Worth it. Almost.

It's no secret to anyone who knows me that my time as a high school English teacher was, well, let's say trying. I really miss my students and the actual teaching part, but I just didn't have the constitution to shrug off the non-stop abuse from the parents. I just could never bring myself to accept that getting yelled at was a part of the job.

I was a tough teacher. I was tough because I cared very, very much about my students. I was there to do a job. Not be their friend, or their enabler, or their ego boost. My job was to teach them English. When they moved on to 10th grade, they would be better readers, better writers, better speakers, better testers and most importantly, better thinkers. And, I was good at my job.

This was not met with universal joy from the students, and even less from their parents. My basic attitude was that they could kiss my ass. If they wanted English to be easy, they should have not signed up for an honors class.

Well, long story short. Sticking to my principles and high academic standards was hard. After four years, my choices were to start handing out "A"s like candy at Halloween or to find a different job. At the end of the day, I felt I owed it to my students to try my best, so I quit. It took me 10 years to work my way through college to earn my teaching degree. It took the system four years to make me quit. I'm more than a little bitter, if that had been abundantly clear.

Well, the other day some of that bitterness abated.

I was in the public classroom at work preparing to cook for our Team Members. The room is separated from the cafe only by a glass wall. Very fishbowl-like. Well, a girl in her early 20s walked in. Customers do that sometimes, looking for condiments or the public class schedule. But she was there to see me. She had been in my English class in my second year.

She just wanted to tell me that she appreciated my effort in her education. She just graduated from college, and said that her writing was often complimented - and that she believes it is because of me. She still reads Shakespeare. For fun. Also something that she gives me credit for. Before she left to rejoin her family, she said that she just wanted to thank me for everything I did for her.

I wish I had words for how this warmed my heart, but I don't.

I do, however, have words for the sadness that came along with it. The fact is that too many teachers who have high standards aren't doing it anymore. Every parent who has mistreated a teacher can go fuck themselves.

No Problem

Emily and I were watching the Olympics. She showed a great deal of interest in the gymnastics and the 100 meter hurdles. I know, a natural pairing right? Then, she saw her first medal ceremony.

"Mom! Is that what you get when you win the Olympics?"
"Yep."
"Is the gold medal really made of gold?!?"
"Yeah. It's gold-plated at least."
"What?!?!? You mean that the winner gets a real gold medal?"
"Yes."
"So, all I have to do is win the Olympics and I get one of those?"
"Sure."
"Oh My God!! Wait. Mom, is it okay if when I'm a little older I go play in the Olympics?"
"Yes. If you qualify for the Olympics you have my permission to attend."
"Yeeeeees!"

She spent the next, well I have no idea how long, running around the dining room doing a combination of attempted hurdling and floor gymnastics. It was totally gold-medal calibur in my book!

Anxiety

Apparently our cat is a bit of a slut. Two months ago, she clawed her way out of a basement screen and now we have six kittens. The kids, of course, can't get enough of them.

The other night, The Husband went upstairs and found Isa singing a strange little song, gyrating all over the place, with a kitten in each hand. I asked her about it the next night.

"Hey Isa, I heard that you were dancing with the kittens last night."
"Yes. It's true"
"Why?"
"Well, it appeared to me that two of them were a little anxious. Strangely, my singing and dancing didn't do anything to ease their anxiety."

Huh. Weird.

Space

Isa was spending the week at Girl Scout camp. Emily recovered from her sadness very quickly. She descended onto Isa's room, setting up a little dressing table with some decorations, fingernail polish and her hairbrush.

"Mom, you have a very rare opportunity! I'm renting out Isa's room for the week. It has added items to help make you beautiful. I even cleaned it a little." (She didn't actually do the cleaning part.)
"Um. Do you think you should be renting out your sister's room while she's not here?"
"That's what hotels do. It's a dollar a night. Do you want me to get you your purse?"
"I think perhaps you should respect Isa's space while she's gone."
"Mom! She's all the way at camp! How much space does one girl really need?!?"

Reason Number 632 Why I Love My Husband

The boy is attending an astronomy day camp at the local university's physics department. They have a shitload of kids attending about 10 different camps, all in the same building at the same time. It is clearly stating the obvious that retrieving your child at the end of the day is a bit of a clusterfuck. And, it is so because people are assholes.

The Husband signed the paper promising that he is Dec's father and not a deranged kidnapper, and was waiting in line for staff to bring the astronomy campers to the staging room. Of course, some overdressed woman who clearly can't move past her high school Saturday night slut make-up days pushed her way in.

"I'm looking for ..." I don't remember her kid's name. Which is no doubt how the poor little fucker prefers.

The husband didn't miss a beat.

"Yeah, well what you should be looking for is the back of the line!"

I love him, and I'm pretty sure some of the parents and staff and camp do now, too.