today is a snow day. some people are bored but i don't know how that can happen. there are so many naps to take and papers to grade and channels to watch. also, there are errands to run. so i go to the bank to activate my beautiful, new debit card. i'm very excited because it is blue and purple and way cooler than the tan one i've had for 4 years. i walk in and see a vaguely familiar face standing at the next window. i ignore it and carry on about my business. from the corner of my eye, i see the person next to me sneak a couple glances so i shoot this human a look only to discover it is the parent of one of my students. i quickly look away and in my mind, look at my wardrobe and try to figure out how to stand. how do teachers stand in regular life? i didn't acknowledge the guy. what is there to say? "hey...kids dad...how is your kid?" how awkward does that sound? so here i stand in my puffy, bright yellow marshmallow coat and jeans with holes and patches all over and, to top it all off, a stocking hat with the name of a band written in giant letters. i didn't look terrible. i didn't look like a adulterer either. i just look like a normal, 22 year old human. and i guess i'm worried that will taint my teacher image. parents and students sometimes forget that teachers are humans with lives and weird clothes.
you see, this is the first time i've seen a parent of one of my students in normal life when i have been doing my normal life things. i knew this would happen at some point. it just caught me so off guard. i'm now realizing that wherever i go, whatever i do...being a teacher is now a huge part of my identity and i don't want to do or say or wear anything that would taint that. but i also don't want it to run my life. i don't want to base every decision on how i will look if i see a parent. that would be stifling and that's just not okay. so i'll just stick with wearing t-shirts but maybe pass on the puffy coat every now and again.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
0 comments:
Post a Comment