Tag Archives: patience

Today, Junior

During a whole-group lesson about personification, writing a poem with the kids. 

Us: “How can we personify the sound leaves make in the breeze?”

Kid (raises hand): <makes loud breathing noise> 

Us: “Ok, but how might we say that in words?”

Kid: <makes breathing sound again> 

Us: “Ok, but we are writing a poem, so we need WORDS.”

Kid: “Ok, hold on.”

Us: “WORDS.”

(Long Pause. Entire class waits.)

Kid: <makes breathing noise again>

The NYC Effect, Part 3

(Part of the The NYC Effect series)

The gourmet deli next to me has delicious, freshly prepared foods, but it’s not exactly efficient. Every time I go in, the line isn’t that long, yet somehow I end up standing in it for at least 20 minutes, waiting to order.

Today I watched the man behind the counter take the order of a woman a few people ahead of me in line. She asked for half a pound of coleslaw. He took FOREVER to prepare it. And once he did, he gave her way too much. She pointed this out, and he shrugged and said, “Eh, no extra charge. We’re not here to make money or speed you through, we’re here to make friends!”

The old, Maryland me: “I love that! How refreshing! A place in NYC that actually values human interaction over robotic, impersonal efficiency! And he gave her free food! I’m coming here all the time!”

Me after a few years in NYC: “Aw, that’s cute! But still. I’m kind of in a rush here…”

Me today: <immediately walk out>

I don’t need friends.

I need some fucking egg salad.

Now.

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Hindsight is 20/20

Being a Special Education teacher is a great profession for me because, given that I have ADD and anxiety, and given how that affected my own school experience, I can totally relate to how these kids are feeling, and can therefore be super patient and supportive. 

….is what I thought when I got into this profession. 

What actually happened is that I signed up to work in a hot, dirty classroom full of 30 kids who represent everything I hate about myself. 

This is less a recipe for patience than it is a recipe for pulling my hair out strand by srand, finding the nearest table, crawling under it, and rocking back and forth in the fetal postion. 

Good intentions, though.