You were the new, young, excited, and “free-spirited” Art teacher. He was the old, grumpy, English teacher that probably needed to retire. He wasn’t your enemy, but for you some reason…you seemed to be his. He would scowl and cringe at the way you taught and praised your students.

His love of English led him to believe he should be a teacher, but he was sorely mistaken when he realized his hatred of teenagers. He had been an English teacher for too long. Twenty years to be exact. He started working in his thirties and he still owed the school district another ten years of service before he could comfortably retire.

He was spiteful, angry, and just downright miserable because of it.

One day, you’re teaching you students how to use watercolor, walking around as you give tips and compliments to all of your students. Suddenly he steps in with his usual mean mug.

"Mr. Walker! So kind of you to join us today. We just started our watercolor unit! How can I help you?" You greet. He groans and rubs his temples. "Must you be so loud..."