Posts Tagged ‘friend’
Couches are like cats. Once they’re outside, they don’t easily go back inside.
One of the typical hang-outs for my circle of friends has a collection of ratty couches we keep outside, on the concrete patio or unmown grass. It’s perfect for barbeques, as long as you don’t mind your cushion full of dirt, spiders and dried cat urine.
For whatever reason, a roommate at that house I helped move decided to bring one of these couches along for the ride to his new school district. After a year-and-a-half as an outside couch, he’s going to bring it inside, to his spacious shiny new apartment. I know that new middle school band directors don’t get paid much, but this still has to be a bad idea.
Even as we loaded it on the truck, it leaked filth onto the floor of our U-Haul. One of the guys, full of charm and wit, said:
I have never seen couches shit.
We all have, now. This is one couch that won’t easily go back inside without stinkin’ up the place. It’ll need two bottles of Febreeze and three days worth of vacuuming before it even nears cleanliness.
If ever I visit, I hope I don’t catch any diseases.
Part One of Four in my series on my two master teachers.
One master teacher is authoritarian. She expects a lot accomplished, and a lot of planning for lessons. Teaching is her second — third? fourth? fifteenth? — career.
She expects me to master every classroom system she’s established over her 16-odd years, every slightest procedure.
Journal every day; while you take attendance. Quizzes every Thursday. Detentions for tardies and absences. Extra credit for Kleenex.
She mentors student teachers every spring.
I met her last spring while working off my observation hours as a sub. As I passed through the hallway, I noticed a former editor of mine from my school newspaper.
I stopped by to say hello, and I was introduced to my friend’s then-current master teacher and my future one. Once I got to know my master teacher better, we discovered that I had met her husband from her first, only and current marriage — an August-September romance — through a previous short-term radio gig at the same college.
This master teacher criticizes, scrutinizes, prosyltizes. She isn’t worried about my ability to talk. She’s worried about my ability to teach, though she’s worried less and less.
I’ve gotten better, and still I have a long way to go.