This afternoon I decided to treat my children to a movie and ice cream, seeing how much they've missed their daddy and how hard they tried to help me clean our house today.
I wish I could say I've been a perfect mother during his absence but the truth is, it's been a little rocky. I really don't know how my friends do it that are either single mothers or military spouses.
My husband has only been gone for three days and I'm sure my children are more than ready to trade me in for a new model. I've raised my voice several times, sent all of them into time out at some point for one reason or another, and generally not lived up to my own hopes and expectations.
SO.
Around 3pm today I decided to take my boys and girl to see 'Winnie the Pooh', a new cartoon movie appearing in theaters right now. They'd gotten plenty of energy out playing and cleaning, and I felt like we could all use a mental break.
We chose a 5pm screening and although it nearly took an act of Congress to get them out of the house by 4:48pm, somehow we made it to the theater at 5:02pm in time to buy tickets before the actual film started.
As I waited in line to use our movie pass, my children ran to the video game corner of the theater (about 10 feet away from me) and began to frolic on the machines.
Our pass is a little bit special and because of this, new cashiers at the theater typically need to call in a manager. Tonight was no exception, and the nice guy at the front did call over his manager to ask for guidance on how to ring up our movie card. The manager, a bearded man in his early twenties, swiftly responded and began to explain to him how to document it... then looked up at me, and his eyes widened.
I mean, really widened. They also sort of flashed.
"He knows me somehow," I thought. "He looked like he recognized me from somewhere." The guy did look familiar to me too, something about his bright blue eyes.
Getting back to my ticket purchase, I finished up and turned around to see the manager standing with one of my former students, a strapping 18 year old who resembles Taylor Lautner and who has just graduated from high school. "Hi Jeremy*!" I smiled. "How are you doing?"
Jeremy and I have run into each other at this theater before... he's worked there for about two years taking tickets and helping in the box office, and so this was not such an unexpected sighting. I always turn a little bit red when I run into him though, a bit embarrassed to be seen out in public away from my teacher persona ~ and especially when I'm frazzled and juggling small children.
Before Jeremy could answer though, his manager smiled at me and said -
"Didn't you teach at Carter* Middle School?"
Looking at the guy's name label I read "Mike N.*" and suddenly it all came together. This guy was a former student of mine as well... one I'd known a few years before Jeremy. He must have been around 22 or 23 now, basically the same age that I was when I taught him 7th grade Humanities.
"Wow," I said. "It's nice to see you -- both of you! It's weird that you're both here, since I taught the two of you at two different schools. You look like you're doing well."
"Well, I work at a movie theater," replied Mike.
"Hey, don't knock it -" I responded. "My big brother works for these theaters in their home office in New York City and I think that he has really enjoyed his career."
"That's right," he nodded.
"Well it's good to see you," I said. "I was lucky to be your teacher and I am proud of you."
"That's kind of a generic compliment," he replied, "but I'll take it."
I blushed, but tried to recover gracefully.
"In all the years I was a teacher, I never met a kid that I couldn't find something to love about." I said. "It was easier with some students than others," I smiled - and gestured toward him. I do remember having a good feeling about him, I recall him as a quiet kid who kept to himself and was a meticulous but strong writer. I can't be positive after a decade, but I'm fairly confident that Mike earned an "A" in my class.
Turning to Jeremy, who I remember very well, I said - "Have you met my kids?"
Back to Mike, "When I was your teacher I wasn't married yet, so no kids..."
I brought them over to the video game corner where my three children were enraptured with violent games that I would NEVER let them play at home... and tried to introduce my brood. Who promptly ignored all of us.
"So, you're going to stay here for now?" I asked Jeremy, since I know he just graduated from high school.
"I'm moving to San Francisco at the end of the Summer," he responded. "Going to one of the state schools up there."
"That's great! You'll love that city."
"Don't even get me started on college," said Mike. "I started at the local State but dropped out after a year and then tried the local junior college and left that too. Somehow it just isn't working for me."
"Well," I awkwardly replied... "I went to Big Ivy University and now I'm a stay-at-home mom. You'll both have great carers and lives. I believe you're going to do really well... and your life isn't determined by what college you go to."
