Welcome to the inaugural post for our People Like Us series. It’s a way for us to introduce and share with y’all our super talented friends and their super awesome writing. Basically, we’re pimping out our peeps. Deal.

Kicking the series off is a post from my dear friend Brian. Although we went to the same college, we bonded while working together for a theater in Boston. I’ve watched him start off as a mere concessions worker, then as a box office associate, onto making it like a bo$$ as the Box Office & Front of House Manager, and finally he’s moved away from the annoying patrons and into the back office where the important people sit as a Marketing and Development Associate. What I’m trying to say is that I taught him everything he knows. 

However, I cannot take credit for his excellent storytelling skills (his degree from Emerson, natural talent, and mom Bonnie is to thank). Enjoy this entertaining and frightening true explanation of why Ms. Frizzle is his life inspiration.

And if you like what you read, follow his WordPress blog here: A Mighty Fine Life. If you like Tumblin’, follow him here: Tumblr. If you enjoy children & young adult lit reviews (especially animorphs re-reads including graphics made on MS Paint), follow him here: The View From Sunday.

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I have been doing a fair amount of thinking lately about the people I’ve looked up to in my day – people I’ve considered exemplars in their field, people I want to emulate, people who’s work has had a lasting, life-long impact on me. And the answer to that question has always surprised me, has always evaded me, because as I’ve said, I’ve never really known what I wanted to be when I grew up. When I was a kid, I hopped around from answer to answer – writer, scientist, hairdresser, teacher. And none of them stuck. I loved books and movies, I loved playing, and I loved people; that’s all I really knew about myself, and I wasn’t sure if a career as a professional storyteller and player, who maybe sometimes taught people things, was possible.

But you know who managed to accomplish all that and more?

Valerie. Mother-effing. Frizzle.

That’s right. And you know it in your heart of hearts that I am right because this woman was the teacher – nay, the human being – we all dreamed of having in our lives. This woman is the be-all end-all of scientific learning of our generation, is admired by all the people everywhere, is the greatest teacher known to mankind, and I will punch you right in the nose if you say otherwise.

“Brian, you’re a little out of control here. What’s so great about her?”

Well first of all, don’t talk to me in that tone of voice. Who do you think you are? Are you better than Ms. Frizzle? No.

Second of all,  here are my top six reasons Ms. Frizzle is a badass and a teacher I want to be when I grow up.

1) Ms. Frizzle Owns A Magic Vehicle

Hello?! This much should be obvious. Does your car turn into a plane and a train and a submarine and a time machine and a rocketship and a ladybug and a triceratops and a planet and also shrink and also have the ability to turn you into a fish or frog or a BEAM OF LIGHT?????? IS YOUR CAR ALIVE AND DOES IT HAVE EYES????? No. No, I did not think so.

The eponymous Magic School Bus enabled Val to take her kids to infinity and beyond. It was an invaluable teaching tool, and a resource that any teacher would kill for. Sure, not everyone has the funding for this, but let’s take the bus as a metaphor for creativity in education. It’s like the old writing adage: show, not tell. The bus was simply The Friz’s way of bringing that kind of creative, hands-on learning to her classroom. Non-cartoon educators need to go about it a different way, but it is still a principle that we ought to listen to, right?

OK, also it helped that the bus was sentient and had its own thoughts and opinions. Which, okay, you could argue that taking a bunch of kids for a ride inside something alive every single day is sort of messed up. But the bus and the Friz also seemed to be buddies – this was no servant/master relationship; Ms. Frizzle cared when the bus was sick/needed repairs, and referred to it as an old friend. You have to wonder if she was the one who built it. This would likely mean that she is either a master mechanic – which I’d argue against, since in the episode about bones and muscles they took the bus in for a repair with R.U Humerus – or some kind of wizard. You be the judge.

2) Ms. Frizzle Let Her Students Learn By Doing

The kind of dynamic, experience-based learning her class did on a day-to-day basis is simply staggering. She allowed them to explore who they are as people, and brought them up close and personal to the things they were studying. Ms. Frizzle understood that the words on the page were not enough. And yet, she had clear objectives in mind for every lesson: “students will understand the basic types of bridges and how they work;” “students will have a clear understanding of the scientific method;” etc etc.

