A Commonplace Book

Last Tuesday, I received exactly one day’s notice for Mira’s classroom orientation (on Wednesday), and of course, it was at a time when Reg was working. And double of course, no kids allowed, so I had to find a baby-sitter. Then, I get to said orientation and meet the teacher, who, although she seems funny and lively, is one of those funny and lively people who don’t listen when other people are speaking. Not the best quality in a second grade teacher. I approached her to talk about Mira who had a shitty first two days of school (Mira even begged me to call the school and get her taken out of this teacher’s class). I try to explain to Mrs. Fuukes that Reg and I are both college professors, and that because we just started our new schedules, Mira’s world has changed substantially and that she’s having some adjustment problems. I add that we’ve had the same experience for the last two years, so I know the problem is temporary.

After spending two half days with my child in a room with 23 other kids and then not listening to me for two minutes, this educator asks “Have you had Mira tested for depression?” As if it’s completely unusual that a child who has no one she knows in her class because the school has a policy of splitting up friends every year might be a little sad. But interestingly, those nasty little twins Veruca and Nelly have never been separated because twins are special and because their mom is a member of the yoga suit mafia–a.k.a the PTA. Now, Mira earned 100% on all of her work in these two days, and she didn’t cry at school at all, which isn’t necessarily unusual for little kids in the first week. My niece, Bobbi, cried after school every day last week, and she’s in third grade. My point is, this beginning of the year nervousness is quite common. But because Mira seemed, in Mrs. Fuukes words “anxious,” I should be alarmed. Well, of course my daughter is anxious, lady. She doesn’t know you or anyone else in the room and it’s only the second day of school.

I was feeling quite judgemental about Fuukes–that she is one of those medicate-the-kids-because-I’m-too-old-to-be-doing-this teachers. Anyone who has ever met Mira knows that she’s a little bit of a perfectionist but far from depressed. Most of the time, she’s the most joyful kid around. I actually had to drop a couple of names of people Fuukes and I both know to get her away from this line of conversation, and believe me, this kind of social gaming gives me a headache. I was wishing I would have had a cocktail before this meeting (which will undoubtedly become my new way of coping with Mrs. Fuukes–much in the same way I cope with my mother-in-law). But finally, I got the conversation back to Mira’s temporary uncomfortable state and assured Mrs. Fuukes that it would pass, said I looked forward to working with her, and left the building.

Then Thursday, in the world of college education, my three comp courses had their first reading assignment. They had to read (count them) six pages, on which I quizzed them. It’s the second week of the semester, and they knew this quiz was coming. I hate to quiz college students, but if I don’t quiz them, they won’t read at all, even if it’s only six pages. Now, these are real college students not disabled college students, not high school students taking college classes, but people who have completed twelve years of schooling and earned a diploma. Three of them asked me if I was going to provide them with paper and pen/pencil. I still have no response to that. So I took a deep cleansing breath, and I reminded myself that the other 22 students in my class were prepared. In my next class, two “texty girls” were disruptive the whole time, and they didn’t pick up on any of the teacher hints: standing by their desks, calling on them, stopping class until they paid attention. (BTW, if anyone out there knows any college kids or high school kids who are about to become college kids, give them the heads up that texting during class is a one-way ticket to the shit list).

And suddenly, I feel very much connected to Mrs. Fuukes. I felt old and tired and snarky, and I wanted to start medicating the little suckers (and myself). Fortunately, that feeling passed quickly. My afternoon class was engaged and prepared. They laughed at my jokes, and one student even stopped by to say that although he usually hated English, he could tell that my class was going to be the exception. And friends, the truth is that nothing energizes me like a new school year and meeting my new students, and I suspect it’s the same for all teachers. We just need to constantly remind ourselves that good energy follows good (and bad follows bad). The texty-girls and the pencilless will always be a part of the experience, but they don’t define it–not even close.