open space below to share your first 50 words on the topic “Mrs. Erickson.”

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Author: Virginia DeBolt

Writer and teacher who writes blogs about web education, writing practice, and pop culture.

5 thoughts on “Mrs. Erickson”

  1. Let me put it this way. In order to write about a “Mrs. Erickson” I’d have to use the name as a standard, model, paradigm, metaphor or the like. That’s something I’m simply not up to doing. Either she is or she isn’t; was or wasn’t. In my case she wasn’t and tberefore isn’t. not even in my imagination In my lifetime I”ve had many great and wonderful teachers mentioning one by name would be to ignore all the others and that I”m loathe to do>

  2. Mrs. Erickson lived across from us when I was a kid. She gave piano lessons to some of the kids in the neighborhood, including me and my sisters. She wore an ill-fitting hairpiece & we called her “Wiggy” (behind her back, never to her face).

  3. Mrs. Erickson just did not fit into our neighborhood. She was completely different. Tall and thin as a rail with her hair an extremely short cut which made her head look somewhat bullet shaped. She was a complete WASP and furthermore wore masculine styled clothing. Her gait was more masculine than feminine. At first everyone whispered and giggled about her. It took several years but finally the children were the first to accept her. Why? She always spoke gently to them and had time to respond to their questions. She did not treat them like idiots by speaking down to them. She also baked the most deliciously moist brownies with walnuts. One brutally ice cold winter day there was a horrible accident in the neighborhood. Two very young children were riding one sled down the driveway alongside one of the buildings. The timing was bad. An huge heavy old oil truck was making its delivery rounds. Horrible screams could be heard for quite a distance. When people rushed out to the road to see what had happened, children included, they were nauseated by the sight of the two little ones run over; the beautiful little girl’s head had been crushed by the wheels. No one had ever seen anything as nightmarish. Mrs. Erickson calmly called to the young frightened and weeping children standing by.. She took them to her home and gave them hot chocolate with marshmallow whip on top. She took the time to console them – to try and explain to them. From then on Mrs. Erickson was looked upon so differently. She was totally accepted despite “being different.” She fit in. She was part of the neighborhood.

  4. You all heard of Mrs. Robertson, she was quite the hit in the movie “The Graduate.” What no one knows is that she had a sister Mrs. Erickson. A stunning woman, provocative in her own way with an astounding history. Knowing the situation one might surmise her as the skeleton in the family closet. I will tell you the story of Mrs. Erickson.

  5. For five days in a row that week , there was no P.T. instructor.

    Mrs. Roberts’ had retired after a gala send -off , and no one had replaced her in a hurry .

    Mrs. Sehgal came for the first two days’ , and valiantly tried to keep the flag flying . She stood on the podium ,in her orange leotards , looking like an enormous carrot , with a brilliant ruby red pair of lips , shouting instructions , which everyone sniggered at . She was a music teacher , and consequently , not taken seriously .

    The third day , she was found slumped on an easy chair , hoisted up to the podium , still in her pyjamas , from where she croaked into the mike , down with flu (later diagnosed as dengue fever). The pandemonium during school assembly was reaching a crescendo. The entire exercise was fast becoming a farce of mythic proportions.

    Then , as a saviour , in stepped Mrs. Erickson , the ex-P.T. instructor from the neighbouring St.Teresa’s for girls. She had a formidable reputation . She had once slapped a fainted weakling and sent her off to complete two further rounds of the school grounds. If there was any milk of human kindness in Mrs. Erickson , it had long ago curdled up . She was wrinkled , white , short , had a short haircut , and looked every inch the severe person she was reputed to be . When she stepped onto the podium , you could hear a leaf fall . The mike had to be lowered to her height. Then she spoke , and the silence deepened. She had a raspy voice , from a lifetime of training obese kids , and her words came out in short , wheezy , whispers .

    But where Mrs. Sehgal’s booming voice and Mrs. Roberts’ cheery leers failed , Mrs. Erickson scored . Soon , the kids began to dread P.T. classes and assembly time .

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