I'm Mr. D's Favorite!
I've been having mixed emotions about returning to work. I do not think I'm emotionally stable enough at the moment to be able to try on another hat. But it is already late into the semester and this experience is invaluable. I am in dire need for money as well.
I visited last week for a quick orientation with my boss (who is so much cooler than that bitch I had last year). An old Latina mother and her daughter saw me walking in the hallways and caught up to me real quick-like. The daughter's name is Miranda whose an English second language (ESL) student I had spent a great amount of time working with last year.
Miranda: Hi Mr. D!
Me: Hi Miranda! You're getting so tall! You're an upper grader now.
Miranda's mom: (Places my hand in between both of hers) I would just like to thank you for helping my daughter with her schoolwork. She has improved a great deal and her self-esteem is so much higher now since last year.
Me: Oh it was my pleasure. Miranda really did it all by herself. She had it in her.
Miranda: Mom! I'm Mr. D's favorite!
How cute. I started work yesterday and I can feel that this is going to be a good year at work for me. I have one class and two teachers to work with (as opposed to having 5 classes and 6 teachers to work with last year). I have a cooler boss (unlike that woman with a continous angry disposition she carried along with her everywhere). I also got a 75 cent raise. Yay!
I was driving from school to work today when my mom called me and told me that my granduncle was in serious condition. He has colon cancer and is expected to live for about three more months. I immediately started bawling while still driving knowing I still had to get to work on time. I had parked and released the last bits of emotions I had. I took out a Lysol wipe, cleaned myself up a little bit, and went to sign in.
Being around the children is amazing. Their eagerness for understanding the world around them is wonderful. "Mr. D's old! He's 19!" they would say. Today the children solved the mystery of what my first name was. They must have asked my third graders (now fourth graders) from last year.
I was walking the kids back to class when a Black kid jumps onto a high ledge where he could potentially fall. "Get down from there David! You might fall," I warned. "But I'm the king of the world!" he replied excitingly. He jumped off and run up and down the halls without the awareness that other classes are in session. He'd jump up and touch the awning of the classroom to show off his "hops." "I've got skills, Mr. D! I've got skittles! Red HOT skittles, not blues ones!"
There's a group of three boys. The teacher calls them the three musketeers because they cause all sorts of unruly, rambunctious trouble wherever they go. If gender differences were demonstrated, these three would be the demonstrators. They would jump all over the bleachers when we're trying to order them to get in line for pictures. They would try to take out the "Stop" sign on the corner of the intersection. They would always get in each others' grills like their tough. Today as they were in their own world running around the classroom, the smallest of the three (and the shortest in the entire class) runs into a desk and gets hurt. "Ow," the kid says subtly in his soft-spoken voice. The other two immediately stop recognizing that he's hurt. Then the biggest and probably most macho of the three gives him an erratic, spontaneous hug. "I'm all better now!" the small boy said happily and immediately. They then went back into their boisterous world as though it had never happened.
I had completely forgotten about my granduncle. Children have a certain magic about them. I believe I'm in the right profession.
I've decided. I want a multiethnic family Angelina Jolie style.
I visited last week for a quick orientation with my boss (who is so much cooler than that bitch I had last year). An old Latina mother and her daughter saw me walking in the hallways and caught up to me real quick-like. The daughter's name is Miranda whose an English second language (ESL) student I had spent a great amount of time working with last year.
Miranda: Hi Mr. D!
Me: Hi Miranda! You're getting so tall! You're an upper grader now.
Miranda's mom: (Places my hand in between both of hers) I would just like to thank you for helping my daughter with her schoolwork. She has improved a great deal and her self-esteem is so much higher now since last year.
Me: Oh it was my pleasure. Miranda really did it all by herself. She had it in her.
Miranda: Mom! I'm Mr. D's favorite!
How cute. I started work yesterday and I can feel that this is going to be a good year at work for me. I have one class and two teachers to work with (as opposed to having 5 classes and 6 teachers to work with last year). I have a cooler boss (unlike that woman with a continous angry disposition she carried along with her everywhere). I also got a 75 cent raise. Yay!
I was driving from school to work today when my mom called me and told me that my granduncle was in serious condition. He has colon cancer and is expected to live for about three more months. I immediately started bawling while still driving knowing I still had to get to work on time. I had parked and released the last bits of emotions I had. I took out a Lysol wipe, cleaned myself up a little bit, and went to sign in.
Being around the children is amazing. Their eagerness for understanding the world around them is wonderful. "Mr. D's old! He's 19!" they would say. Today the children solved the mystery of what my first name was. They must have asked my third graders (now fourth graders) from last year.
I was walking the kids back to class when a Black kid jumps onto a high ledge where he could potentially fall. "Get down from there David! You might fall," I warned. "But I'm the king of the world!" he replied excitingly. He jumped off and run up and down the halls without the awareness that other classes are in session. He'd jump up and touch the awning of the classroom to show off his "hops." "I've got skills, Mr. D! I've got skittles! Red HOT skittles, not blues ones!"
There's a group of three boys. The teacher calls them the three musketeers because they cause all sorts of unruly, rambunctious trouble wherever they go. If gender differences were demonstrated, these three would be the demonstrators. They would jump all over the bleachers when we're trying to order them to get in line for pictures. They would try to take out the "Stop" sign on the corner of the intersection. They would always get in each others' grills like their tough. Today as they were in their own world running around the classroom, the smallest of the three (and the shortest in the entire class) runs into a desk and gets hurt. "Ow," the kid says subtly in his soft-spoken voice. The other two immediately stop recognizing that he's hurt. Then the biggest and probably most macho of the three gives him an erratic, spontaneous hug. "I'm all better now!" the small boy said happily and immediately. They then went back into their boisterous world as though it had never happened.
I had completely forgotten about my granduncle. Children have a certain magic about them. I believe I'm in the right profession.
I've decided. I want a multiethnic family Angelina Jolie style.