Bad Day=Good Run
Last week, I had one of those days (actually, it was much worse for my lovely wife than for me, but I took a vow way back when, so when she suffers, I suffer). First, Katie found out that our adorable son is somehow managing to flunk P.E. (apparently, he hasn’t been finishing “The Ram” within the time limit). For those of you not in the know, “The Ram” is a 1-1/4 mile run that the kids at his school are supposed to do each week. And the time limit? That’s the kicker – it’s 24 minutes. Seriously? The kid can’t cover 1-1/4 miles in 24 minutes? I’m not even sure how it’s possible to go that slow – I mean, you would think he could crawl faster than that. So Katie went to school to talk to the P.E. teacher and see if there’s some way he can make it up, and in the course of their conversation, she burst into tears because this is just one of those final straws that’s broken the camel’s back (not to mention the whole irony thing here where both of his parents run marathons, and he can’t even cover 1-1/4 miles in 24 minutes – sheesh). Then, as she was leaving Cross and heading to her school, she got a phone call from our daughter who had nearly crashed the truck into a fire hydrant and/or a wall on her way to school because it (the truck) cut out on her just as she was turning a corner and she wasn’t able to steer/brake effectively. Luckily, she managed to avoid the wall and the fire hydrant, but it shook her up and Katie had to go rescue her and take the truck into the shop to find out why it suddenly cut out (vapor lock, apparently). I, on the other hand, was going along with my day, oblivious to all of this, until I got a message on my phone, which was Katie, who left a long and heart-wrenching message explaining all of the things that had happened, so I spent the rest of the day worrying about my son (the slacker), my daughter (the reluctant driver), my wife (the basket-case – justifiably so), and my truck (the clunker). Because I was feeling a little on edge when I got home from work, I went for a run. And I knew I was a little on edge, but I didn’t realize how much on edge I was until I finished my first mile (the “warm-up” mile) and looked down at my split and realized that I was running at a sub-8-minute pace. And I wasn’t even breathing hard. And it pretty much stayed that way for the whole run. I was knocking off the 8’s and sub-8’s without even trying. It was like I was running in a cloud. As a matter of fact, I did run into a cloud of sorts – a swarm of bees that I didn’t even notice until I was in the middle of it and they were buzzing all around me in a dust-devilish sort of way, so I kind of went, “Hey, I’m in the middle of a bee swarm,” but the bees didn’t seem to mind (or even notice) me, and I kept on running one way and they kept on swarming the other way and we went our separate ways (what is it with me and bee swarms – it’s kind of creepy). So I guess the takeaway from all this is whenever I enter a race, I need to have a really bad day right before (or maybe Katie has to have a bad day, then tell me all about it) cause I was seriously fast that afternoon (for me).
Speaking of my son…
I remember several years ago, I used to joke in a semi-serious way about what I was going to do when my daughters were both teenagers. I said something along the lines of, “When the girls are both teenagers, I’m going to take Connor and we’re going to go live in the woods.” Why would I say such a thing? you may be asking. I had this idea that when the girls were both teenagers, it was going to be pretty crazy, seeing as they were both going to be teenage girls, and my son would provide the point of sanity in my life. Oh, how wrong I was. I love the kid, but I don’t think I would last long in that situation (nor would he).
10/23
That’s the number of principals I’ve now worked for in the number of years I’ve been teaching. And I’m sure it’s significant in some highly significant way.
On a Serious Note
Twelve years old is too young to die. That’s all I could think when, on Monday morning, I opened up an e-mail and learned that one of my students had passed away in a tragic accident. There are certain kids who, for whatever reason, get under your skin (in a good way) and this was one of them. At the beginning of the year, he was kind of a slacker and didn’t seem to be putting much effort into things. It was obvious that he was smart, but he didn’t seem to be very engaged. I’ve always had a soft spot for this kind of kid – when you can tell there’s something there if only you’re able to find the key to get them motivated. And that’s what happened this past semester. I’m not exactly sure what it was or why it happened, but he turned things around and became one of the best (and definitely most prolific) writers in the class. He went from barely completing work to turning in lots and lots of extra pieces and going way above and beyond on projects. And all the time, it was obvious that he was enjoying himself – according to his parents, he was having the best year of his life. Which makes the empty feeling I have inside ache even more.
I ache for his siblings, for his parents, for his grandparents and great-grandmother (imagine attending a great-grandchild’s funeral) and for his friends. I ache for all the kids who knew him and who are struggling to understand what they’re feeling right now. And I ache for myself. For the loss of one of the kids that I know I reached. I take it for granted that the kids are going to return to my class everyday, and looking at that empty desk during 7th period is a stark reminder of how fleeting life can be. And yet, I can’t help but also be encouraged by these same kids who amaze me with their ability to deal with difficult circumstances - the compassion and support they show for one another when they’re hurting - the 7th grader who got up in front of everyone at the funeral and shared his experiences and his perspectives on what had happened, putting into words what just about everyone was feeling. I’ve said before how I feel like middle-school kids get a bad rap, and I feel it even more after the past couple of days. They really can be amazing if you give them half a chance.
Nothing more to report, so until next time, may your bee swarms stay far away, may children (if you have any) remain motivated, and may your moments of sorrow remain manageable.
4 comments:
Hey, what are you talking about? I love teenage girls. . . sometimes; other times. . . Actually, you might have a point, but I think that can be said about any gender/age.
What do you think of your current principle (I can't remember his name - I think it's Mr. Kolter) and what'd you think of Mr. Woodall? Who was your favorite principle?
And I'm sorry for your loss, though I find it interesting that you recognized this kid as a type of student. I always wondered whether teachers did that. Do you do that with every student . . . and if so, what type of student was I? It's weird to think I was a "type" of student, instead of just myself. It makes me feel so not special.
My current principal is now my former principal - as to my favorite, it's kind of hard to say. There's been different things about each of them that I've appreciated, so I'd probably have to do the whole Frankenstein thing to make a really awesome one. As far as being "types" that's kind of what we all do with people - put them into categories of one kind or another. I think it's useful as far as simplifying things, but it can also be dangerous if you take it too far. So yeah, I suppose you're a "type" of student - the creative, introspective "type" just like I'm a "type" of teacher. But there's more to both of us (all of us) than that. Right?
No. But you fit into the 'awesome' type of teacher. :D
Actually, I suppose you're right. I remember reading a thing on types of teaching styles and yours would probably be the laid back style (whatever it is, I don't feel like looking it up), which I've actually found works best as long as there is a good relationship between the students and the teacher and trust between them, or the students can take advantage of the teacher. But that's usually not the case if they like the teacher. And I am an INFP personality type, so I guess I would fit into that 'type' too, though I feel like this is based only on how we perceive others, as we can never really know what it's like to be anyone else, and therefore don't really know how to 'classify' a person. And why should people be classified?
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