3:15- I walked into my room, finding the P.E. teacher standing in the corner of the room, monitoring my out-of-control class. I smiled to myself. I knew how to get this class in order.
"Class, everyone sit down, be quiet, and pretend you deserve theeesseee!" I smiled, holding out a tray of cookies I'd just boughten the night before. The class squealed with delight, rushing around to get to their desks.
It was then I looked over to see... on the phone.... a student with an extremely angry vengeful (according to the parents reporting to me that she talks behind my back) mother.
It is then that it me--- she probably just heard me say the words "sit down, be quiet, and pretend you deserve these!"- not a good quote when taken out of context. It sounds so mean!
Damnit!
3:20- Mr. Collins entered my room. "Mr. McManson!" he shouted. "Could I see you for a minute?"
'Wow,' I thought. 'That woman works fast. She's already told him what I said!'
But as I entered the hallway, I was soon to find out that the angry mother was NOT the one causing a bit of trouble for me. Instead... stood the woman I'd taken my children to only an hour and fifteen minutes earlier. She had come to our school to present to each of the classes the dangers of polluting the earth's water.
"He's the one who left me alone with the children!" she was shouting hysterically, pointing at me.
"What?" I asked.
Mr. Collins was red in the face, scowling at me.
"You asked me when you entered if you were to stay with those kids!" she screeched.
"Yes," I said. "And you told me to stay. I didn't know whether you were cleared to be alone with children or not."
"And I told you I wasn't!" she cried.
"I know," I replied. "That's why I sat down!" I looked over desperately at Mr. Collins, whose face continued to shine bright red. He gave me no sign of support.
"Why did you leave? I'm a guest! I'm not allowed to be alone with those children! They were terrible! They were awful! It was against state law for you to leave!!!!!" she screeched.
"Um... I had a planning period, with a meeting. That's why the P.E. teacher came to relieve me!" I protested.
"The P.E. teacher?"
"Yes!"
Mr. Collins now focused on her. "Was the P.E. teacher there?"
"You mean the man in shorts?"
"Yes," I said. "He was wearing shorts! He came in and told me I could leave."
Now stuck looking stupid, the woman resorted to a new measure--- "Well, well..... well.... he wasn't even helping me with the kids! He was leaving me unattended!"
"He left you unattended?" Mr. Collins boomed.
"Yes! He was wandering!"
"Wait a second," I interjected. "Was he ever not in eyesight of you?"
"Well... no.. but," the woman whimpered.
"Then you weren't unattended."
"Your kids were awful!" she said, changing the subject again.
"What? They were fine when I was there!"
"Well... after you left they weren't!"
By now my suspicions of the woman were raised. What in the world was wrong with this lady? My kids had acted perfectly fine when I was in the room.. and I could only assume they continued to behave when I left.
"Um..." I said, reaching for the door. "For my own documentation purposes, please come in here."
The skittish skinny woman, still on the verge of a breakdown, followed me in, proceeded by Mr. Collins. My class stared up at her, wondering why she was in their room now.
"Please point to the ones giving you trouble," I said calmly. "I'll deal with it."
For a moment the woman stared out at my class.
Then a minute later, she shouted at me, "I'm very uncomfortable! I'm a guest! I shouldn't have to sit here and point at kids."
I shot a look over to Mr. Collins. Anyone who ever had dealt with kids should be over the embarrassment factor for letting another know if the behavior wasn't up to par.
"If you're not comfortable," I said, "we can go back out to the hall." I ushered her back out. I turned to the class.
"Take off my ties," I told them, refering to the neckties all of them had borrowed from me. You see, it was red ribbon week, and Friday was tie day. The night before I'd stayed up late, rounding up all the ties in my apartment, to bring in and share with the kids.
I walked back out to the hall, and spoke with the woman for a few more minutes, trying to make sense of her story (later on to find out that our P.E. teacher had no problems when he was in the class either, leading the staff to believe that perhaps with woman just didn't know how to handle kids).
3:25
The minute the woman walked away (to go find the PE teacher to tear him up), I walked back into my classroom.
The sight I saw was unforgetable.
The kids were all shouting.
They were pointing.
They were dancing with horror!
To the side of my room stood Question Mark, his face blue, his hands frantically grabbing at his tie.
Question Mark..... was strangling himself with the tie, and didn't know how to get it off.
"Ahhhhh!" I screamed, running to him. I grabbed ahold of the knot, and pulled down.
It didn't take me long to realize that this boy couldn't breathe any longer, and that the knot wasn't coming out.
I drug him through the yelling mess of children to my desk.
I threw open the top drawer, and started pushing the clutter around, searching frantically. I finally found my large metal scissors, and opened them up.
SSSSSCHWING! The metal blades opened up in my right hand, while my left hand grabbed ahold of the tie.
"Mark!" I commanded. "DO NOT move!!!!"
He looked about ready to pass out. Maybe it was because of lack of oxygen. Maybe it was the sight of me with dangerous scissors.
The bell rang, signalling the end of the day, while I managed to wedge one metal black in between the purple neck and the tie.
I cut through the fabric.
My class burst into cheers.
I stared up at them.
"Get out of here! Go on!!!!" I shouted, not wanting them to be late for the buses (but moreso wanting them out so I could pass out).
All weekend, the final fifteen minute of my day on Friday have been stuck in my mind, replaying, reminding me of the messes I'll be coming back to Monday morning.
Moral of the story? - Teachers deserve better pay.
Sunday, October 29, 2006
Saturday, October 21, 2006
Merry Mel.... and a night long awaited.
When I first met Merry Mel...... I already had heard much about her.
Over the summer, the rumors had come to me via mobile phone-
1. There was a teacher that knows Cantankerous Connie coming to our school!
2. She's known throughout the county (and state, for that matter) as a being a teacher who knows how to pull her scores (which usually means that they teach to the test and manipulate children with fear)
3. Mr. Collins has been trying to get her to come to our school for years (which obviously means she's evil).
Which is why, then, I was so surprised when I met her.
The truth about Merry Mel is.... she's more "human" than half our staff put together. She's got a lot of problems, a lot of challenges, and she's got a lot of life experiences (not all successes) to speak of. Yet she enjoys throwing on a big smile and making light of all of it (I can relate).
The first few days back in Florida after my summer trip, we bonded at a time I needed someone to bond with (see my very first post in this blog regarding my coming out to my mother via voice mail). I found out that she was a horrible packrat, and her "plan to organize" her new classroom is about as off-the-wall as they come.
But I stayed with her, as she started putting together her classroom.
10 p.m. one night.
11 p.m. the next night.
