Today, I was walking across our outdoor K-8 campus towards the cafeteria. One of my students veered off the sidewalk looking like he was about to traipse across the little kids’ playground. An internal conflict started in my mind.
Oh no, he’s not supposed to do that. I should yell at him to stop. But I’m on my lunch, and it’s Friday, and I’m tired. And I really don’t care that much which route he takes to get to lunch, even though I know I’m supposed to. A good teacher would tell him to move. If another teacher saw me just watching him do that, she’d hate me for it. I should probably say something. But I just don’t want to, so I won’t.
As soon as I’d made the decision, I saw the young man pick up a little kid’s jacket that had fallen to the ground off of a wall by the playground. He shook it off and set it neatly on the wall, then returned to the sidewalk. I continued towards the cafeteria, and he proceeded to hold the door open for me, smile, and greet me by name.
I’m teaching theme right now, so you can infer your own theme from this story. I know I rant and rave and preach and pray through this soapbox of a blog all of the time. When I was 19, I took a career aptitude test, and it said I should be a preacher/clergy-woman. Some things never change.