Teacher-Mother

Teaching is one of those jobs that completely wears me down by the end of the day. Makes my ankles ache. Makes my knees feel like they are going to buckle from the sheer dead weight. Makes my head throb. Makes my voice raise. Makes my eyes glare in that infamous Lively Look that was luckily passed down my mother’s lineage.

Some days, if you asked me how my day was, I’d probably clock you.
But even on the bad days–today included–it’s not such a bad gig.

“Lindsay Teacher I love you,” my namesake Lindsay Student sang out loud as I dared the boys on the other side of the room to move one more muscle out of their chair again with my Lively Look.
In one of my new first grade classes this week, a girl who doesn’t speak yet in front of me stayed after class to write a message on the discarded swirly wrapper of a crayon. She jotted it down in Korean, left it on the desk, and hopped out of the room like a bunny rabbit.

These kids, I thought. Can’t freakin’ just throw a freakin’ piece of trash in the trash can. For some reason, I glanced at it.

린지 티쳐엄마 사렁해요
(Lindsay Teacher-Mother I love you)

And that’s what gets me through the days when I seriously think about clocking a kid in the face.

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