I remember the first day of seventh grade. I stumbled through the front door and thought great, another year at this damn school. Last year was such a drag, I wonder what idiotic teachers I have this year. I barely made it through the first three hours, and then I found myself in Mr. Muehls’ room. Mr. Muehls was my teacher to help me with math class, because in the previous math class, I barely even passed. But oddly, I had a great time in Mr. Muehls’ class. And I did well too.
He loved to tell students about his time in the war, so Mr. Muehls taught me a lot about World War II. He had tons of airplane models, War helmets, and souvenirs from the war. And he had this certain Zing about him; he could turn a dungeon with dead people all around you, into a castle with joyous people lurking about.
He was the first teacher that ever actually cared about my likes, and I shared them with him. I would teach him some Japanese when we had some extra time left in class. I told him I loved reading Manga, and one day he bought me Shonen Jump for having an “A” in math class. That was his gift to me whenever I got good grades.
He was always there when I had problems at school or at home, and he always listened and gave me helpful advice, like when kids would always make fun of me because I was super boyish/ or when this one teacher would always give me a hard time. He would sit and listen to whatever I had to say.
We would go outside a lot because he thought it was a better learning environment. He taught each student the way they learned best and not the same way for all kids, like most teachers do. He was very kind and funny and his aura is as bright as the sun’s rays. On the last day of eighth grade, I strutted out the front door and thought; damn I sure am going to miss that Mr. Muehls.