Let me be honest — I didn’t ask for the name.

I was standing in front of a Year 9 class, trying (and failing) to get them to revise algebra when a boy in the back muttered, “She talks like she’s preaching chicken.”

Laughter. Echoing. Loud. Disruptive.

I paused. Raised an eyebrow. And said, “Well, I am here to feed your minds. If you’re hungry enough.”

And just like that… I became the KFC Lady.

I used to hate it — the way students would whisper, “She’s back with the spicy talk!” or pretend to place drive-thru orders at the start of my lessons. But something shifted when I realised what they were really saying:

“You’re different. And we remember you.”

I didn’t teach from a script. I taught from my soul. I used rhythm, humour, drama, and the occasional chicken metaphor if it helped them get the point.

Because in a world where many children are numb — to education, to their own brilliance, to the future — I refused to be another voice that droned on. I had to disrupt, surprise, and stir them awake. Even if it meant becoming a classroom meme.

Years later, I still meet ex-students in supermarkets who shout across aisles, “Miss! KFC lady! You made me pass English!”

I’ll take that.

Because in the end, it’s not about the nickname.

It’s about being the kind of teacher they don’t forget.