On my first day of Teaching Creative Writing class this semester, our professor asked us each to tell about a favorite teacher and what made them stand out. I told about Ms. (Joan) Nogueda, who was my English teacher during my first and last years of high school.
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| Joan Nogueda, ceramic tile |
Ms. Nogueda was an anomaly in the halls of high school. Everything she did, she did differently. Instead of use overhead fluorescent fixtures, she brought in lamps to light the classroom with an ambient glow that soothed our adolescent nerves. The walls she covered with replicas of medieval tapestries—her favorite literary period from which she once taught us to recite Middle English. Once a year there was a medieval banquet for seniors, when we could don period dress and bake for the feast.
On the first day of my freshman year, when I was just thirteen, I found myself in the front row of English class staring up at Ms. Nogueda with fright and wonder. I turned around to whisper to a friend, “She looks like a witch!” Maybe it was her ivory skin in contrast with the frizzled hair dyed black, or the sharp blue-gray eyes set back by hooded eyelids above her slightly hooked nose. Or perhaps it was the way she stood, regal in her ruby dress—the custom-made sleeves strangely puffed and the skirt long—and the way she thoughtfully fingered the beads at her breast, reminding me also of a queen. Certainly she bestowed her magic and power upon us.
