Bill Cosby has a phenomenal bit where he talks about "his boy." He raised his boy to play football, and on the sidelines he is a proud dad. When his boy scores the winning touchdown and is interviewed by the news anchor, Dad is beaming with pride. The first words uttered from the football star's mouth... "Hi, Mom!"
While I sing my mother's praises often, well deserved mind you, I don't sing my father's praises enough. So, to sacrifice myself on the alter of dignity on this last day of November, I want to share with the proverbial you how grateful I am for my dad.
Like my mom, my dad has always encouraged me to be me. He has never pressured me to believe a certain way other than to love everyone. My father is one of the least judgmental people I have ever had the blessed opportunity to know. He, like that heroic figure, taught me that I: "can't really understand a person until [I] see things from his perspective...until [I] climb inside his skin and walk around in it." I truly feel blessed that my father taught me this by word and example.
My father has also taught me the importance and example of unconditional love. To illustrate this value, I wish to share with you an event that changed my perspective of him forever.
Although I was older when I moved away for college, the first semester was a bumpy road. I am not a terribly sociable person, as many of you know, so moving, to what to me felt like the absolute middle of nowhere, was a bit lonely.
One weekend during that honestly unforgettable semester, I went with my father on a haul. That's right, my daddy is a truck driver, and I wanted to know what it was like (I may have been motivated by an assignment for my Creative Writing class, but...details).
We did a fair amount of driving, talking, and eating less-than-nutritious-food on that trip, but it wasn't while we were on the road that I discovered just how much my father loved me and my family.
Once we returned, I was forced to face the dread that I would have to soon venture back to my cached solitude (I am, however, extremely grateful for the family who took me in at this time). As I was preparing to leave a tear or two may or may not have (I don't cry) found their way down my cheek. I expressed my displeasure about making the return to my Pops. What he said in reply is what has stuck with me the past five years. He said, "You really want to know what it is like to be a truck driver?...It's that feeling right there."
The drive home that afternoon was a blur. Literally. But for the first time in my adult life I realized how much I meant to the Old Man. He was and is willing to sacrifice seeing my little brothers become men. He misses making my mother laugh so hard her shoulders bounce and a little pee escapes, sorry Mom. He misses sleeping in on Saturdays and making breakfast on weekdays (I have so many memories of my father singing "Oh, what a beautiful morning" with the wrong lyrics while he fried eggs and ticked me off for being so gosh, darn chipper in the morning). He has given up so much so that his family can have what we want and need.
So thank you, Old Man, for showing me that unconditional love is putting others before yourself, and leaving the ones you love to give them what they need.
I miss you, Pops. Drive safely, and I will see you on Christmas.
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Sunday, November 27, 2011
My Mother hasn't had a hot meal for herself in over 15 years...
Although for my mother, it has probably been longer.
I was gently reprimanded by the host of my Thanksgiving dinner for not blogging for an eternity (Happy Birthday, btw, Auntie), so I have spent the last few days puzzling until my puzzler was sore trying to come up with something somewhat interesting--at least to me--to blog about.
Then it hit me. I should write about gratitude--'tis the season--, or at the very least, what for the which I am grateful. Thanks to recent events, and a fantastic conversation with her, I am ridiculously--indebted for the eternities--grateful for my mother.
The aforementioned conversation was as follows: I was feeling some woe about a topic not wished to be shared, and I turned to the all-knowing being, Mom, to help me resolve it. (Or at least vent about it because I don't have the courage to stand strong). After laying it on the line she shared with me a deeply personal story that I hope she doesn't kill me for sharing with you now:
(Necessary backstory)There was a time in my life when my actions were less than admirable and I was accustomed to making decisions that were far from wise. At this time I told my mother I was going to move out. I was moving to the big city (downtown) and there was nothing she could do about it. (On a side note, the apartment I was going to move in to was the most disgusting old building you can imagine in a clean place like Salt Lake City. While the Sup was showing us the place, I saw an overturned dead cockroach the size of a premature baby on the floor in the kitchen, but that wasn't going to stop me from my rebellion.)
My mother and I exchanged words about this decision, which only made me want to move out more, but eventually she came around and said if I wanted to do it I could do it (Thankfully the young lady I was going to move in with was a flake and things fell through--act of God? Perhaps--but I digress).