12 a.m. our last night there.
I had no problem standing next to her throughout all of this. She was a friend whom I knew I could later count on.
But Mel, being the person she is, wanted to thank me in more ways than just saying it. So she went online and bought us tickets to see one of my favorite comedians, who was coming to a performing arts center just a half hour away!
For over two months we waited anxiously, and finally a week and a half ago, the two of us were drinking beers in front of the center (classy) one fine night.
We went up and took our seats, and finally Kathy came out and started up her routine.
As we listened to Kathy Griffin bash EVERYONE we laughed and laughed.
And laughed some more.
I laughed until I was almost crying. I admired how Kathy says everything we're all thinking, but too afraid to say. I enjoy her.
At the end of the night, we finished up by heading to Sonic, and eating ice cream and yammering on and on about this and that (which is what we do best), and laughing (which we do as equally well).
I truly believe that our night of laughter and fun happened for a reason. During my travels for my grandfather's funeral, I found myself looking back upon that carefree night, not even a week old, wishing I was back in the auditorium laughing with Mel.
It is nights like these that we should truly be experiencing more.
I vow to begin.
Over the summer, the rumors had come to me via mobile phone-
1. There was a teacher that knows Cantankerous Connie coming to our school!
2. She's known throughout the county (and state, for that matter) as a being a teacher who knows how to pull her scores (which usually means that they teach to the test and manipulate children with fear)
3. Mr. Collins has been trying to get her to come to our school for years (which obviously means she's evil).
Which is why, then, I was so surprised when I met her.
The truth about Merry Mel is.... she's more "human" than half our staff put together. She's got a lot of problems, a lot of challenges, and she's got a lot of life experiences (not all successes) to speak of. Yet she enjoys throwing on a big smile and making light of all of it (I can relate).
The first few days back in Florida after my summer trip, we bonded at a time I needed someone to bond with (see my very first post in this blog regarding my coming out to my mother via voice mail). I found out that she was a horrible packrat, and her "plan to organize" her new classroom is about as off-the-wall as they come.
But I stayed with her, as she started putting together her classroom.
10 p.m. one night.
11 p.m. the next night.
12 a.m. our last night there.
I had no problem standing next to her throughout all of this. She was a friend whom I knew I could later count on.
But Mel, being the person she is, wanted to thank me in more ways than just saying it. So she went online and bought us tickets to see one of my favorite comedians, who was coming to a performing arts center just a half hour away!
For over two months we waited anxiously, and finally a week and a half ago, the two of us were drinking beers in front of the center (classy) one fine night.
We went up and took our seats, and finally Kathy came out and started up her routine.
As we listened to Kathy Griffin bash EVERYONE we laughed and laughed.
And laughed some more.
I laughed until I was almost crying. I admired how Kathy says everything we're all thinking, but too afraid to say. I enjoy her.
At the end of the night, we finished up by heading to Sonic, and eating ice cream and yammering on and on about this and that (which is what we do best), and laughing (which we do as equally well).
I truly believe that our night of laughter and fun happened for a reason. During my travels for my grandfather's funeral, I found myself looking back upon that carefree night, not even a week old, wishing I was back in the auditorium laughing with Mel.
It is nights like these that we should truly be experiencing more.
I vow to begin.
Collins the Unforgiveable
These are my top ten recent reasons that Mr. Collins is an unforgivable human being.
1. Waking me up the day of my grandfather's funeral to get after me about not scheduling enough hours for my after-school Geography Club. Picture me laying on a futon in my parents' basement 2,000 miles away, four hours before a funeral.... waking up to a call from R. Nixon Elementary. Not cool.
2. Mr. Collins left me two other messages the day of the funeral. Lucky for him, I had no reception at the funeral, or my phone would've rang during it!
3. After the funeral, I worked on typing up my report cards so he could proofread the comments in time for Thursday, when I'd be sending them out. My mother pointed out that NO ONE should really feel like working on report cards the day of their grandfather's funeral.... (okay, so this was my choice, but bear with me, it gets good).
4. I called the school to see with Receptionist Rita if I could take Thursday off for personal time (on the beach) to mourn (get drunk) and have time to think (husband hunt). She said "no" in a certain tone. I asked her why the hell not. She let me know in her own discreet way that he was for some unknown reason mad at me.
5. On the day I arrive back from the funeral, Mr. Collins didn't say hello when I entered the office. Instead, he turned and walked back into his office.
6. I found out that while I was gone, he was so mad over my problem with the Geography Club, that he published and sent home the new school newsletter, announcing A DIFFERENT TEACHER AS THE COACH OF THE GEOGRAPHY CLUB!!!!! (COSTING ME THE 400 DOLLARS I WAS TO GET PAID FOR IT)
7. I then come to find out that he forwarded my emailed report cards to Bahamian Betty, my lead teacher, and said "I should not have to print these out. It's Mr. McManson's Responsibility." (WHAT???? I WAS AT A FUCKING FUNERAL 2000 MILES AWAY!) So then Bahamian Betty printed them out and took them to him.
8. Cantankerous Connie was at it again while I was gone..... emailing mean shit to Mr. Collins. In his usual poor taste, he forwarded an email written by Connie criticizing Bahamian Betty straight to Bahamian Betty!!!!!!
Asshole! Who forwards hateful emails to the people they were talking about? Betty was so upset!
9. When I scheduled a conference with Mr. Collins to "discuss a few matters," he sat down and kind of listened, but in no way, shape or form said "I'm sorry." In fact, he blatantly lied about Receptionist Rita's part in the Geography Club being taken away from me. I'm not stupid. I hope he one day realizes that he doesn't fool me.
10. I do not have a 10th reason quite right now. I'm sure that he's at home cooking it up right now. I'm picturing him running around in a bathrobe and slippers, laughing in manner of Fran Drescher, clapping evilly at his dark plots for next week.
I would slam my head against the wall until comatose, but I have a feeling that's his goal in the first place. Evil queen.
1. Waking me up the day of my grandfather's funeral to get after me about not scheduling enough hours for my after-school Geography Club. Picture me laying on a futon in my parents' basement 2,000 miles away, four hours before a funeral.... waking up to a call from R. Nixon Elementary. Not cool.
2. Mr. Collins left me two other messages the day of the funeral. Lucky for him, I had no reception at the funeral, or my phone would've rang during it!
3. After the funeral, I worked on typing up my report cards so he could proofread the comments in time for Thursday, when I'd be sending them out. My mother pointed out that NO ONE should really feel like working on report cards the day of their grandfather's funeral.... (okay, so this was my choice, but bear with me, it gets good).
