This was the title of an e-mail from my mom to me that included this clip.
My response: “OMG. Just, OMG.”
One of the great things about teaching high schoolers is that you never have any pretensions about being cool. Being a TV personality, unfortunately, doesn’t come with that particular perk.
I know I should be bitter. Baltimore County closed schools today; our term ended on Friday. Instead, though, I am so grateful:
1) Exams are over, and except for one batch of essays, I am completely caught up with grading.
2) The principal gave us each a generous gift and a box of Rhebs chocolate, along with her heartfelt thanks for all that we do.
3) I got all my baking, laundry and accounting done in two glorious days of being snowed in.
4) The cat has finally accepted that for once, she is not interested in being outside.
Yesterday I had one of those days when teaching is the best job in the world:
1. A little girl was too zonked to come to piano, so her mother took her spot. Alyson has been having difficulty with practicing, so I took some of the pressure off a few weeks ago by allowing her to “quit,” on the condition that she would “help teach her mom” how to play what she knew already. This clever ploy enabled us to monitor her progress in the hope that she’d eventually want to return to her own lesson.
Her mother and I worked together on a piece she and her daughter are studying. I mentioned that I’d noticed Alyson paying much closer attention to her mother’s playing than she ever did to her own. “She is a very good teacher,” her mom said, “Very gentle. She learned that from you; I can tell. She won’t even say anything, just tap the finger I need to play — the way you do. And she’s very encouraging; both of my daughters are.” (Her other daughter, Charissa, has been studying with me for years — long enough to know my foibles.) I tried to deflect some of this praise, but she was persistent. “I’m so glad my daughters have a positive role model to imitate — someone I want them to be like. When I see your influence over them, I’m glad.”
2. Kari has always had trouble listening and matching pitch when it comes to vocalization. But I was shocked to see that our weeks of practice last semester had paid off: after just a few minutes, she was able to sing along with me and even remembered the names and signs of the notes. Her mother glowed. “Kari sings all the time now, around the house. She never used to, but I think she has more confidence because she knows she can sing with you.”
3. I know I shouldn’t have favorites, but really, this little boy and his father are a blessing. They love music and practice regularly; they arrive and pay on time; they never make excuses. At the end of the lesson, they thank me profusely and exit without tracking mud onto my carpet or leaving a pile of toys or Cheerio crumbs for me to clean up. They leave me smiling.
End-of-semester crunch: I’m finishing up my final project for my grad course, a unit plan for Their Eyes Were Watching God. In doing some research, I happened upon Tommy Markham’s homepage (warning: my father is probably the only person alive who will LIKE the music that plays automatically on loading.) He’s an amateur historian who sells a DVD of photos, videos and oral accounts of the 1926 hurricane near Lake Okeechobee, which is the climatic event of the novel.
I e-mailed him to ask about shipping costs, but when he learned I was a teacher, he offered to send me a free copy. It’s so humbling when someone decides you deserve respect, or maybe just a break, solely based on your chosen profession. A great honor and a great responsibility.
And then, behold, the fool receiveth her parent conference schedule and doth discover that it is utterly blank, even to the last time slot.
And lo, she believed, and was exceeding glad; and she went forth with rejoicing and singing, and much triumph.