(Conversation)For the first time in over six years, my mother finally shared with me why she had a major change of heart. She said that during that time period she was reading her scriptures, looking for an answer to her prayers on the matter, and she was struck with the thought of what it was like for our Heavenly Mother in the premortal existence. As we as spirits prepared to enter this mortal realm, she probably thought(she being my mother in the shoes of our Heavenly Mother), "Can't I keep this one with me? She's such a sweet spirit, can't I keep her all to myself?" To the which she had to conclude, "No. As much as it hurts, I have to let her go. I have to let her make her own decisions, and I have to let her go to earth to learn. That's what this plan is all about."
My mother realized that although she was quite certain that I was making a huge mistake and was likely to end up hurt, she had to let me go. As much as it pained her(she said that at times the decisions we children make actually cause her to feel as though her heart is literally breaking), she had to allow me to make my own decisions.
All this leads me to my point, I swear. On this day, as I am on most days, I am thankful for a mother who was willing to let me go. I am thankful for a mother who taught me all she knew, and then gave me the opportunity to make my own mistakes, no matter the cost of her own well-being. I am thankful for a mother who is a shining example of a disciple of Christ, who is selfless and all around incredible.
I am who I am today, albeit with countless bumps, bruises and stupid mistakes along the way, because my mother let me.
This post is dedicated to you, Mom. Love you!
I was gently reprimanded by the host of my Thanksgiving dinner for not blogging for an eternity (Happy Birthday, btw, Auntie), so I have spent the last few days puzzling until my puzzler was sore trying to come up with something somewhat interesting--at least to me--to blog about.
Then it hit me. I should write about gratitude--'tis the season--, or at the very least, what for the which I am grateful. Thanks to recent events, and a fantastic conversation with her, I am ridiculously--indebted for the eternities--grateful for my mother.
The aforementioned conversation was as follows: I was feeling some woe about a topic not wished to be shared, and I turned to the all-knowing being, Mom, to help me resolve it. (Or at least vent about it because I don't have the courage to stand strong). After laying it on the line she shared with me a deeply personal story that I hope she doesn't kill me for sharing with you now:
(Necessary backstory)There was a time in my life when my actions were less than admirable and I was accustomed to making decisions that were far from wise. At this time I told my mother I was going to move out. I was moving to the big city (downtown) and there was nothing she could do about it. (On a side note, the apartment I was going to move in to was the most disgusting old building you can imagine in a clean place like Salt Lake City. While the Sup was showing us the place, I saw an overturned dead cockroach the size of a premature baby on the floor in the kitchen, but that wasn't going to stop me from my rebellion.)
My mother and I exchanged words about this decision, which only made me want to move out more, but eventually she came around and said if I wanted to do it I could do it (Thankfully the young lady I was going to move in with was a flake and things fell through--act of God? Perhaps--but I digress).
(Conversation)For the first time in over six years, my mother finally shared with me why she had a major change of heart. She said that during that time period she was reading her scriptures, looking for an answer to her prayers on the matter, and she was struck with the thought of what it was like for our Heavenly Mother in the premortal existence. As we as spirits prepared to enter this mortal realm, she probably thought(she being my mother in the shoes of our Heavenly Mother), "Can't I keep this one with me? She's such a sweet spirit, can't I keep her all to myself?" To the which she had to conclude, "No. As much as it hurts, I have to let her go. I have to let her make her own decisions, and I have to let her go to earth to learn. That's what this plan is all about."
My mother realized that although she was quite certain that I was making a huge mistake and was likely to end up hurt, she had to let me go. As much as it pained her(she said that at times the decisions we children make actually cause her to feel as though her heart is literally breaking), she had to allow me to make my own decisions.
All this leads me to my point, I swear. On this day, as I am on most days, I am thankful for a mother who was willing to let me go. I am thankful for a mother who taught me all she knew, and then gave me the opportunity to make my own mistakes, no matter the cost of her own well-being. I am thankful for a mother who is a shining example of a disciple of Christ, who is selfless and all around incredible.
I am who I am today, albeit with countless bumps, bruises and stupid mistakes along the way, because my mother let me.
This post is dedicated to you, Mom. Love you!
Friday, August 26, 2011
Pictureless Pictures of Two Old Ladies Swimming in all their Clothes
I worry that many of you, whomever you may be, will never read this because: I haven't "blogged" in so long, and I never have pictures so that I may remain somewhat anonymous. At any rate, as I was slowly drying off on my toasty car ride home, I had the unreachable itchy feeling to put my thoughts down on digital paper, so here I am.