4. I called the school to see with Receptionist Rita if I could take Thursday off for personal time (on the beach) to mourn (get drunk) and have time to think (husband hunt). She said "no" in a certain tone. I asked her why the hell not. She let me know in her own discreet way that he was for some unknown reason mad at me.
5. On the day I arrive back from the funeral, Mr. Collins didn't say hello when I entered the office. Instead, he turned and walked back into his office.
6. I found out that while I was gone, he was so mad over my problem with the Geography Club, that he published and sent home the new school newsletter, announcing A DIFFERENT TEACHER AS THE COACH OF THE GEOGRAPHY CLUB!!!!! (COSTING ME THE 400 DOLLARS I WAS TO GET PAID FOR IT)
7. I then come to find out that he forwarded my emailed report cards to Bahamian Betty, my lead teacher, and said "I should not have to print these out. It's Mr. McManson's Responsibility." (WHAT???? I WAS AT A FUCKING FUNERAL 2000 MILES AWAY!) So then Bahamian Betty printed them out and took them to him.
8. Cantankerous Connie was at it again while I was gone..... emailing mean shit to Mr. Collins. In his usual poor taste, he forwarded an email written by Connie criticizing Bahamian Betty straight to Bahamian Betty!!!!!!
Asshole! Who forwards hateful emails to the people they were talking about? Betty was so upset!
9. When I scheduled a conference with Mr. Collins to "discuss a few matters," he sat down and kind of listened, but in no way, shape or form said "I'm sorry." In fact, he blatantly lied about Receptionist Rita's part in the Geography Club being taken away from me. I'm not stupid. I hope he one day realizes that he doesn't fool me.
10. I do not have a 10th reason quite right now. I'm sure that he's at home cooking it up right now. I'm picturing him running around in a bathrobe and slippers, laughing in manner of Fran Drescher, clapping evilly at his dark plots for next week.
I would slam my head against the wall until comatose, but I have a feeling that's his goal in the first place. Evil queen.
Thursday, October 19, 2006
One Fine Week
Friday the Thirteenth, 5 a.m.... I was awoken by my mobile ringing from across the room. It was my father, wanting to let me know... my grandfather had just passed away.
Shelley saw me off on Saturday morning, picking me up at 5:30 and taking me to Whorelando International Airport. From there, I took a flight to Denver, Colorado, where I was picked up by my sister Mary. You see, my parents thought Mary could use some help getting her children up to North Dakota for the funeral. However, Mary didn't want to bring her twin two year old girls, so instead her, I, and my nephew piled into her minivan, and spent the day driving north.
On Sunday morning, I was awoken in my favorite way- by my niece of newphew running around upstairs in my parents' house. The day was "nice" by North Dakota standards- about 50 degrees.
My younger sister Abby had made some breakfast, and everyone was waking up and eating. It was the first time all four of my sisters and I have been home together in four years (at least). We all slowly got ready, and headed off for a 1 hour, 40 minute drive to my grandmother's house.
Grandma's large living room was now somewhat of a shrine to Grandpa's living memory. Pictures of him were up, and photo albums were on display, ready to be perused.
Grandma was doing her best to stay strong, and I tried to stay perky and upbeat for her (as well as my sisters and father). My cousins Ella and Ralph, as well as my aunt and uncle met us there, and we all spewed unimportant chatter until it was time to drive 40 more minutes to the funeral home.
The funeral home was like any funeral home- feeling of death and depression. We endured the family service as best we could. When my father stood up to talk, his voice cracked, and I lost it. There's something about hearing your own parent start to cry that rips up your entire emotional foundation. Shitty.
That night, I had a few drinks.
On Monday, I was awoken by a horrible phone call from Florida asking questions of Geography Club. Of all the things Mr. Collins has done, this has absolutely got to be the lowest. I cut the phone call short (and rude).
We left to the funeral. I rode with my mother, which was somewhat unnerving for me since this was the first time I'd seen her since I told her I was gay via voice mail. The ride went well, and the conversation was light and humerous. We were back to our old way of joking.
The funeral was what I expected. In an tiny old country church, on a hill overlooking the sloping fields around it- is where we said our final goodbyes to Grandpa. While the wasps and other bugs buzzed around the ceiling fans, a minister droned on, while I focused on the stained glass windows, trying not to take anything seriously (in fear of crying). I sat next to Abby (typical), and walked next to Abby (typical) and talked to Abby during the service a few times (very typical).
Outside, the pallbearers (my sisters and I, and two cousins) had to stand next to the casket and hold the flag as they gave Grandpa the 21 gun salute, and played taps. I tried to concentrate hard on Faith, for she would surely be the sister who wouldn't cry. But, as she cringed her face, and tears came down, I let myself go again, before we loaded Grandpa into his hearst. He was to be transported about 300 miles away to a medical school for observation.
As the people began filing back into the tiny church for a bit of a potluck lunch downstairs (five different versions of macaroni hotdish brought), my mom started shouting for us kids to come on- we'd be first through the line.
DeeAnn (oldest sister) looked at me. "Do you want to go for a walk with me?" she asked (probably wanting to sneak a much needed smoke."
"Yeah."
I motioned for my mom to stop yelling for us, and we started down the hill, away from the church. I was suprised to see my other sisters following.
So all together, under the crisp blue dakota sky, we crunched over the dead grass towards the graveyard- DeeAnn, Mary, Faith, Abby, and I... We ended up at my other grandfather's grave (Yes, my other grandfather.... my grandparents are neighbors). He was put six feet under while I was in Australia (if my calculations are correct... at his time of death I had just gotten out of a gay club, and was laughing it up, walking to the house of a cute Australian who playfully enjoyed calling me "Chip").
We commented on Grandpa's tombstone, which also had my grandmother's name on it (she's still alive).
"Um..... why is her name on it?" I asked.
"I don't know," laughed DeeAnn. "I think it's sick."
We laughed, as I pointed out that if Grandma gets remarried, we'll have to get an adjoining headstone for her other side, so the three of them can share one.
After the laughter, we turned and walked down the hill some more, to where many "McManson" tombstones were sticking out of the ground. We saw my dead aunt's tombstone, and were shown where my grandfather was to be buried. From his view.... he could see for miles and miles (at least 10), all the way down the sloping fields to the lake.
As we walked back through the graveyard towards the church on the hill, an important, yet messy sense of life and death hung in the air around us.
I think the time in the graveyard with my sisters was probably one of the most surreal experiences I've had.... and I don't know why... perhaps it's probably where I'll be shoved in the ground one day.
