Student Outlook -- Lea Alfi

In my last article, I thanked the city of Costa Mesa. Actually, I just

detailed what I would miss about this city. Then I began to think of

teachers. I’ll miss teachers, too, so why not write an article?

Yes, I know, ingenuity.

As I realize this article will only appeal to a limited audience,

namely those who knew my former teachers, I will boldly proceed without

regard for the feelings of the aforementioned, who, might I add, were not

lucky enough to have had my teachers. Poor souls.

As a wee lass, I entered Ms. Talla’s second-grade classroom. Upon

entrance and acquaintance with her windshield-wiper sunglasses, the

coolest thing ever for those rainy days in the sun, I knew it would be a

year to remember. I credit her with my affinity for writing, and if said

writing is not to your liking, don’t hold it against her. Or me.

Third grade brought Ms. Clark. She was so nice. I remember playing

with Legos. I probably learned, too. Without that one teacher, the one

who recognized I could perform at another level and moreover told my

parents, I would not be where I am today. How cliche. Excuse all future

banalities if you will.

Ms. Albright was my fourth-grade teacher. My greatest memory was her

manner of fusing art with writing (cursive, of course) and incorporating

recognized novels through reading them aloud. Recently, she came across

my photo in the Daily Pilot and subsequently sent me a congratulatory

note. This is a woman who has touched lives and, heartwarmingly, a woman

who still cares about those lives. Thank you, Ms. Albright.

Ms. Montoyer was an amazing fifth-grade teacher. Enough said.

Ms. Riley was the life of the sixth grade. Three words: Inquiries,

Inquiries, Inquiries, sixth-grade play. Ms. Riley conveyed this energy

and intelligence, oftentimes in less than three words.

I went to high school and envisioned myself going back to visit those

teachers. I never did.

I walked into seventh grade to see Mr. Klooster, this towering guy

with a pony tail and stern demeanor. He talked about dead words and told

me to “chill out.” I chilled. For six years.

I met Mr. Battey in eighth grade. I truly respect this man for he

cares about the young adults he advises. Sometimes he even bursts into

song, songs ranging from “Who Let the Dogs Out?” to “Under Pressure.”

It’s great, really.

Mr. Cutler was my world history teacher. The best teacher in the

world. This man, who owns a pair of red pants and wears a tie every day,

is the epitome of cool. His lectures, assignments, projects, diction,

lexicon -- everything -- was as satiating as would be that jug, yes jug,

of water he brought to school daily. He has this style about him, this

omnipotence (to borrow a word he once used).

Mr. Garcia is and always will be the greatest Spanish teacher on the

face of the earth.

Ms. Bloomberg is another great Spanish instructor. To see her smile or

even to see her around just warms your heart.

Ms. Freeman (biology) and Ms. Christensen (history) were two fantastic

Advanced Placement teachers. They knew what was up. They taught students

brilliantly. They are brilliant.

Ms. Lindfors forever remains my role model of individual greatness.

She is and continues to be intelligent and spreads her intelligence

(currently districtwide). She is the archetype of what every teacher

should be and how every human should behave.

Mr. Lloyd. If you met him, you know; if you haven’t, you’ve missed

life. My grandpa.

A big shout out (that means acknowledgment) to all of my teachers,

advisors and gurus. You are forever in my heart. I hope that means

something to you. If it doesn’t, I will weep. And to weep is much more

agonizing than to cry, so please, please, everyone go appreciate your

teacher when it will still mean something.

* LEA ALFI just graduated from Costa Mesa High School, where she was

editor in chief of the Hitching Post. Her columns appear occasionally in

the Community Forum section.