Today marked the end of a paltry first week of school. As many of you know, or as I am quickly finding out many of you don't know, most public schools in Utah DO NOT I repeat DO NOT have air conditioning. So all you big shots at the Legislature as you sit in your temperature-controlled offices at a staggering 72 degrees, remember that there are children all over the state who are prisoners in brick ovens attempting to learn. Stepping off the soap box. Believe it or not, an unanticipated tangent, I shall return to my original thoughts.
As I was standing in the parking lot this afternoon, chatting with a colleague, another colleague approached and asked, as if it was a question always considered, "Would you two ladies like to join me in a dip up at [the Reservoir]? We could just drive up to the dam, get out and walk in the water, clothes and all, and then turn around and drive home, dripping wet." I was flummoxed at the request. Wide-eyed, I responded, "Are you serious?" She replied, "I could not be any more serious." I, as any reasonable human being would, took her up on the offer.
It was the best thing I did all week. I am a fortunate soul in the public education sphere in that I do, in fact, have air conditioning in my classroom. Regardless, that free-spirited dip at the reservoir was delightfully refreshing all the same. The drive home was where the true reflection happened, however, and where I craved to put my thoughts into a physical form for someone, if just me, to appreciate. They went something like this:
That was amazing. I am so glad that [let's call her Jane] invited me on such an adventure. We only get to live this life once, and I am stoked that was an experience I get to take with me. I wish I would have had a camera to document that moment. That's what a journal and words are for. Words are lost on this generation. I should blog about that. No one will read it because there aren't any pictures. But don't I always tell my students that they can create pictures through words? I can do that. But it would have been better with pictures. People would at least look at the pictures. Well, now you have just gone full circle.
I know. I'm deep. For all those who are still willing to attempt a stab at imagination, this post is for you. The rest of you have already scrolled beyond this point and realized that there is nothing to see, so you have given up and moved on.
I always have considered myself to be a winter baby. I have always told myself that I much prefer the cold to the heat. My reasoning is that if you're cold you can always put on another layer, but once you're hot and naked, there's not much else you can do. My experience today has caused me to toy with the idea of being a summer baby.
There is no feeling that compares, nor words sufficient to describe, the refreshing, stinging feeling when one jumps into piercingly cold water after spending eight hours trapped in a prison/oven, a pr-oven-thank you Don Quixote- if you will. The satisfactory relief your skin experiences is like that feeling you got when you were lost as a child. You think that you will never be found and then your mother comes running around the corner. Sweet relief. It was so delightful to squish the muck between my toes as I waded into the water in my professional attire. The water was invitingly blue, but turned green as we went deeper and deeper. We floated for a while, enjoying the cool water. The satisfaction of letting go of the heat and the stress of the first days of school in one dive under the waves. It comes highly recommended. I just might make it a ritual.
Today marked the end of a paltry first week of school. As many of you know, or as I am quickly finding out many of you don't know, most public schools in Utah DO NOT I repeat DO NOT have air conditioning. So all you big shots at the Legislature as you sit in your temperature-controlled offices at a staggering 72 degrees, remember that there are children all over the state who are prisoners in brick ovens attempting to learn. Stepping off the soap box. Believe it or not, an unanticipated tangent, I shall return to my original thoughts.
As I was standing in the parking lot this afternoon, chatting with a colleague, another colleague approached and asked, as if it was a question always considered, "Would you two ladies like to join me in a dip up at [the Reservoir]? We could just drive up to the dam, get out and walk in the water, clothes and all, and then turn around and drive home, dripping wet." I was flummoxed at the request. Wide-eyed, I responded, "Are you serious?" She replied, "I could not be any more serious." I, as any reasonable human being would, took her up on the offer.
It was the best thing I did all week. I am a fortunate soul in the public education sphere in that I do, in fact, have air conditioning in my classroom. Regardless, that free-spirited dip at the reservoir was delightfully refreshing all the same. The drive home was where the true reflection happened, however, and where I craved to put my thoughts into a physical form for someone, if just me, to appreciate. They went something like this:
That was amazing. I am so glad that [let's call her Jane] invited me on such an adventure. We only get to live this life once, and I am stoked that was an experience I get to take with me. I wish I would have had a camera to document that moment. That's what a journal and words are for. Words are lost on this generation. I should blog about that. No one will read it because there aren't any pictures. But don't I always tell my students that they can create pictures through words? I can do that. But it would have been better with pictures. People would at least look at the pictures. Well, now you have just gone full circle.