Her lessons weren’t a fly by night operation – they were well planned out and demonstrated a lot of thinking on the Friz’s part. In fact, you could argue that she worked backwards from her goal until she found the right kind of lesson. Often, the lesson would present itself in an organic way: Ralphie is sick, let’s figure out why. Or, Dorothy Ann became petrified of asteroids, presumably after watching Armageddon and crying about Bruce Willis (she just seems like the type, y’know?) – and Ms. Frizzle would jump in from there and guide the students in the most hands-off way possible. She had the tools and the kids had the experience. She dropped them into the thick of things and let them fend for themselves, be they playing a frictionless baseball game or turning into animals and trying to live on the streets of a city.

Sure, Ms. Frizzle’s methods were peculiar but they allowed for students to – as the Friz might say – get messy. It’s sort of implicit that they are never in any real danger: she never panics, not once, and it is demonstrated time and time again that she has her students best interests at heart. She taught real science – without any pretense or ulterior motive. It was all about the learning and all about using that learning to make her students be better, more observant people. She let them take chances, and that really paid off.

3) Ms. Frizzle Was Light Years Ahead Of Her Time, Fashion-Wise

4) Ms. Frizzle Didn’t Do Any Kind Of Handholding

On the contrary! “Make Mistakes” was part of her catchphrase! Making mistakes means you’re working hard, and working hard means eventually you’ll achieve something. It’s not about being perfect, just about taking chances and allowing yourself to not succeed sometimes. Once you forget about being self-conscious, that’s when the real work is able to begin. Ms. Frizzle understands that – often, one of her students will be comically mistaken about something, and rather than saying, “Carlos you are a moron, that sound machine sounds awful and defies the basic principles of sound design,” she let him try and try until he got it right.

I mean, the fact that she took him to a magical sound mansion didn’t hurt. But that’s exactly the thing: it wasn’t, “Carlos, you’re wrong.” That would defeat his spirit and probably scar him for life. Instead, she presented him with the tools he’d need, provided a structure for using those tools – remember when she yodeled? – and answered his questions when he had them.

That, too, was what was so great about the Friz. She posed questions to her students right back at them, even if sometimes they didn’t realize they were being asked. Like that time she stranded herself on Pluto and left it to the kids to operate the bus and find her – through learning about the rest of the planets, that is. Mind you, this is back when Pluto was a planet so this was sort of a big deal.

5) Ms. Frizzle Was Popular With The Kids

Okay, this is superficial, but who doesn’t want to be the teacher everyone wants to have? It warms your teacher heart to hear an older kid nod knowingly and say, “I had the Friz’s class last year.” Also, they baked her a birthday cake! How much love does that show? Baking someone a cake is something you only do for someone you love. Have you ever baked a cake for your worst enemy? No. (Once, my friend Joa had someone bake her a cake out of love only she didn’t like him at all so it was an unrequited love cake, but still there was love in the batter!) The kids also bought Ms. Frizzle a cocoa tree one time – I think for Earth Day? WHO BUYS THEIR TEACHER AN EARTH DAY PRESENT?? A group of kids who really freakin liked their teacher, that’s who.

She was a well-liked and well-respected person in the school community and in the outside world – she had friends in the strangest of places.

Also, she was voiced by Lily Tomlin and her cousin was Dolly Parton. So that’s popularity points right thurr.

6) Ms. Frizzle Loved All Her Students Equally, Even The Terrible Ones

She was so respectful of each and every one of her kids and allowed them to learn at their own pace, in their own way. Some teachers would have looked at Arnold and said, “You know what? MAYBE YOU SHOULD JUST STAY HOME TOMORROW IF YOU’RE GOING TO COMPLAIN ABOUT LEARNING EVERY SINGLE FREAKING DAY. WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE IN SCHOOL FOR, YOU SNOTTY GINGER.” Some teachers would have taken in Cousin Janet’s terrible ‘tude and promptly jettisoned her into space for being such an uptight crotchety little malcontent who nothing was ever good enough for.

Not the Friz.

Instead, she coaxed everyone out of their shells in a way that was fair and kind. She recognized that some kids were persnickety and dealt with that – sometimes by throwing them in a swamp, but there was learning to be had. And they soresponded to that. They may have complained every once in awhile, but they took that respect and faith that she had in them and ran with it, and became better students for it.

So there it is, folks. Fictional she may be, but Ms. Frizzle represents everything I want to bring to my career (?!?) as an educator, whatever trajectory that career might take. Because at the end of the day, the Friz taught us that teaching is more than books: it’s creativity and passion and laughter and caring about what you do and who you’re doing it for and thinking so far outside the box that the box becomes  a non-entity. I can’t wait to try it out for myself.

Seatbelts, everyone.