Some kids suffer through tough classes studying until it hurts. But my high school journalism class, which I had hoped would launch me on an exciting career path, posed the opposited problem.
Mr. Blaine wore flamboyant plaid jackets and would throw his head back and laugh, eyes twinkling through dark horn-rimmed glasses. His neatly coiffed hair just grazed his forehead. Unlike some of the other male teachers, Mr. Blaine didn't have a buzz cut. As a class we organized a subscription drive soirée and a spaghetti supper complete with an accordianist. But we never opened a book.
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