I know. I'm deep. For all those who are still willing to attempt a stab at imagination, this post is for you. The rest of you have already scrolled beyond this point and realized that there is nothing to see, so you have given up and moved on.
I always have considered myself to be a winter baby. I have always told myself that I much prefer the cold to the heat. My reasoning is that if you're cold you can always put on another layer, but once you're hot and naked, there's not much else you can do. My experience today has caused me to toy with the idea of being a summer baby.
There is no feeling that compares, nor words sufficient to describe, the refreshing, stinging feeling when one jumps into piercingly cold water after spending eight hours trapped in a prison/oven, a pr-oven-thank you Don Quixote- if you will. The satisfactory relief your skin experiences is like that feeling you got when you were lost as a child. You think that you will never be found and then your mother comes running around the corner. Sweet relief. It was so delightful to squish the muck between my toes as I waded into the water in my professional attire. The water was invitingly blue, but turned green as we went deeper and deeper. We floated for a while, enjoying the cool water. The satisfaction of letting go of the heat and the stress of the first days of school in one dive under the waves. It comes highly recommended. I just might make it a ritual.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Behavior Modification
I have a student who is convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that I hate him/her. I know that it is the age and maturity, but I find it quite interesting that this group cannot separate that I dislike the behavior they are exhibiting, not them. I have said it before and I will say it again, if I hated the little adolescents, I would have quit this business a long time ago--like before I ever started. Because he/she is convinced of my nonexistent hatred, he/she has made my life a living hell for the past month. I have tried a variety of classroom management approaches including calls home, the principal, and behavior contracts. Finally, I presented said student with a choice: he/she could either show me that he/she wants to be in my class and behave appropriately, or he/she would spend the rest of the term in the office doing bookwork and worksheets.
At any rate, this student and I had a heart to heart today. I explained to the student that he/she has a gift. He/she has the gift of the desire to learn. And he/she does! He/she is very eager to learn, and I really do love that. I told him/her that I appreciate that so much, but at the same time,I need him/her to behave appropriately when he/she has questions or is feeling overwhelmed. I was able to work one on one with this student for a bit today and it was marvelous! He/she was so receptive to this one on one time and compliments. I need to remember this when I want to discipline in a punitive manner. This is what I have been taught my whole life. It's what my parents did and it is what all my teachers did. But I want to change. I want my students to know that I love and care about them. I want them to be eager and willing to learn. I don't want the negative atmosphere that comes with negative, punitive classroom management. I am taking a class on this. It's starts tomorrow. Wish me luck!
If any of you anonymous readers out there have suggestions on how to overcome the negative monster that has ruled my life, please, leave a comment.
At any rate, this student and I had a heart to heart today. I explained to the student that he/she has a gift. He/she has the gift of the desire to learn. And he/she does! He/she is very eager to learn, and I really do love that. I told him/her that I appreciate that so much, but at the same time,I need him/her to behave appropriately when he/she has questions or is feeling overwhelmed. I was able to work one on one with this student for a bit today and it was marvelous! He/she was so receptive to this one on one time and compliments. I need to remember this when I want to discipline in a punitive manner. This is what I have been taught my whole life. It's what my parents did and it is what all my teachers did. But I want to change. I want my students to know that I love and care about them. I want them to be eager and willing to learn. I don't want the negative atmosphere that comes with negative, punitive classroom management. I am taking a class on this. It's starts tomorrow. Wish me luck!
If any of you anonymous readers out there have suggestions on how to overcome the negative monster that has ruled my life, please, leave a comment.
Monday, January 24, 2011
Snippet of Sunshine
This is going to be a short one. Tonight was parent teacher conferences. For those of you who have been with me through this journey known as my first year of teaching, you know that the first parent teacher conferences I cried like baseball player who got decked in the groin into my decadent Cold Stone concoction of oatmeal cookie batter and brownies. This go around I went in with my head held high, with a goal of not crying (seriously, I even told a few teachers before hand that my goal was to not shed any tears). Well, not only did I escape without a sharp new hint of tears, I found out that I am two students' favorite teacher (one can only hope that it is more than that, but only two parents let me know). So there. I have made a difference for those ones as well.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Come what may and love it! (Finding Joy in the Journey)
This post is acting in a therapeutic way for me today. I feel, and correct me if I am wrong, it is fair to say that being a public school teacher is hard, thankless work-mostly. Being a first year public school teacher is even more difficult, and less gratuitous than teaching in general. It truly is like being Daniel in the lion's den. You go into it with faith that your expertise and training will help you escape the beasts alive. The difference between Daniel and I, however, is that I will not escape with the help of the Big Guy unscathed. I will not come out of this first year without many cuts, bruises, and quite frankly, life altering scars. This is good though. I have learned much, and I know that next year, fingers crossed that there will be a next year, things will be better. I will be better.
