On being a teacher

Apparently I’ve missed my calling in life; I should have taught kindergarten.

When my first sub request came early this week I was so excited–then I heard it was for a kindergarten class in Georgia’s school.

Right when I finally get away from them I’m dragged back into the sticky-fingered gang one pant leg at a time. I had a mini-anxiety attack that morning doing my lipstick, no thanks to Jason’s mockery and horrific delight that I was going to spend the day with a bunch of Georgia’s. I kind of wanted to jam my eyelash curler up his nose.

The first day on the job–any job–is nerve wracking. My only consolation came from the fact that the only people I had to win over were a bunch of mini-children. Can we say bubbles, anyone? A silly hat and some Sesame Street songs and we were good as gold.

For someone who routinely stomps around and threatens to squash her own children, I was rather surprised at what a gooey heart I’ve got for other people’s kids. I kind of fell in love with this class of babies, we had a fabulous time and it was so good that I went back the next day and did it all over again.

Speaking of children, my kids are fantastic this year. Despite the heat and my green pool (terrible property management company) we’ve figured out how to live here without melting. Kind of.

Harry was unexpectedly invited to join Jazz band (trumpet) and was bumped up to the 8th grade Advanced band because he’s so absolutely brilliant. That’s right, tooting my boy and his horn for all to hear. After wading painfully through his entire 6th grade year of school with nothing but loneliness and heat rash, he really needed something like this to come back to. He’s playing football again and–not getting our hopes up–I think he loves it.

Yesterday he said, “Mom, I think I know what I want to be when I grow up.”

Considering the fact that I’ve heard this phrase from him a dozen times and it’s included everything from a pilot to a Satyr I wasn’t listening too hard.

“A teacher,” he said, “I think I want to be a teacher.”

What? A teacher? Why, this was an unexpected turn of maturity. I looked at him across the room and suddenly, my heart swelled with joy. There was my son, talking about a life filled with teacherish goals. Of course he wants to be a teacher, I thought. He’s wonderful.

“Not just a teacher,” he went on, oblivious to all the joyful laser beams I was shooting in his direction. “I want to be like, a college teacher, a professor.”

A professor! How delightful! I could see him there in a lecture hall, in his tweed coat and trousers, shirt cuffs rolled up with chalk in his hands, prepared to enlighten young minds and teach the truth of the–

“And I’ll teach greek mythology.”

Greek myth…oh well, at least he’s lifting others to a higher level of thinking. The Greeks were super smart–

“That way I can read Percy Jackson every day!”

And there it was. My son wants to grow up and teach Percy Jackson on a college level.

Yep, still a seventh grader.