OMG, I am totally sitting in the back of my sister's classroom in Maine and blogging at the same time. Everybody else has to work on their research presentations, but I get to play with her computer and draw cartoons and even knit my sock. And I can't get sent to the principal's office!
School is so much more fun when you can threaten to tell the kids a story about the teacher slipping out of her diaper one morning and running around the block naked singing "I'm a little teapot" at the top of her infantile lungs.
I've wanted to watch Susan in front of a class for as long as she's been teaching. It's one of those jobs I lack the temperament to perform, like waiting tables or reading the funnies to the president. Herding young people through the brambly hedgerow maze of knowledge day after day would reduce me to hysterics in five seconds flat.
Teachers, I salute you. This is my first time in a high school classroom since my own senior year and I don't envy you. And these are, on the whole, good kids. Nice manners, stable homes. We're in an affluent suburb of Portland and the class isn't all that large–perhaps fourteen students.
And yet the job seems to require the sort of skills one would need to pilot a bus full of live chickens backwards, with no brakes, down a rocky road through the Andes while simultaneously providing colorful and informative commentary on the scenery.
The questions fly at her–and at Julie, her co-teacher–from all sides all at once, as do the excuses. Amazing, the excuses. Dogs no longer eat papers, it seems, but computers do.
I typed it all out, and it was so good, and now I just can't find it anywhere on my hard disk!
I typed it all out, and it was almost done, and then my computer crashed and I lost it all!
I typed it all out, and then my Internet predator boyfriend spilled Coke all over the keyboard when the people from "Dateline NBC" showed up and I lost it all!
Susan and Julie take these confessions as an opportunity calmly to teach the conceptual difference between "your problem" and "my problem." Perhaps they are saving the Angry Professor and her colleagues a bit of trouble down the line.
Class is almost over so I have to sign off now. Lunch period is next. I hope I don't have to sit alone in the cafeteria.
Personal to Anne, my editor at Interweave: I'm working on my book right here in the classroom! See? How's that for dedication?
What do you mean you don't get it?