But that's not why I need this therapy. You see, my dear anonymous reader, whomever you may be, it is the midterm of my second trimester and I am burned out. Christmas break was bliss. I fled the town in which I teach and relaxed. It was lovely. Since then, however, and it has been three weeks now, I have had the most difficult time getting back into the groove of being an adult. I cannot bring myself to be responsible. I am tired of lesson plans, blank stares, and pointless excuses. I am tired of telling students to grow up, to stop whistling, and to wash their hands when they go to the restroom (that is another story for another time). I am tired of leaving my apartment before the sun has created the breathtakingly stunning dance of pinks and purples on the Wellsville's behind my classroom (it's gorgeous, you're missing out if you don't know what I am talking about), and returning to my abode after the sun has tucked itself behind the same mountains. I am exhausted by the phrases from my students that claim, "Ms. ---- hates me." Trust me kids, if I hated you, even one of you, I would have been out of this business before you walked in the door. And to my prego cousin with the terrible twos, welcome to every-freakin'-day of my life (I read your post last night, and honey, I feel your pain! Except, the children aren't mine)!
So here's the deal, I need a change. I need to heed the counsel offered by one of my favorite apostles of time and find joy in the journey. I need to embrace what has come and love it! I had a conversation today with one of my sage colleagues and he said, "Come on, Spinster, you got to find something to get you through this." So that is what I am going to try to do. At the end of each day, I am going to blog (my very own secret-public journal) about why I am doing this. I am going to tell all you anxious readers out there why I am in this fantastically miserable profession.
On that note, here is my excerpt for today:
Every other day at the beginning of class, my students have to fix a sentence on the board and I walk around the room and mock or praise them for what they have done (for any English teachers out there, its a system called Caught'ya: Grammar with a Giggle by Jane Bell Kiester, and it is amazing!). Well, today's sentence was one of the most complicated ones we have done so far this year. As such, I offered big extra credit opportunities to any student who could get it correct (it involved the pesky who/whom conundrum, and it sure did get their goat). Well, only one student came even close (it was also a run-on sentence that they had to turn into three different sentences). So I gave him half of what was originally offered, because he was the only one to catch the "whom" in the sentence.
Afterward, we discussed as a class what was wrong with the sentence. Since this student got the extra credit, he was able to confidently raise his hand and tell his peers what they all missed. As much as it pains me to write something dripping with processed cheese, he was glowing with excitement. Further to his delight, his peers gave him much praise for noticing something they did not. As I contemplated what to write about today, I thought about that old story about the starfish and I couldn't help but think, "I made a difference for that one."
I am fully aware that there are many students who walk out of my classroom thinking unkind things towards me and my content. Being "with-it," I also know students converse about the different degrees of hate they each feel for me. I even know that there are students who are convinced that I am plotting their demise (and I quote, "You have a look. Like you are looking into my soul and thinking, how am I going to kill her?" Yep, a student actually said that). Regardless of all that, I can go home tonight, in the dark, knowing that I made a difference in one student's day today. And who knows? Maybe one day he will be able to say, "Ms. ---- is my favorite teacher. she made class fun, and she showed me that she cares." One can only hope, right?
But that's not why I need this therapy. You see, my dear anonymous reader, whomever you may be, it is the midterm of my second trimester and I am burned out. Christmas break was bliss. I fled the town in which I teach and relaxed. It was lovely. Since then, however, and it has been three weeks now, I have had the most difficult time getting back into the groove of being an adult. I cannot bring myself to be responsible. I am tired of lesson plans, blank stares, and pointless excuses. I am tired of telling students to grow up, to stop whistling, and to wash their hands when they go to the restroom (that is another story for another time). I am tired of leaving my apartment before the sun has created the breathtakingly stunning dance of pinks and purples on the Wellsville's behind my classroom (it's gorgeous, you're missing out if you don't know what I am talking about), and returning to my abode after the sun has tucked itself behind the same mountains. I am exhausted by the phrases from my students that claim, "Ms. ---- hates me." Trust me kids, if I hated you, even one of you, I would have been out of this business before you walked in the door. And to my prego cousin with the terrible twos, welcome to every-freakin'-day of my life (I read your post last night, and honey, I feel your pain! Except, the children aren't mine)!
