I could almost taste the aroma of machine oil with just a hint of tobacco as I took a deep breath in an attempt to calm myself. The janitor's room was dark and quiet, so different from the hustle and bustle of the fourth grade classroom I had just been kidnapped from. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, my attention shifted from one object to another. Drills, saws, tool chests and hanging on the walls were all sorts of gadgets begging to be explored. After a second deep breath, reality dashes any hope of exploration. I was a prisoner. My life was doomed. I was a baby boomer and we descended on the schools of the 60s like hungry locusts. Schools, faced with this tidal wave of small-time, empty-headed terrorists, transformed from educational institutions into factories that processed students like some kind of meat by-product. The classes were packed. Teachers were overworked, too old and in short supply. Trouble was looming on the horizon, just waiting for the opportunity to pounce and I was the target. Once you have overcome the trauma of the disappearance of your mother and your lifelong companion, your binky, school becomes an adventure of new and wonderful discoveries like bus rides and new friends. , lunch bag surprises and everyone's favorite playtime. Later, in the fifth and sixth years, you begin the journey of life as a young adult with new responsibilities. In contrast, year four was fertile ground for the Tasmanian Devils. We were no longer beginners and welcomed the opportunity to see how far we could push the boundaries. We were the Terrible Twos of the school system. For the most part, elementary school was a prison for me. Teachers struggled to simply maintain control, much less have time for each student. True or false,...... middle of paper ...... need to escape and confidence was raging in my head. I decided to give it a try and said in a shameful tone, "I'm sorry, I was dreaming." "I looked at the ground bracing myself for the wrath to come. "Well, I can certainly understand why, considering it's such a beautiful fall day outside. We're almost done and recess will only be in a few minutes. Stay with us a little longer. » Raising his arms above his head in a stress-relieving stretch, he moved on to another student. Relief washed over me, and then the thoughts of the fall day disappeared from my mind. A shiver of wonder ran down my neck. The realization that my prison had become a place of hope grew in my mind like a new sunrise after a stormy night. College graduation and four decades have passed and yet I still find myself from time to time thinking about the professor who cared. and the year I threw away my invisible cloak.