I'm struggling Harry not to make this blog all woe is me. I will do my best not to let my recent frustrations burn through the beautiful and positive things that have happened since I last wrote; however, for a teacher, this is the most stressful time of year. I have spent hours planning, preparing, scouring for new and exciting lessons. I have tried new games, integrated technology and read countless articles on how teenage minds work, how to counter act environmental influences, how to reach the fringe student and so on, all in preparation and hope that at the end of the year my freshmen babies will be able to pass the one math test that the great state of Texas says they need to graduate high school.
It's crunch time in Texas and for the past 3 weeks we have worked even harder, longer, somehow finding new ways to approach old lessons all the while continuing with curriculum. Pre-crunch time, I was usually home by 6:30, sometimes 5:30 depending on my biological babies after school activities, but now, I'm lucky if I make it home before 8. I'm home in time to kiss them goodnight and check homework before the nightly grading and or planning begins for my freshmen babies. One more week, I have, to try every trick we teachers have compiled to battle the apathy that currently is our greatest enemy, to engage the students who have procrastinated all year and yet still hold true to our own beliefs about not teaching the test. Eight months of preparation and hard work come to a 4 hour test in May. Do I hope that I have instilled more in my students than test strategies? Absolutely. Do I hope that I have encouraged, enlightened and inspired my students? Most definitely.
Now all this stress is surrounded by life outside of work. My oldest went to her junior prom. She looked beautiful. All of the traditions and pomp and pageantry were observed, the gown, the hair, the make-up and the corsage. My grandmother, her great-grandmother, made sure she had one. It was perfect and a simple reminder that times change and technology marches us forward, but the gift of flowers is nothing short of marvelous no matter the generation.
I was in a wreck recently, no one but vehicles was injured and the other guys insurance is paying the bill, so although it's a hassle and my car doesn't look very pretty, I cannot complain against the blessing that I nor the others involved went unharmed. We did make the front page of small town Texas and for a day or two I had my 15 minutes of fame, but as always, time marches us.
My blessings sometimes are not so obvious. As every year, spring break beckons me to make plans for my garden. Normally, I have tilled and planted by our return to school, but this year between late winter storms that included snow fall and an illness that knocked me down, my garden kept getting pushed back. I would look longingly at that patch of earth as days turned into weeks and still I was unable to plant. Now Easter weekend was upon us. On Good Friday, I awoke and headed outside for my morning coffee before waking the kids. My plan that day was to meet their grandmother so that they could spend the weekend together. Would I be able to plant while they were away? In answer, I heard the sound that had been absent throughout the long winter months. The buzz and hum that were too loud for a bee or wasp or even the rambling bumble bee. I look up from my coffee and there just ahead, he winked. My ruby-throated visitor of summer past had returned. He hovered for a moment and I smiled.My daily grind was getting me down, but the earth was still making her way around the sun. I was not the only tired, working mom wondering if she had made a difference. Humans around the globe were having their coffee, putting kids to bed, stressed at work, burying a loved one or welcoming one into this crazy beautiful world.
I traveled to the arranged meeting place and then headed to my local Lowe's. I gathered tomatoes, peppers, squash and all of my usual, with a few things just for fun, like the mucho nacho giant jalapeño. As I waited in line, an elderly gentlemen walked up behind me holding a pallet of purple petunias. I offered to let him go first as he had only one item compared to my cart full. He slowly smiled and shook his head, "No thanks, the sooner I check out, the sooner I'll have to get to work." We both giggled. The line was not moving so no harm in continuing the conversation. He notices my bags of manure. Again he smiles, "I love that brand, too. I got 7 bags, almost 300 lbs, for 11 bucks. My wife's flowers love it. That's why I'm here. Got the wrong kind last time. She's the flower general that one. Every year, our yard put on a show, but she got the Alzheimer's so now I make sure I plant her favorites in the box outside her window."The lane next to us opened up and with a tip of his head, he moved to the register with his pallet of purple petunias. I could not help the stunned look on my face nor could I stop my heart from turning over. I imagine his gnarled hands at one time fixed manly things while his wife in her gardening hear maintained her home and yard with the precision of the general he said she was. Now those gnarled hands dig through manure and sand to hopefully bring some semblance of normal back to their lives. I ache at the love those gnarled hands show a wife who may never again say the words.
pop quizzes. Teachers can no more give up than gnarled hands can stop planting purple petunias.
Love keeps us moving forward, despite all obstacles, despite life's continued roller coaster ride of surprise flat tires, unexpected expenses and unforgiving work hours, despite apathetic students who cannot show fear or interest for threat of peer retribution.
"Once more unto the breach dear friends, once more. . ."
Wish us luck Harry,
With love from east Texas
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