The Hardest Week of the Year

I started my gig in the realm of “education” in 1973.  If I knew then, what I know now, I might not have gray hair.

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Everybody thinks they could teach school.  I’m not so sure.  On a good day, it is wonderful.  On a bad day, well, let’s say, it gives a person something more to pray about.  

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One day, this dad was sitting across from me (ripping me and my teachers a new one) about my inept ability to run a school.  It seemed that he would let his son off in the front of the school and, surprise, surprise (read that in a Gomer Pyle voice) his dear little boy was sneaking right out the back door and not going to class.  I have a lot of patience (or maybe a whole bunch of I don’t care) when I looked at him and asked, “Well, can you control your son?”  

“Why no,  I can’t,” he stated. “That’s what you’re supposed to do.” 

“I rest my case.  I have 1,100 teenagers here.  It’s spring.  They’re frisky." 

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I got pepper sprayed during the last week of school.  

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There are stories behind every story.  Some of it is not your business.

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The week before graduation, almost every high school principal hears some variation of  how Grandma got a ticket from Michigan, Montana, or Mongolia and couldn’t we just let the little darling grandchild walk across the stage and pretend to graduate?  SMH.  I don’t think so.  I really don’t think so.  

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Teachers and principals DON’T want students to fail.  But, I respect students enough to give them the grade they earn.  I am telling you that teachers usually don’t delight in writing down an F on a report card.  If I had a $1.00 for every student who asked me and wanted to turn in late work....I’d own an island off the coast of South Carolina.

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Late work-- to some teachers, it's according to the BOE policy.  Late work-- to some students, it’s according to the decade.  

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I heard tell of a teacher who refused to accept any late work.  One of his students had a sibling die.  The paper was late.  That teacher wouldn’t take it.

That same teacher called and wanted his own child’s work to be accepted late because he had been on a ski trip back in January with his church....it was May.  It wasn’t accepted.

Karma is a bitch, isn’t it?

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Teaching is not like playing work up.  Everyone just doesn’t progress at the same rate.  I’ve seen first year teachers who have a “with-it-ness” on the first day when they walk in the door.  I’ve also seen twenty year “veterans” who aren’t sure of themselves, their subject, their duties beyond the classroom or their aura of “duh.”  They reached their expiration date but they just don’t know it.

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My thoughts about testing would fill a Carnegie Library.

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I can truthfully say that retirement is sweet.  I saw a parent of two former students of mine at the grocery store today.  I loved hearing about their successes.  To everything there is a season....and this is the season for someone else.

Say Cheese! PLEASE!

This blog isn’t about me.  This is about you.  I love looking at your digital representations of reality--whip out that cell phone, fluff  your hair, suck in your stomach and take a selfie

AND

I’m not too proud to say-- I love seeing the pictures of your life.  Think of me as the grandma that is so, so proud of her kids....nothing better! 

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I like watching your families.....the hopes, the dreams, the aspirations, the frustrations, the successes, the challenges.  I’m your audience.  The old pictures of people I don’t know, the places I’ve never been, the weather you’re having-- it is fascinating.  I read your cut-lines, laugh at your cartoons, and  wish I had written your e-cards.  I giggle at your jokes, enjoy your smiles, and tenderly think of all of you.

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The month of May is my  “Black Friday" for photos.  The graduations, birthdays, Mother’s Day, summer vacations, "decorating of the graves", bad weather, good weather, flowers, gardens, ball games, honors’ nights....I’m there.  Your cars, your children, your children’s children, my grandchildren, your activities, the pets, the lonely pets, your meals.....get my drift?  I like looking.

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This past week, I was relishing the pictures of a young man who got me off the sofa after Mike died...”My momma says I can get a ice cream cone if I can get you out of the house.” I was sad, but I wasn’t mean.  Yep, I got right up and went with him.  That was 11+ years ago.... Jason is going to the Air Force Academy.....but the other day, he was just starting to learn to read.  Where does the time go?  The pictures prove that time passes.

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Be it attending prom (the dresses today are just so pretty), having a new babies, hiking a trail in Norway, creating yummy cookies that are works of art, designing new gardens, loving old dogs, celebrating-(I have my “first” veterinarian!), I’m there right beside you.   Marriages, reorganization of life (one friend said that was a fancy way to say divorce), catching fish, dancing, attending things--concerts, Georgia Football, Lacrosse....there’s not enough time to mention everything enjoyable 'cause I like it all.

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AND, please,  keep those pictures coming!

Fight Club or Nah, That Ain't Going to Happen

Why would anyone want to physically fight?  You'd muss up your clothes, ruin your hair, and potentially damage a nail.

I guess I have never felt the angst to wail on another person.

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After watching the highlights of last night's fight.....no way would I want someone hitting me.  No way would I want someone wailing on me!

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TRUE STORY:

I was the head principal at Central.  I had an angry parent who was half my age and twice my size. She wanted me (?) to physically fight her in the front hall.

I turned her down quicker than you can say, "Oh, look, Dr. Weaver got her A^^ beat!"

Two hours later I received a call from the downtown Central Office of the Bibb County School system.  That same parent had called one of my many bosses and said that I was uncooperative.  Wah Wah Wah

I told my boss that indeed, the parent was partially right. I had been uncooperative.  I refused to fight her in the front hall.  I then stated that I had no chance of winning and thought professionally it would be black mark on my personal resume.

I received an very nice apology from my supervisor at that time.

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TRUE STORY:

Page 2

One year later, the same parent was arrested, charged, and found guilty of stabbing a person to death with a coat hanger.  I clipped the article from the newspaper.  I laminated the said article.  AND then I sent it to my supervisor with a sweet note.  "See, I told you I wouldn't have won."

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It was fun to hear the excitement about last night's fight though.