That night, as we got drunk and I clicked away on my laptop, filling out my report cards for the facist Collins, we had birthday parties for my niece and nephew. We were all trying to forget what had happened, I'm sure. Mary had a hard time with this, and ended up down in her room for a while. I continued to drink. To each his own.
Tuesday morning a snow storm hit. The temperature was in the twenties, and Mary was impatient to leave. So her, I, and her son got into her van, and we made a 16 hour journey back to Colorado, stopping off to visit our grandmothers, before continuing on. We arrived at 3:30 in the morning at her house, to go to bed for two hours.
Wednesday morning, I bundled back up (compared to Florida weather, it's unliveable), and got back into the van, to drive an hour to the airport.
When I arrived back in Whorelando, Sunflower, Shelley's metrohippie aunt picked me up, and I was greeted by 85 degree weather.
Today, as I go to bed, I reflect on the past week. I think about Grandpa stealing vans, graveyards, seeing my breath in the air, drinks with my brother-in-law, dead leaves on the ground, shovel-fulls of dirt, and funeral homes.
I don't know how else to say this.... but it all makes most of my problems seem a little less important.
And that's all I have to say about this fine week.
Shelley saw me off on Saturday morning, picking me up at 5:30 and taking me to Whorelando International Airport. From there, I took a flight to Denver, Colorado, where I was picked up by my sister Mary. You see, my parents thought Mary could use some help getting her children up to North Dakota for the funeral. However, Mary didn't want to bring her twin two year old girls, so instead her, I, and my nephew piled into her minivan, and spent the day driving north.
On Sunday morning, I was awoken in my favorite way- by my niece of newphew running around upstairs in my parents' house. The day was "nice" by North Dakota standards- about 50 degrees.
My younger sister Abby had made some breakfast, and everyone was waking up and eating. It was the first time all four of my sisters and I have been home together in four years (at least). We all slowly got ready, and headed off for a 1 hour, 40 minute drive to my grandmother's house.
Grandma's large living room was now somewhat of a shrine to Grandpa's living memory. Pictures of him were up, and photo albums were on display, ready to be perused.
Grandma was doing her best to stay strong, and I tried to stay perky and upbeat for her (as well as my sisters and father). My cousins Ella and Ralph, as well as my aunt and uncle met us there, and we all spewed unimportant chatter until it was time to drive 40 more minutes to the funeral home.
The funeral home was like any funeral home- feeling of death and depression. We endured the family service as best we could. When my father stood up to talk, his voice cracked, and I lost it. There's something about hearing your own parent start to cry that rips up your entire emotional foundation. Shitty.
That night, I had a few drinks.
On Monday, I was awoken by a horrible phone call from Florida asking questions of Geography Club. Of all the things Mr. Collins has done, this has absolutely got to be the lowest. I cut the phone call short (and rude).
We left to the funeral. I rode with my mother, which was somewhat unnerving for me since this was the first time I'd seen her since I told her I was gay via voice mail. The ride went well, and the conversation was light and humerous. We were back to our old way of joking.
The funeral was what I expected. In an tiny old country church, on a hill overlooking the sloping fields around it- is where we said our final goodbyes to Grandpa. While the wasps and other bugs buzzed around the ceiling fans, a minister droned on, while I focused on the stained glass windows, trying not to take anything seriously (in fear of crying). I sat next to Abby (typical), and walked next to Abby (typical) and talked to Abby during the service a few times (very typical).
Outside, the pallbearers (my sisters and I, and two cousins) had to stand next to the casket and hold the flag as they gave Grandpa the 21 gun salute, and played taps. I tried to concentrate hard on Faith, for she would surely be the sister who wouldn't cry. But, as she cringed her face, and tears came down, I let myself go again, before we loaded Grandpa into his hearst. He was to be transported about 300 miles away to a medical school for observation.
As the people began filing back into the tiny church for a bit of a potluck lunch downstairs (five different versions of macaroni hotdish brought), my mom started shouting for us kids to come on- we'd be first through the line.
DeeAnn (oldest sister) looked at me. "Do you want to go for a walk with me?" she asked (probably wanting to sneak a much needed smoke."
"Yeah."
I motioned for my mom to stop yelling for us, and we started down the hill, away from the church. I was suprised to see my other sisters following.
So all together, under the crisp blue dakota sky, we crunched over the dead grass towards the graveyard- DeeAnn, Mary, Faith, Abby, and I... We ended up at my other grandfather's grave (Yes, my other grandfather.... my grandparents are neighbors). He was put six feet under while I was in Australia (if my calculations are correct... at his time of death I had just gotten out of a gay club, and was laughing it up, walking to the house of a cute Australian who playfully enjoyed calling me "Chip").
We commented on Grandpa's tombstone, which also had my grandmother's name on it (she's still alive).
"Um..... why is her name on it?" I asked.
"I don't know," laughed DeeAnn. "I think it's sick."
We laughed, as I pointed out that if Grandma gets remarried, we'll have to get an adjoining headstone for her other side, so the three of them can share one.
After the laughter, we turned and walked down the hill some more, to where many "McManson" tombstones were sticking out of the ground. We saw my dead aunt's tombstone, and were shown where my grandfather was to be buried. From his view.... he could see for miles and miles (at least 10), all the way down the sloping fields to the lake.
As we walked back through the graveyard towards the church on the hill, an important, yet messy sense of life and death hung in the air around us.
I think the time in the graveyard with my sisters was probably one of the most surreal experiences I've had.... and I don't know why... perhaps it's probably where I'll be shoved in the ground one day.
That night, as we got drunk and I clicked away on my laptop, filling out my report cards for the facist Collins, we had birthday parties for my niece and nephew. We were all trying to forget what had happened, I'm sure. Mary had a hard time with this, and ended up down in her room for a while. I continued to drink. To each his own.
Tuesday morning a snow storm hit. The temperature was in the twenties, and Mary was impatient to leave. So her, I, and her son got into her van, and we made a 16 hour journey back to Colorado, stopping off to visit our grandmothers, before continuing on. We arrived at 3:30 in the morning at her house, to go to bed for two hours.
Wednesday morning, I bundled back up (compared to Florida weather, it's unliveable), and got back into the van, to drive an hour to the airport.
When I arrived back in Whorelando, Sunflower, Shelley's metrohippie aunt picked me up, and I was greeted by 85 degree weather.
Today, as I go to bed, I reflect on the past week. I think about Grandpa stealing vans, graveyards, seeing my breath in the air, drinks with my brother-in-law, dead leaves on the ground, shovel-fulls of dirt, and funeral homes.
I don't know how else to say this.... but it all makes most of my problems seem a little less important.
And that's all I have to say about this fine week.