So here's the deal, I need a change. I need to heed the counsel offered by one of my favorite apostles of time and find joy in the journey. I need to embrace what has come and love it! I had a conversation today with one of my sage colleagues and he said, "Come on, Spinster, you got to find something to get you through this." So that is what I am going to try to do. At the end of each day, I am going to blog (my very own secret-public journal) about why I am doing this. I am going to tell all you anxious readers out there why I am in this fantastically miserable profession.
On that note, here is my excerpt for today:
Every other day at the beginning of class, my students have to fix a sentence on the board and I walk around the room and mock or praise them for what they have done (for any English teachers out there, its a system called Caught'ya: Grammar with a Giggle by Jane Bell Kiester, and it is amazing!). Well, today's sentence was one of the most complicated ones we have done so far this year. As such, I offered big extra credit opportunities to any student who could get it correct (it involved the pesky who/whom conundrum, and it sure did get their goat). Well, only one student came even close (it was also a run-on sentence that they had to turn into three different sentences). So I gave him half of what was originally offered, because he was the only one to catch the "whom" in the sentence.
Afterward, we discussed as a class what was wrong with the sentence. Since this student got the extra credit, he was able to confidently raise his hand and tell his peers what they all missed. As much as it pains me to write something dripping with processed cheese, he was glowing with excitement. Further to his delight, his peers gave him much praise for noticing something they did not. As I contemplated what to write about today, I thought about that old story about the starfish and I couldn't help but think, "I made a difference for that one."
I am fully aware that there are many students who walk out of my classroom thinking unkind things towards me and my content. Being "with-it," I also know students converse about the different degrees of hate they each feel for me. I even know that there are students who are convinced that I am plotting their demise (and I quote, "You have a look. Like you are looking into my soul and thinking, how am I going to kill her?" Yep, a student actually said that). Regardless of all that, I can go home tonight, in the dark, knowing that I made a difference in one student's day today. And who knows? Maybe one day he will be able to say, "Ms. ---- is my favorite teacher. she made class fun, and she showed me that she cares." One can only hope, right?
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Kids say...
Well, for anyone who actually gives this space in the cyber world their perusal, I will give you something to feast upon.
My students say some pretty funny things sometimes. I know that I am not supposed to laugh. I know that I am supposed to be the adult in the room and maintain order, but seriously? Have you ever been out numbered at least thirty to one by hormonal mutants? Its hard to do what is right. So, here are a few of the funny things that have been uttered within my four walls since I last posted:
After Christmas break, one of my students asked if I got anything for Christmas. To which another student replied, "No, duh, she lives alone." To which I replied, "You're right. I am completely and utterly alone. I have no friends, no family; in fact, I don't even have an apartment, I live here." It feels so good to know that my students see me as a lonely recluse.
One day we were taking notes on subjects and predicates and I neglected to perform a proper and thorough proofread. As I was in the throws of a spectacular lecture, one of my students raised his hand and asked, "So it's predict? I always thought it was predicate, but you're the teacher." Before entering the educational world, I was told that I would have to dial down my sarcasm because they wouldn't get it. I think they do, and at times, they are definitely better at it than me.
More to come...
My students say some pretty funny things sometimes. I know that I am not supposed to laugh. I know that I am supposed to be the adult in the room and maintain order, but seriously? Have you ever been out numbered at least thirty to one by hormonal mutants? Its hard to do what is right. So, here are a few of the funny things that have been uttered within my four walls since I last posted:
After Christmas break, one of my students asked if I got anything for Christmas. To which another student replied, "No, duh, she lives alone." To which I replied, "You're right. I am completely and utterly alone. I have no friends, no family; in fact, I don't even have an apartment, I live here." It feels so good to know that my students see me as a lonely recluse.
One day we were taking notes on subjects and predicates and I neglected to perform a proper and thorough proofread. As I was in the throws of a spectacular lecture, one of my students raised his hand and asked, "So it's predict? I always thought it was predicate, but you're the teacher." Before entering the educational world, I was told that I would have to dial down my sarcasm because they wouldn't get it. I think they do, and at times, they are definitely better at it than me.
More to come...
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