Sleeping Beauty

It was an afternoon class. All the students were in their assigned seats taking turns reading several paragraphs of world history, page after boring page! In fact, it was the most boring class that I had ever experienced.

The teacher was the high school football coach who was far more knowledgeable on pigskin-related events than world history. His deep voice was monotone and uninspiring. His commentary was more about his-story than history.

A normal history lesson involved a dry and dull presentation right after lunch, with a room temperature warmer than other classes and students were struggling to simply stay awake. Time was never your friend while in the oven. 

The coach never skipped students when he called on them to read. He went right down a row, then up the next row, having the students read assigned paragraphs. The only variation was which side of the front row went first. He never started in the middle, and he could never remember which side went first each time we met.

He knew everyone’s fixed position on the field for attendance purposes. He was the QB calling on his receivers,

“Mister or Miss So and So, please read the next....” 

The only time you broke free from the stupor was when he got sidetracked by some football anecdote or the class bell sounded.

 

Some students were very clever and had plays of their own by making statements about world history; such as, 

“Isn't this kind of like a football game, coach?”

 This was always welcomed to slow down reading paragraph-by-paragraph playbook to avoid further injury from being “bored out of your gourd.”

Since I was the last seat in the middle row, I always had a fifty-fifty chance of not having to read on any given day. This was a tough position to play for my eyelids were bent on closing more than my resolve to keep them open most of the time.

I made the fatal miscalculation one day of folding one hand over the other and allowing my forehead to slowly come to rest on top of them and fell into a coma. I was obviously unaware that the class was reading faster than usual with the coach’s two-minute drill (fewer paragraphs per person). When it was my turn to read, I was fast asleep!

Imagine the drama taking place when those huge wingtip shoes of the coach paid me a personal visit at the back of the room. My head shot back when his shoe made contact with the underside of my desk. He must have been an abused student in the past.

While I was glassy-eyed, groggy, and discombobulated, the coach bellowed out to the shocked and stunned class,

“Well, class, sleeping beauty has awakened! Do you think you could read for the class today, sleeping beauty?”

No one said a word. It was a kiss from history that would wake up anybody. From that fateful moment to the clanging of the bell, all my classmates, including myself, remained wide-eyed and bushy-tailed from that day forward, longing for the cacophonous noise of the bell to sound!

History was in the making because sleeping beauty had awakened, and history would not be kind.