Tutoring an 8th grader….
Me: “So I have a little treat for you. My bridal shower was this weekend and I have all these leftover cookies– would you like one?”
Kid: “Oh my god, you’re getting married?!”
Me: “Yes! In June.”
Kid: “Aw yay! You’re getting married! I really couldn’t figure out WHAT your deal was.”
Client, Age 3 (Yes. Three.), during a “greater than/less than” math lesson….
Kid: “You’re 35?!?! My mom is 31, and that is LESS THAN 35!”
Me: “Right!”
Kid: “But she has THREE kids and you have ZERO kids and zero is LESS THAN three! Zero is NOTHING!”
Me: “Well…”
Kid: “You have NOTHING!”
I am in day 2 of my retirement and I feel the need to address some questions/comments/concerns that have come my way regarding my decision to leave classroom teaching. This is not a rant– you’ve all been awesomely enthusiastic about it. Just want to clear up some confusion.
1. To be clear, I only left classroom teaching. I am not retired and lying around doing nothing. I’m not sure why this is so confusing for people. Maybe it’s because I keep calling it “my retirement.” 
2. I did not quit my job because I met a man to take care of me, and now I don’t have to work. That is absurd. This is real life, not Real Housewives of Potomac. 
I am still working. But yes, Eric did give me the support, encouragement, stability and gentle kick in the ass I needed to finally leave something that was making me unhappy (and had been for years) and move on to pursue things that bring me joy and contentment. And for that I am eternally grateful.
3. “But I thought you love the people you work with?” I do. With all my heart. They are now some of my best friends on earth, and will remain so. The people I met in my 7 years at that school are the only reason I stayed as long as I did, and I never could have made it through without them. They are my family. My actual job, and all the political/administrative limitations placed on it, is what left me unfulfilled. Not the people. My co workers are, and always will be, the brightest spot in my memory of classroom teaching.
4. “So what are those things you’re going to pursue?” As of now– full time tutoring (which focuses on all the aspects I love about teaching without the systemic BS that prevents me from actually helping children), getting more involved in mental health causes, working on my blog, pursuing freelance writing opportunities, and, honestly, whatever else I think of that sounds exciting!
5. Which leads to the final question/concern: “But if you don’t have crazy stories about classroom teaching, or crazy stories about dating, what are you going to write about?”
Yeah, well, I don’t know, people. I’m just hoping it turns out better for me than it did for this guy.
Me (frustrated and annoyed): “This kid I’m tutoring is being extremely difficult and disrespectful. He is obsessed with talking about poop. OBSESSED. Finally I told him that if he doesn’t stop, I’m not going to tutor him anymore. And right after I said that, I took out a book and asked him to read the word ‘wanted.’ He looked at me, looked at the word, smiled and said ‘poop.’ I nearly lost it.”
(Long pause)
Eric: “I like him!”
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>
When I was a 4th grader, I dressed up as Michael Jackson for Halloween by putting on a wig, a glove, and covering my entire face in white face paint.
Fifteen years later, it is just now occurring to me how horribly offensive that was. I somehow managed, at age 9, to unknowingly create a more awkward and offensive scenario than going in blackface. I even remember one neighbor hesitating to give me candy. I figured he just wasn’t a Michael fan.
The year before that, in 3rd grade, I went as a hobo. I wore a sign around my neck that said “Buddy, can you spare a dime?” In the town of Potomac, Maryland, where there is now a Real Housewives series (inexplicably devoid of any Jews or white people, but that’s a subject for another post) being filmed. Enough said. We had a school Halloween parade (this was back in the days when schools let children have fun), and I marched through the halls and recess yard wearing my dirty t-shirt, disheveled hair, and “hilarious” sign. The other Potomac parents loved it. The other students didn’t get it (they had never seen a poor person). The teachers, who could not afford to live in Potomac, looked away. I figured maybe they felt bad that they didn’t have a dime to give me.
“Don’t worry!” I told my teacher, laughing. “You don’t REALLY have to give me money!”
She did not smile.
Finally, at age 16, I decided to be something normal for Halloween. A friend was throwing a big Halloween dance party, and I went as Cinderella. Full-blown floor length ball gown, crown, the works.
“Finally!” my mom cried as she dropped me off at the party, “I’ve tried for years to get you wear something like this for Halloween!”
I rolled my eyes, slid the mini-van door closed, and walked into the party, fluffing my skirt upon entrance.
I was the only one in costume.
It’s a wonder I ever leave the apartment.
Therapist: “So do you feel relieved now that you finally gave your boss notice that you’re quitting your job?”
Me: “Oh my god, YES. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m anxious about the upcoming change. And it’s bittersweet. And I’m really going to miss being with my coworkers every day, several of whom are my closest friends. But I’m also excited, and know it’s the right thing. But more than anything I’m just really proud of myself. Usually, if I’m in a situation that’s comfortable, it takes me forever to get out of it, even when I know it’s what I need to do. But this time, I knew in like December that I needed out, and by February, I made the decision and did it.”
Therapist: “Right! (pause) Well..2010.”
Me: “Excuse me?”
Therapist: “You knew in December, 2010.”
Me: “Well, I mean, I didn’t really know then.”
Therapist (flipping through her notes): “December 6, 2010– ‘I need to quit my job. I’m unhappy in the system. I don’t feel fulfilled. I feel like if I stay one more year, I’m going to go insane.”
Me: “Right but that was just venting– I didn’t like KNOW know.”
Therapist (still quoting): “‘I know this with every fiber of my being.'”
Me: “Oh.”
Alright well I did it so BACK THE FUCK OFF.
According to Facebook, exactly 8 years ago to this day, I said the following:
I said the same fucking thing this morning.
#notgood
So it turns out that the detective skills I employ when I come across a suspicious rug stain in my 4th grade classroom (re: blame the shady, smelly kid– I didn’t see him do it, I didn’t hear him do it, there is virtually zero proof he did it, but come on just LOOK at him! He’s so smelly!) are the same exact tactics employed by our U.S. criminal justice system when indicting for murder.
And I didn’t even have to pay for law school!
#winning
That moment when the parent of a student sends you and your co-teacher a rude, confrontational note in an envelope, but she accidentally also encloses the results of her gynecological exam.
She has Menorrhagia.
It’s characterized by a heavy menstrual flow.
Yeah. I googled it.
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