My cousin and I had Mr. Garrett’s sophomore biology class just after our school lunch. With our bellies full and a room with no air conditioning or window shades, we struggled to stay awake when Mr. Garrett’s monotone voice would push us over the edge into a coma.
Mr. Garrett was alarmingly thin yet unexpectedly agile. While teaching he would stand with one foot on the floor and the other on the desktop, both arms easily folded behind his back. He always wore a wool vest suit, no matter the season. By the time my cousin and I had Mr. Garrett, he’d been teaching for decades. His first year in the classroom was my father’s class. He was an incredible teacher and the kindest man I’d ever met.
On one particular Friday we were eagerly anticipating the end of the school day and anxious for the weekend. But when we arrived at class, Mr. Garrett had newspapers strategically laid out on every desk with a large dead grasshopper poised in the center of your work area. These weren’t the grasshoppers you put on the end of a hook to brag about the two-pounder you never really caught. Mr. Garrett’s grasshoppers were 6-8 inches long, big enough to catch Jonah’s Whale.
The object was to dissect the arthropod by following Mr. Garrett’s lead. Fairly simple. I was about to slice the head from the body when Jackson, across the aisle, hollered in a whisper, “I’ll eat the head if you give me five bucks.” I’m a curious person so I answered, “Why not.” Then he said, “Come up with twenty dollars and I’ll eat the whole grasshopper.” Half a dozen other guys heard the offer and wanted in. We came up with 18 one-dollar bills, four quarters and a handful of nickels, dimes and pennies.
Jackson said, “Good enough,” and before I could say, “Go for it, Jackson,” he ripped the head off and started chomping away. We all stared in amazement and cringed at the different sounds each body part made as Jackson ate his afternoon locust snack.
Well, sure as hogs are made out of bacon, the commotion was getting out of hand when Mr. Garrett came striding down between the rows. One queasy girl behind Jackson was covering her mouth, like, any second now. I have to admit my stomach rolled a time or two, as well.
Our teacher exclaimed in his Mr. Garrett fashion, “What’s all the fuss?” Then, staring Jackson down, he inquired, “Jackson, where would your grasshopper be?” Jackson’s answer was classic. “Well, Mr. Garrett, Sir. I ate it.”
The look on Mr. Garrett’s face was a mix of shock and befuddlement. Without saying a word, he retreated to his desk to ponder the absurdity of the situation and what to say next. He then asked if anyone else in the classroom had an appetite for their grasshopper and apologized for not bringing fry sauce. The class tension immediately turned to laughter and relief.
I don’t remember if Jackson got another grasshopper to dissect. I don’t know if he even cared.
If I had to guess, I’d say he received an incomplete for the day. Too bad. This country boy would have given him an A.