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
My Choice and the Cheater
(disclaimer: This entry has gay drama in it. I am in no way, shape or form responsible for you deciding to read all of its gay ridiculous-ness... or how very long it is. Read at your own risk)
"Vodka and pineapple, please."
"Coming up... oh, single or double?"
"Hmmm," I said, scanning the dance floor packed with boy-crazy fags. "Better make it a double. I'm running low."
"I hear you," the bartender (dressed in a ridiculous Halloween costume) agreed.
'What the hell am I doing here?' I wondered, playing with a napkin someone left on the counter. 'I don't belong here. They're all crazy, and drunk.... I'm never going to find a husband by May.'
My thoughts traveled back to my call from my parents earlier, concerning my grandfather's great escape. I knew what he felt like. Right then, I was pretty sure I wanted to escape as well. Whorelando just doesn't have the right guys for me. I glanced across the bar, at a creepy darker man staring intently at me. I smiled politely (as I do), and turned away a bit, refocusing on the napkin.
It was then that an arm came around me, and pulled me back against a body. Another muscular arm came around me, and grabbed ahold of one of four shots that was poured a minute earlier, sitting about a foot from my elbow. The hand brought the shot glass up to my mouth, and a voice whispered against my ear... "Drink."
Now.... some boys might be nervous about taking drinks from strangers. Not I.
I tipped my head back, mouth open, and let the shot pour down my throat.
I turned to find out who my new friend was.
Oh holy god.
Before me stood a beautiful specimen of a man.... a man Shelley and I had been admiring about 5 hours earlier when we'd come in for happy hour.
"Hey!" I said smiling. I glanced around, noticing how many jealous queens were staring at me and him now.
"Hi, baby," he grinned.
"You're that dancer," I said. "That guy from earlier. You were teaching those people some moves that they were supposed to perform tonight over at the stage, right?"
"Where's your girlfriend at?"
"Oh... my girlfriend? Oh.. that's Shelley. She's not my girlfriend."
He smiled wider.
"I didn't know you'd seen us," I admitted.
"Well, I did. And I was so interested in finding out who this little cutey is, I even talked to the bartender to find out more about he," he told me. "He said he thought you two were planning on coming back for the show."
"We were."
"I didn't see you in the audience."
"Well... we planned to come back. But then her and her boyfriend were tired so I came out husb- I mean... I came out for a drink or two by myself." (Grr.... that was close.... rule one of husband-hunting- one must never know you are actually hunting him for a husband!!!)
"Well aren't.... I.... lucky?" he sneered, moving closer to me.
An hour and a half later, I was driving to this dancer's house to hang out with him there. He seemed all right to me... maybe a little full of himself. But he had a nice smile, and a good body, and he showed good judgement by picking me! Ta da!
However, I got lost (as I do) and called him.
His phone rang and rang.
He didn't pick up.
I called again.
Still no pick-up.
I sat the phone down, and pulled over. I didn't know if I was really going in the right direction. Now why would he shut his phone in his car off??????
My phone rang, and it was him.
"Sorry," he said. "I was talking to my ex."
"Oh."
"What were you calling for?"
"I forgot your directions."
About five minutes later, I pulled into his apartment complex, and called him.
"Hey," I said. "I just need to know what building is-"
"Hold on," he interrupted. "My ex is calling. Call you right back."
He hung up.
I parked my car, and sat in it for a while. "Now what the hell?" I asked myself. "Who does that? Who would rather talk to their ex than the boy that's there right now?"
I sat for a few minutes, and then decided to go home. As I was starting my car, the phone rang.
It was Nelson Rader.
"Nelson?" I answered (a little angry, considering he never called me the night before, after Shelley and John and I had even went in to see him at work).
"Um, hey," Nelson said coyly (I'm guessing he knew that he really fucked up). "I was wondering if you were still out tonight. You could come over and hang out."
"Well, I'd have to- oh, hold on!" my phone beeped, and on the caller id came up the dancer's name.
Ohhhhh... decision.
Go to Nelson's (who stood me up again last night), or stay here at dancer's (who keeps rather talking to ex-boyfriend than me)?????
After careful consideration, I realized that I've given Nelson a few chances. The new dancer? None.
"Nelson," I said firmly. "I cannot come over. I'll call you tomorrow (that actually wouldn't happen, due to the car accident Shelley, John, and I got into the next day)." And with that, I dismissed Nelson. Fuck him. Fuck stupid Nelson. Nelson didn't call me last night, so fuck stupid fucking Nelson. And with that, my decision was made.
So after an hour at the dancer's house, I was sure I'd done the right thing. As we lay next to each other, I smiled out the window, knowing that perhaps this time I'd gotten it right. I congratulated myself on taking chances, on not relying on Nelson to always be there to pick up the pieces when another guy starts to go wrong. Yes, I must be learning. I must be growing as a gay man. I'm obviously expanding myself, and taking enough chances so that soon I will be husband material, and I will find a good-
"Matty?" he interrupted my thoughts.
I turned to him. "Yes?"
"I'm not looking for a relationship."
I admired his honesty. "O.K." I shrugged.
"That's because... um..... when I was talking to my ex-boyfriend on the phone....we got back together."
HMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM??????
I stared at him. He got back together with his ex-boyfriend, and then still had me in? Ummmmmmmmm......
"O.K." I managed to say.
"And uh... um.... I'd appreciate it if uh... if you see us out.... I'd really like it if you just sort of.... pretended this never happened."
At that moment, I felt a funny feeling. My eyes tightened. I could practically feel them darken. Merry Mel calls them "Manson eyes." I glowered at him. I began laughing.
He stared at me laughing, in bewilderment.
"Listen," I said. "I don't think... that I will have any problem.... forgetting... about.... you." My voice was threatening as I ended my sentence. I continued to smile at him.
And with that...... (let's call him Cheating Chad) Chad's face dropped, as if he'd been slapped.
I got up out of bed.
"Matty?" he said. "Um.... where are you going?"
I was picking up my clothes, ignoring him, still laughing. "I'm going to my friends' place."
"You're leaving?"
"Yes."
"Well, uh... you could stay."
"Naaa."
He stared at me... as if to suddenly realize that he perhaps was not God's gift to gays.... and that perhaps there was a boy strong enough not to care if he was rejected.
"I mean... really, you can stay here."
"But I don't want to," I explained to him, shaking my head. "I want to go to my friends' house and visit them. They're fun, and tomorrow we'll eat breakfast and laugh a lot."
He continued to look at me... getting a little desperate.
"I hope I see you again," he said.
"Oh?"
"Yes."
By this time, I was dressed, and heading through the living room to the door.
