Tonight was the 8th grade dance. I strutted inside, looking around the dance floor, openly pretending to not see my students (who were playing the same game). Someone called my name, and as I turned around to wave, a kid plowed backwards into me. He popped my cheekbone with his elbow or fist...I'm not sure of the body part, but I know it hurt. It's still a little sore. Back in 1991, at the last 8th grade dance I attended, I would have been mortified and spent the rest of the evening staring into Lake Mirror and holding back tears. This time, I took in my student's laughing faces and joined in. I meant it. Then I ran around telling the story as many times as possible so I could laugh even more.
I found "The Chub" last night. This is a small, thick spiral notebook that I had carried around with me for several weeks last winter and spring. Its sole purpose was to be an immediate reservoir for any brilliant ideas I had during the day. The only thing I ever wrote in there (besides grocery lists and bill schedules) was during my family's reunion-birthday-anniversary cruise last January. My words were interesting, and I clearly remembered writing them on the little boat that took my aunt, sister, and cousin to go snorkeling in the Bahamas. The funny part was that I wrote about how the breeze was making the weariness "seep from my bones". I read it yesterday while I was home from work. That is, after I was sent home for nearly fainting during a class. Apparently, the look of my skin was so bad that my students thought I was pulling a Halloween prank. While driving myself home, I was thinking about the recent events that led me to the afternoon and how embarra
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