Leaving a Glass Slipper

I made a promise to myself that I would write every week. After all, it is the least that I could do for myself. You see, I love writing. However, I tend to put everything and everybody from classwork to housework, ahead of myself, so there is no time left for me. So tonight, as I sit here pounding out a quickie just to satisfy my goal, I ponder the usefulness in this act. This  writing falls way short of my normal pages long cathartic pieces that also double as euphoric endorphin releasers. Instead, I race the clock and hammer out perfunctory pieces that waste my time as well as that of other SOL readers. I said I would be ready this week, yet, as the clock nears 10:50 pm, I sit here once again, tip tapping away. I suppose, the flip side to not writing with depth is that I am writing, though I must admit, I feel like Cinderella coming out for just one dance at the ball before the clock strikes twelve leaving you with this glass slipper.

No Selfie Stick or Fire Hoses

I am so proud of my husband. He just glided in his last aircraft landing from Portugal yesterday after 48 years of flying (26 for United and 22 years flying for the Marines). The entire crew  joined our family for his last meal at one of his favorite restaurants in the Barrio Alto. The next day on the plane, his crew made a great congrats announcement and all the passengers clapped. Then, on landing, he made an awesome farewell speech on the loudspeaker where he introduced  me and my son and then passed the gauntlet to him as he announced our son's intent to become a pilot as well. 

As we taxied towards the gate, we were met by fire trucks shooting water over the plane. The door opened to a Jetway filled with a host of friends from the grounds to other pilots. Lastly, he had our son stand by his side to say goodbye wearing his captain's hat, and yes, he even made me join them. The passengers all hugged him and some even stopped to take selfies.

Next, the chief pilot came on board and gave him a beautiful plaque, and then he took pictures with he crew before heading out to join some more pilot friends and their family for dinner at Clyde’s. It was a great day for him, and he deserved it. 

Then,I began to think about my own retirement and what it will be like. I was truly happy for my husband, but thought how funny it was that 200 total strangers who never even saw his face until landing wanted to take pictures, hug, and high-five him. He was treated like a celebrity, as if he had done something that they will will remember him always for. He flew 1/3 of their seven hour flight sharing duties with two other pilots. Yet these total strangers wanted hugs and selfies with him. 

Yes, I am extremely proud of my husband for his 22 years of service with the Marines (including flying in the Gulf War) and then 26 more years for a commercial airline. However, when I retire I know I will pack up and empty my room one last time, pick up a lapel pin at the last faculty meeting, and maybe be given a cake and small celebration in the teacher's lounge if I am lucky. Of the thousand's of kids who I cared for, taught, and nurtured for 180 days each year... there will be no selfie stick or fire hoses shooting water. But I will get the best gift of all, the memory of all the lives I touched and the knowledge that I know I made a difference.

Breaking a Leg!

The time is 5:45. I am anxious…anxious and tired. Although, this day comes every year for the past ten years, and I know I have made it through alive and unscathed, I am still nervous. What is it you say? Why it’s Back to School Night of course! This is the night when we face all 75 (or 150 if you teach the block schedule) parents.

Why am I anxious, you ask? Well, we teachers fear being cornered for an impromptu parent teacher conference, or questioned as if we will not challenge their student enough. We fear technological glitches that leave us putting on an impromptu dog and pony show without cue cards. We fear our presentation being too short leaving us as vulnerable as a president being pressed at a press conference. However, the night goes on… (and on, I might add), and we make it through somehow. And so, I shall tonight – I hope. Thus, this is a short blog tonight because the time has come; I must end because in six minutes, the show must go on. Wish me luck – or maybe I should say “tell me to break a leg!” B

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Mama's Truth Serum

Mama has no filter. She never has. We, her word savvy daughters like to say, “What comes up comes out.” So if you are someone who is sensitive, stay away because my mother will look you dead in the eye and broadcast your biggest insecurity, body flaw, or personality dysfunction to anyone in hearing range… as if you didn’t already know. And then she will laugh that infectious loud cackle -- which is now mostly toothless these days -- and will make you laugh at yourself too.

She told my niece that her oldest son “sho’ is handsome!” Then she added that the baby boy, well,... “He looks like his daddy.”  

She told her granddaughters that they were really beginning to spread. Of course quip runs in the family because Mickey responded that she got it from her and that she was in good company. She then whipped out her phone to show her Grandma pictures of all the other “spreading” cousins.

One year, I took my mother on vacation to London and Stonehenge. We rode for two hours, walked ¼ mile over to the monolithic stones, and posed and took pictures by the giant ancient marvel. She reflected as we headed back to the tour bus, “Sure was a big ole’ pile of rocks!”

She even once exclaimed to my poor sensitive tweenager who had had a huge weight gain resulting in man boobs, “You got breasts!”

No one is left unscathed from family and friends to the workers in the nursing home. She will talk about your weight, your mole, your deadbeat boyfriend, your cheating husband, your loud kids, your thick glasses, your mean disposition, … you name it, she’s said it. It’s as though she has taken truth serum and must say the first negative truth that pops into her mind.

She will just smile, grab your hand and pat you while saying, “Baby, you know I didn’t mean no harm.” And they actually laugh or just smile and respond back, “It’s fine.”

What else could they say? She is after all just telling the truth.

https://twowritingteachers.org/