(Thanks, yes, I win the foot-in-mouth award for the night. I honestly was so flustered by the entire run-in, I just didn't respond well to anything!)
"It's been great seeing you both," I smiled weakly. "Weird for me that you are both much taller than I am now, and all grown up. I don't know how that happened - or how I ended up with three kids of my own! I guess we've all been busy."
We exchanged a few brief pleasantries and then parted company. "Take care and good luck!"
They smiled at me benignly and ambled away, leaving me to wrangle my three little munchkins and try to get them into the movie theater.
* * * * * * *
In all honesty, I really have a tough time running into former students when I'm not prepared. I love them all, and I love seeing them - but I am always so darn embarrassed.
Since I taught elementary and middle school from 1997 to 2007 in the same city, these kinds of run-ins do happen to me from time to time. They never happen when I am freshly showered and coiffed, wearing matching clothing and looking professional and contented.
They almost invariably seem to occur when I am, like today, completely worn out - lucky that my shirt almost matches my pants, stained with toddler grime, hair a total mess and sweating heavily.
I picture in my mind's eye how these students must have seen me once, as children. From the vantage point of an eight or twelve year old, I seemed like the "fun" teacher (at least for many of them)... I was young, passionate about teaching, liked to make them laugh and genuinely cared about them as people. I connected very well with most students in my career.
At the time these boys met me I may have seemed like someone to look up to, someone educated and hardworking... and for some of the kids in my classes (before I became a parent and gained 60 lbs) I even seemed sort of pretty, 'hip' and cool.
When I run into my former "kids" at the mall, the grocery store, the doctor's office or yes, the movie theater, it just makes me want to sink into the floor.
I feel so self-conscious and worry about how they are assessing me - for example, today I spent about twenty minutes in the darkened theater decompressing from that conversation with Mike, wishing I'd been able to remember specifics about him more quickly so that I could have given him more than a "generic" compliment.
I worry that my former students look at me the same way that children look at Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy once they get older... as a quaint, outgrown tradition with many flaws.
With all of my now-graying hair, sallow skinny face, wrinkles and the nearly permanently affixed "frantic/exhausted" look on my face... I can't help but wonder if they are going to walk away from our brief run-ins and think to themselves, "Wow, she wasn't as tall/cool/nice/smart as I remembered her to be."
I mean, it's really almost inevitable. I'm not a superwoman... I'm just me. Quirky, intense, loving and tired. These days my brain isn't all that sharp anymore either, although I'm hoping with more sleep and further antibiotic treatment that is going to improve.
Many of my former students are really doing amazing things, creating careers that will far surpass mine. I am so genuinely proud of that. I functioned as just one of many stepping stones for them, and I'm honored to have played that small role in their lives. As I've described before, it still amazes me that they are adults now - getting married and having children of their own.
It feels like only yesterday when I taught these two boys; yet somehow they've become men. When I look at their chiseled faces it is possible to see the children they once were, but only barely. Only their eyes are really the same.
I guess the longer I'm out of the classroom, the less I will have these chance encounters with former students. In the past, some of them (mainly sixth and seventh graders) have wanted to friend me on Facebook and I've struggled with that... ultimately giving all of them my personal email address but denying their social network friend requests.
"I've always tried to keep a respectful space between my professional life and personal life," I responded to all of them... "and I only accept Facebook friend requests from friends my own age... but I would love to keep in touch with you ~ and here is the best way to contact me."
(There exists a very small handful of exceptions to that rule - three amazing children from the same family who I taught fourteen years ago in my very first job. Somehow they transcended the student role and became more like family to me... possibly because their parents and I got to know each other very well over the years and became close. For those beautiful kids my life is an open book.)
All adults who have mentored children develop their own way of dealing with the inevitable intersection of their home and work lives.
I guess I'm still grappling with my own spontaneous responses, my own comfort zone. Maybe by the time my former students have children of their own who I'm teaching or tutoring ~ I'll have figured out a smoother and more articulate way of negotiating the divide.
*Names changed to protect the privacy of the people mentioned.
No comments:
Post a Comment