"Did you get everything?"
"Yes."
"Matty," he said, passing me and putting his hand on the door. "Listen, I've really enjoyed you. And I hope I do see you again."
I stared into his eyes. It was amazing.... how quickly one can tumble when they realize they are not all that wanted.
"And I hope," I said honestly, "that everything works out well..... for your ex." I pulled open the door, and marched out.
As I drove away, he was still standing on his belcony staring at me.
The funny thing about people is the way they don't want something (or someone), unless they're told they can't have it. Before I told him that I'd have no problem getting over him, he was acting as if I should be thankful I'm with him. But after I so simply expressed my indifference.... he had a whole new attitude, one that really wanted to keep me there, and later see me.
People always want what they cannot have.
Of course.... I also know this feeling all too well.
I felt it as I called up Nelson, and the phone rang and rang. He never picked up.
"Vodka and pineapple, please."
"Coming up... oh, single or double?"
"Hmmm," I said, scanning the dance floor packed with boy-crazy fags. "Better make it a double. I'm running low."
"I hear you," the bartender (dressed in a ridiculous Halloween costume) agreed.
'What the hell am I doing here?' I wondered, playing with a napkin someone left on the counter. 'I don't belong here. They're all crazy, and drunk.... I'm never going to find a husband by May.'
My thoughts traveled back to my call from my parents earlier, concerning my grandfather's great escape. I knew what he felt like. Right then, I was pretty sure I wanted to escape as well. Whorelando just doesn't have the right guys for me. I glanced across the bar, at a creepy darker man staring intently at me. I smiled politely (as I do), and turned away a bit, refocusing on the napkin.
It was then that an arm came around me, and pulled me back against a body. Another muscular arm came around me, and grabbed ahold of one of four shots that was poured a minute earlier, sitting about a foot from my elbow. The hand brought the shot glass up to my mouth, and a voice whispered against my ear... "Drink."
Now.... some boys might be nervous about taking drinks from strangers. Not I.
I tipped my head back, mouth open, and let the shot pour down my throat.
I turned to find out who my new friend was.
Oh holy god.
Before me stood a beautiful specimen of a man.... a man Shelley and I had been admiring about 5 hours earlier when we'd come in for happy hour.
"Hey!" I said smiling. I glanced around, noticing how many jealous queens were staring at me and him now.
"Hi, baby," he grinned.
"You're that dancer," I said. "That guy from earlier. You were teaching those people some moves that they were supposed to perform tonight over at the stage, right?"
"Where's your girlfriend at?"
"Oh... my girlfriend? Oh.. that's Shelley. She's not my girlfriend."
He smiled wider.
"I didn't know you'd seen us," I admitted.
"Well, I did. And I was so interested in finding out who this little cutey is, I even talked to the bartender to find out more about he," he told me. "He said he thought you two were planning on coming back for the show."
"We were."
"I didn't see you in the audience."
"Well... we planned to come back. But then her and her boyfriend were tired so I came out husb- I mean... I came out for a drink or two by myself." (Grr.... that was close.... rule one of husband-hunting- one must never know you are actually hunting him for a husband!!!)
"Well aren't.... I.... lucky?" he sneered, moving closer to me.
An hour and a half later, I was driving to this dancer's house to hang out with him there. He seemed all right to me... maybe a little full of himself. But he had a nice smile, and a good body, and he showed good judgement by picking me! Ta da!
However, I got lost (as I do) and called him.
His phone rang and rang.
He didn't pick up.
I called again.
Still no pick-up.
I sat the phone down, and pulled over. I didn't know if I was really going in the right direction. Now why would he shut his phone in his car off??????
My phone rang, and it was him.
"Sorry," he said. "I was talking to my ex."
"Oh."
"What were you calling for?"
"I forgot your directions."
About five minutes later, I pulled into his apartment complex, and called him.
"Hey," I said. "I just need to know what building is-"
"Hold on," he interrupted. "My ex is calling. Call you right back."
He hung up.
I parked my car, and sat in it for a while. "Now what the hell?" I asked myself. "Who does that? Who would rather talk to their ex than the boy that's there right now?"
I sat for a few minutes, and then decided to go home. As I was starting my car, the phone rang.
It was Nelson Rader.
"Nelson?" I answered (a little angry, considering he never called me the night before, after Shelley and John and I had even went in to see him at work).
"Um, hey," Nelson said coyly (I'm guessing he knew that he really fucked up). "I was wondering if you were still out tonight. You could come over and hang out."
"Well, I'd have to- oh, hold on!" my phone beeped, and on the caller id came up the dancer's name.
Ohhhhh... decision.
Go to Nelson's (who stood me up again last night), or stay here at dancer's (who keeps rather talking to ex-boyfriend than me)?????
After careful consideration, I realized that I've given Nelson a few chances. The new dancer? None.
"Nelson," I said firmly. "I cannot come over. I'll call you tomorrow (that actually wouldn't happen, due to the car accident Shelley, John, and I got into the next day)." And with that, I dismissed Nelson. Fuck him. Fuck stupid Nelson. Nelson didn't call me last night, so fuck stupid fucking Nelson. And with that, my decision was made.
So after an hour at the dancer's house, I was sure I'd done the right thing. As we lay next to each other, I smiled out the window, knowing that perhaps this time I'd gotten it right. I congratulated myself on taking chances, on not relying on Nelson to always be there to pick up the pieces when another guy starts to go wrong. Yes, I must be learning. I must be growing as a gay man. I'm obviously expanding myself, and taking enough chances so that soon I will be husband material, and I will find a good-
"Matty?" he interrupted my thoughts.
I turned to him. "Yes?"
"I'm not looking for a relationship."
I admired his honesty. "O.K." I shrugged.
"That's because... um..... when I was talking to my ex-boyfriend on the phone....we got back together."
HMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM??????
I stared at him. He got back together with his ex-boyfriend, and then still had me in? Ummmmmmmmm......
"O.K." I managed to say.
"And uh... um.... I'd appreciate it if uh... if you see us out.... I'd really like it if you just sort of.... pretended this never happened."
At that moment, I felt a funny feeling. My eyes tightened. I could practically feel them darken. Merry Mel calls them "Manson eyes." I glowered at him. I began laughing.
He stared at me laughing, in bewilderment.
"Listen," I said. "I don't think... that I will have any problem.... forgetting... about.... you." My voice was threatening as I ended my sentence. I continued to smile at him.
And with that...... (let's call him Cheating Chad) Chad's face dropped, as if he'd been slapped.
I got up out of bed.
"Matty?" he said. "Um.... where are you going?"
