Yes. This is my car. This is my car in the parking lot of my place of employment. Yes, my car was the only car noticeably “decorated,” as we casually strolled out of the building on an ordinary Friday afternoon.
After waiting approximately thirty minutes for the police to arrive, Colleen, Jill, a very pregnant Amy (fellow isle12 crew member) and I made every attempt to find humor in the situation. But seriously, is this really my life?
“Ma’am is this your car?”
“Yes”
“Do you have any reason to believe one of your students may have done this?”
“Sure”
“Is there a student in particular that you think may not like you?”
He was joking, right?
“Sir, I teach 8th grade. Should I go get my student roster? You may want to grab a bigger notepad than that one you’re currently holding”
I had to stop and think. The composure I maintained during the whole ordeal is somewhat daunting. I mean, have I really just accepted the fact that this is the result of teaching in an urban district? Am I really that numb to the harsh realities of what teaching these kids has really meant for the past two years? I’m talking not one tear was shed at the sight of my totally-smurffed-up-car. Is it so bad that I no longer react to these antics? When did I become so hardened?
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