My sixth-grade teacher was a true hero. She wore ill-fitting dentures handed down from George Washington and it was obvious they pained her. Even with my 11-year-old observation skills, I could tell. It hurt her to even walk the few steps across the classroom, let alone stand 10 hours in high heels in class or on the playground. She should have been enjoying quiet days of retirement with her feet up. But no. She showed up. She suited up. She taught.
Poor woman was also debilitatingly Rubenesque. Whenever the elderly, endowed instructor went to the chalkboard, she left two, clean, perfectly round breastprints on the daily lesson. Forget that we were a class of hormone-rich sixth-graders. The Vatican’s College of Cardinals would have blown milk through a collective nostril after witnessing her step away and seeing her blue dress covered in chalk and the board stenciled with gigantic clean crop circles.
My teacher had an excuse. It was simple physics. Breasts too big. Arms too short. Top that off with the indignity of being the laughing stock of a bunch of young jackass putzes that you’re trying to elevate and help.
Resignedly, we group-mumbled as she led us in The Pledge of Allegiance every morning. Seeming epochs later, I not only remember the words, but also adore them. The concepts of God, country, community, freedom, duty — they were planted for us to consider or ignore. We took turns reading literature aloud. We learned math, a little Spanish, wrote essays in pencil, sometimes even sang songs. There were days when it was easier putting contact lenses on a monkey than transferring civilization, adult to children. We studied South America and I turned in a huge term paper on Argentina. I remember. It completely flummoxed her. She had me rightly pegged as a juvenile delinquent and I had to go spoil it with an A-plus treatise on Eva Peron, gauchos and a national tragic self-destruction. No matter where you are in your teaching career, it must be such a divine joy to discover that even the dumbest mutt can actually house a divine spark of life and potential. Looking back, I’m glad my school let her continue to teach — whether for much-needed income, a place to call home, purpose, companionship or that secret reason we all need to get out of bed in the morning.
On the opposite end of large-breasted instructors, I saw the strangest story. Up in Ontario, Canada, a male high school teacher started showing up, dressed as a woman. She wore outlandishly immense funhouse fake breasts, pretend giant nipples included. Various news agencies have confirmed, via photographs, the existence of the biologically male teacher, Kayla Lemieux. The transgender teacher wears miniskirts, a blonde wig and falsies that precede the multiple-pronouned Lemieux by a quarter of an hour.
Reports indicate the Barnum-Bailey huge stretch-wrapped mammary glands are freaking out much of the student body, faculty and parents. The woke school administration? They defend the costume as “acceptable expression of gender identity.”
And Dracula’s minion Renfield likes to eat flies.
The Halton District School Board further commented: “The HDSB is committed to establishing and maintaining a safe, caring, inclusive, equitable and welcoming learning and working environment for all members of the school community including students, staff, parents/guardians and community members who identify as, or are perceived as two-spirit, queer, trans, non-binary, intersex, and those who are questioning their sexual orientation and/or gender identity(ies).”
In the same breath, the Canadian school district suits officially warn the kids they’re supposed to be serving and educating: “Dress codes must prevent students from wearing clothing or accessories that display… sexism, vulgarity [and] pornography,” reads the website. “Dress codes must prevent students from wearing clothing that exposes or makes visible genitals and nipples.”
Funny thing. Lemieux? Giant Cirque du Soleil breasts and all? He and his yard-long pretend hooters teach… woodshop.
Lemieux’s Old Testament falsies, it should be noted, are eight train stops past gargantuan. The pretend nipples are so pronounced, they resemble hubcaps. But, of course, the school district, like many now, is the unchecked vanguard of a new, civilization-destroying cult of woke progressivism.
Society’s sane have allowed themselves to be bled via death by a thousand paper cuts. The process is called — “Tolerance.” In our mad gallop to be deemed cool, we’ve forgotten that, yes, some things should not be tolerated. Thuggery. Pornography. Crime. Homelessness. Lying. Theft by our governments. Slowly, we’ve been taught by song, commercials and TV that intolerance is so — uncool. Not Hip is America’s greatest perceived sin. We’ve been brainwashed by media to keep stretching the envelope of perversion of self and soul. Centuries of ethics, morality, common sense, the concept of right and wrong today has flipped backwards. We are shamed and threatened for asking what used to be a simple question: “Is this the right thing to do?”
News flash?
Some. Things. Should. Not. Be. Tolerated.
What’s next? A woman teacher identifying as a man gets to wear a 40-pound codpiece whose attention drifts toward the planet Uranus in permanent salute? We’ve tolerated ourselves into being inside the leftist cult of worshipping the lowest common denominator.
Teacher Lemieux doesn’t need to be assisted by the fumbling and imbecilic administrators up Ontario way in his daily delusion that he’s a walking set of giant boobies. He doesn’t need applause, or hero status, for a tragic mental disorder and misplacement of a human life. The children at his school do not need to be exposed to his sickness and, much worse, the mental depravity of the Canadian school board that proudly enables his condition.
Lemieux doesn’t need tolerance, especially in a school setting. He needs help. Like all of us, he certainly could use prayers and kindness. Alas, we live in upside-down times. We’ve allowed the wicked and perverse run our institutions, and, worse, teach our children to tolerate perversity.
John Boston is a local writer. Visit his bookstore at johnbostonbooks.com. Check out his newest hilarious book, “The 25 Most Inappropriate Dog Breeds.”