I was picking up my clothes, ignoring him, still laughing. "I'm going to my friends' place."
"You're leaving?"
"Yes."
"Well, uh... you could stay."
"Naaa."
He stared at me... as if to suddenly realize that he perhaps was not God's gift to gays.... and that perhaps there was a boy strong enough not to care if he was rejected.
"I mean... really, you can stay here."
"But I don't want to," I explained to him, shaking my head. "I want to go to my friends' house and visit them. They're fun, and tomorrow we'll eat breakfast and laugh a lot."
He continued to look at me... getting a little desperate.
"I hope I see you again," he said.
"Oh?"
"Yes."
By this time, I was dressed, and heading through the living room to the door.
"Did you get everything?"
"Yes."
"Matty," he said, passing me and putting his hand on the door. "Listen, I've really enjoyed you. And I hope I do see you again."
I stared into his eyes. It was amazing.... how quickly one can tumble when they realize they are not all that wanted.
"And I hope," I said honestly, "that everything works out well..... for your ex." I pulled open the door, and marched out.
As I drove away, he was still standing on his belcony staring at me.
The funny thing about people is the way they don't want something (or someone), unless they're told they can't have it. Before I told him that I'd have no problem getting over him, he was acting as if I should be thankful I'm with him. But after I so simply expressed my indifference.... he had a whole new attitude, one that really wanted to keep me there, and later see me.
People always want what they cannot have.
Of course.... I also know this feeling all too well.
I felt it as I called up Nelson, and the phone rang and rang. He never picked up.
Sunday, October 08, 2006
Grandpa McManson's Great Escape
Who ever said that age needs to change you? There are some elderly people who actually refuse to go into resting as they pack on the years.
Take my grandfather for instance. Just two weeks ago, he was admitted into a nursing home. But apparently, this hasn't quite slowed him down (as we were hoping it would).
While I was heading out husband-hunting Saturday night, ready for action, he was getting pretty active himself back in North Dakota.
Here's a quick rundown of what he did:
1. Got ahold of some nursing home keys
2. Broke out of the nursing home
3. Went to the nursing home's garage
4. Used one of the stolen keys to start up an 11 passenger van.
5. Put the van in forward, smashing some stuff up in the garage.
6. Put the van in reverse, blasting himself through the garage door (he failed to open it)
7. Hit two parked cards in the parking lot (presumably still in reverse)
8. Headed towards "home," executing his escape path with no lights on
9. Totalled the getaway van by running into various shit (refer back to number 8)
10. Ended up being apprehended in someone's yard 30 miles Northeast of the Watsonville Nursing Home, where his escape began
11. We're awaiting his fate- he's not allowed back into the nursing home (obviously), and do not know where to put him. Could a psych ward be next?
"What?" I shouted into the phone, switching lanes on the freeway in Whorelando, heading to club #2 of the husband-hunting night. My mind was spinning with what I was being told over my mobile. The palm trees and lit up skyscrapers of downtown seemed to be swirling around me as I tried to pull myself out of shock.
"Yes, well...." Dad continued. "We doubt they'll charge him with Grand Theft Auto."
"Could they really do that?"
"I don't know. It's kind of what he did."
"Ahhhh," I said, shaking my head. "That's nuts... they're the ones that didn't hide their keys well enough."
"Well, look on the bright side," Dad started laughing. "Your grandfather seems to be doing much better. He's starting to act like himself again."
God help us.
Take my grandfather for instance. Just two weeks ago, he was admitted into a nursing home. But apparently, this hasn't quite slowed him down (as we were hoping it would).
While I was heading out husband-hunting Saturday night, ready for action, he was getting pretty active himself back in North Dakota.
Here's a quick rundown of what he did:
1. Got ahold of some nursing home keys
2. Broke out of the nursing home
3. Went to the nursing home's garage
4. Used one of the stolen keys to start up an 11 passenger van.
5. Put the van in forward, smashing some stuff up in the garage.
6. Put the van in reverse, blasting himself through the garage door (he failed to open it)
7. Hit two parked cards in the parking lot (presumably still in reverse)
8. Headed towards "home," executing his escape path with no lights on
9. Totalled the getaway van by running into various shit (refer back to number 8)
10. Ended up being apprehended in someone's yard 30 miles Northeast of the Watsonville Nursing Home, where his escape began
11. We're awaiting his fate- he's not allowed back into the nursing home (obviously), and do not know where to put him. Could a psych ward be next?
"What?" I shouted into the phone, switching lanes on the freeway in Whorelando, heading to club #2 of the husband-hunting night. My mind was spinning with what I was being told over my mobile. The palm trees and lit up skyscrapers of downtown seemed to be swirling around me as I tried to pull myself out of shock.
"Yes, well...." Dad continued. "We doubt they'll charge him with Grand Theft Auto."
"Could they really do that?"
"I don't know. It's kind of what he did."
"Ahhhh," I said, shaking my head. "That's nuts... they're the ones that didn't hide their keys well enough."
"Well, look on the bright side," Dad started laughing. "Your grandfather seems to be doing much better. He's starting to act like himself again."
God help us.
Thursday, October 05, 2006
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
It is a little known fact amongst teachers- to survive some students in your class, you may have to look very deep for something you like in them.
Since the day Mouse Linen entered my classroom, I have looked high and low for a sign of like-ability in him. It's been quite a search....
While I have written notes on the board, Mouse has entertained himself by jumping up and down in his chair, squeaking.
While I have demonstrated science experiments, Mouse has jumped out of his chair and spun around in circles for no apparent reason.
While I have led the class down the hall in lines, Mouse has walked in circles, all the while pretending his hands are little puppets and making them talk to one another in annoyingly high voices.
It was Merry Mel the other week who suggested Mouse be taken out of his group and instead placed by himself (as sort of a motivation/punishment). The point was to get him to want to sit with his peers, therefore forcing him to re-evaluate his behavior to win the priveledge back. Defying all logic, Mouse decided he likes his own little corner of the room, and since I moved him there, I was pleased that he had sort of fallen out of my stream of consciousness during the day.
This week, a new student arrived to R. Nixon Elementary. With him he brings over-emotional behavior, brat-ish tendancies, and a general lack of mathematical knowledge. To cope with this new student, I pulled him to my back table to work with him one-on-one with regrouping across zeros in subtraction. After about six problems, he grasped it.
"Pardon me, class," I announced, turning back to the class, smiling widely to show this new student how proud I was of him. "Everyone get ready to give some snaps!"
My class sat up with anticipation, ready to snap for who-ever this deserving individual was.
"After only about fifteen minutes of work, I'm proud to say that Unruly Ulrich here has gotten himself all caught up with our chapter in Math! He just understood his regrouping across zeros... and he's never done it before!"
My class is generous with their snaps. The snapped and snapped, and snapped some more. He beamed. I sent Ulrich back to his desk to work independently.
As I picked up my scratch paper, and dusted off the table, I glanced around at my students, smiling. They were all working hard, smiling for Ulrich. Everyone was on task.
That is, except for one.
'Mouse!!' I thought angrily.
He had his back turned to the class, facing the wall. I imagined a crayon in his hand, or worse.
I threw the paper into the recycling bin, and started over towards him.
'Damnit, it looks like he hasn't even touched his paper yet. I bet he's been messing around this whole time!!!!'
"Mouse!" I said bruskely. He jumped and turned towards me.
I froze. Down were streaming down Mouse's face. He looked up at me helplessly. I immediately knew what this must be about- someone must have hit him in recess again. He's small in size, and annoying- a poor mixture on the playground. He's like a walking punching bag.
"What's the matter?" I asked.
He was crying too hard to speak. I let him compose himself for a few moments.
"Listen," I whispered, down on his level. "Are you having problems with someone at recess?"
He shook his head.
"Did someone say something mean to you?"
He shook his head again.
"Oh," I said, thinking about a recent death his family had experienced. "Are you sad about something at home."
He surprised me, by shaking his head again.
"Well... why are you crying then?" I asked, truly confused.
"I'm crying," Mouse explained through gasps of breath, "because Ulrich already got how to regroup across zeros. He just got here today! I've been trying to regroup across zeros for a week now, and still can't get it right!"
I was shocked. "Why didn't you come talk to me about it?"
He wiped his eyes off, sniffed, and stared up at me with big mousy eyes. "I didn't want to upset you, Mr. Manson."
It was at that moment, that I realized a few things. A- Since Mouse's move, I hadn't spoken about behavior to him once. He had completely turned over a new leaf. B- His grades had gone up- not that I'd noticed good grades, but because I hadn't noticed bad ones. and C- I had never congratulated him on either feat- because I'd forgotten about him over in his corner, and was enjoying the silence.
I felt my insides melt. I had finally, realized just how much I like Mouse. I never saw it before- but he truly did want to be a good student. He also didn't want to upset me any longer. For the next fifteen minutes, Mouse and I sat at the back table working on regrouping across zeros. By the time he'd gotten it, I vowed never to forget about him in his corner again.
Yes, it's important for every teacher to find something to like about every one of their students.
It's just as important, however, to be persistent until they find that one thing.
You never know who may be brushed to the side, crying and unnoticed.
Since the day Mouse Linen entered my classroom, I have looked high and low for a sign of like-ability in him. It's been quite a search....
While I have written notes on the board, Mouse has entertained himself by jumping up and down in his chair, squeaking.
While I have demonstrated science experiments, Mouse has jumped out of his chair and spun around in circles for no apparent reason.
While I have led the class down the hall in lines, Mouse has walked in circles, all the while pretending his hands are little puppets and making them talk to one another in annoyingly high voices.
It was Merry Mel the other week who suggested Mouse be taken out of his group and instead placed by himself (as sort of a motivation/punishment). The point was to get him to want to sit with his peers, therefore forcing him to re-evaluate his behavior to win the priveledge back. Defying all logic, Mouse decided he likes his own little corner of the room, and since I moved him there, I was pleased that he had sort of fallen out of my stream of consciousness during the day.
This week, a new student arrived to R. Nixon Elementary. With him he brings over-emotional behavior, brat-ish tendancies, and a general lack of mathematical knowledge. To cope with this new student, I pulled him to my back table to work with him one-on-one with regrouping across zeros in subtraction. After about six problems, he grasped it.
"Pardon me, class," I announced, turning back to the class, smiling widely to show this new student how proud I was of him. "Everyone get ready to give some snaps!"
My class sat up with anticipation, ready to snap for who-ever this deserving individual was.
"After only about fifteen minutes of work, I'm proud to say that Unruly Ulrich here has gotten himself all caught up with our chapter in Math! He just understood his regrouping across zeros... and he's never done it before!"
My class is generous with their snaps. The snapped and snapped, and snapped some more. He beamed. I sent Ulrich back to his desk to work independently.
As I picked up my scratch paper, and dusted off the table, I glanced around at my students, smiling. They were all working hard, smiling for Ulrich. Everyone was on task.
That is, except for one.
'Mouse!!' I thought angrily.
He had his back turned to the class, facing the wall. I imagined a crayon in his hand, or worse.
I threw the paper into the recycling bin, and started over towards him.
'Damnit, it looks like he hasn't even touched his paper yet. I bet he's been messing around this whole time!!!!'
"Mouse!" I said bruskely. He jumped and turned towards me.
I froze. Down were streaming down Mouse's face. He looked up at me helplessly. I immediately knew what this must be about- someone must have hit him in recess again. He's small in size, and annoying- a poor mixture on the playground. He's like a walking punching bag.
"What's the matter?" I asked.
He was crying too hard to speak. I let him compose himself for a few moments.
"Listen," I whispered, down on his level. "Are you having problems with someone at recess?"
He shook his head.
"Did someone say something mean to you?"
He shook his head again.
"Oh," I said, thinking about a recent death his family had experienced. "Are you sad about something at home."
He surprised me, by shaking his head again.
"Well... why are you crying then?" I asked, truly confused.
"I'm crying," Mouse explained through gasps of breath, "because Ulrich already got how to regroup across zeros. He just got here today! I've been trying to regroup across zeros for a week now, and still can't get it right!"
I was shocked. "Why didn't you come talk to me about it?"
He wiped his eyes off, sniffed, and stared up at me with big mousy eyes. "I didn't want to upset you, Mr. Manson."
It was at that moment, that I realized a few things. A- Since Mouse's move, I hadn't spoken about behavior to him once. He had completely turned over a new leaf. B- His grades had gone up- not that I'd noticed good grades, but because I hadn't noticed bad ones. and C- I had never congratulated him on either feat- because I'd forgotten about him over in his corner, and was enjoying the silence.
I felt my insides melt. I had finally, realized just how much I like Mouse. I never saw it before- but he truly did want to be a good student. He also didn't want to upset me any longer. For the next fifteen minutes, Mouse and I sat at the back table working on regrouping across zeros. By the time he'd gotten it, I vowed never to forget about him in his corner again.
Yes, it's important for every teacher to find something to like about every one of their students.
It's just as important, however, to be persistent until they find that one thing.
You never know who may be brushed to the side, crying and unnoticed.
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