Tuesday, February 13, 2007
She
Ah, wintertime. The snow is beginning to fall today on what is potentially our first major storm of the winter. I can’t complain; it is the middle of February, I’m heading on vacation in 4 days, and the first half of winter was unusually tropical.
As the office moms are all buzzing today regarding the possibility of an early dismissal for their children, I reminisce about those wonderous years when money had no meaning, and snow was worth its weight in gold. As I am thinking back, I find myself fired up about a snow-day experience that I am still angered about . . . 20 years later.
Our elementary schools were combined at the end of my third grade-year. My elementary school (Acme) was made K-3 for the entire district with the other facility (Colfax) as 4-6. I still don’t agree with the decision to integrate an entire class so early, but I guess I turned out OK for the most part.
We had an early storm in my fourth grade year—my first year at Colfax. We were granted an early dismissal and had to wait in a room near the front door where they queued lines of students waiting for different busses. “Bus A” was broadcasted over the address system. Mr. Ide (our music teacher) sent us marching towards the front door. As we made it to the front, we realize that the bus number posted in the window was not “A’, but “C”.
Sensing our confusion, the hallway monitor—a sixth grade teacher whom I had never seen before—realized the error and turned us around. As we returned to the bus room, Mr. Ide asked why we returned. As the first one back in the room, I looked up at him, pointed outside to the woman in the hall, and said “she sent us back in”, fully expecting her to communicate the error with him.
No sooner had I said this when Mrs. Miller—a name now permanently filed into my psyche next to evil—stormed into the room at lightening speed, grabbed my wrist, slapped it, and scolded me.
“How dare you. My name is not ‘she’. I have an actual name. It is Mrs. Miller. Never make that mistake again!”
Let’s put this in perspective. I was answering a question asked by another teacher. Perhaps it was rude to point, but I was 8; manners were not inherent at that age. I never heard of this woman or her name and shouldn’t have needed to. It isn’t like I said “that bitch in the hallway sent us back”. Last time I checked, “she” was not extremely rude.
I don’t know why I am so bothered by that single point in time, but I remember crying for three hours when I got home. Years later, we learned that my mom and Mrs. Miller’s mom work together. They would always chat about how well I was doing, and how fond of me Mrs. Miller was. What kind of bullshit is that? Feeling aint mutual babe.
If you are out there, Madame M., grant me an apology. It has been 19 years since this incident, yet I still recall it as though it were yesterday. To date, I have never had anyone be so rude to me as you were back then.
As the office moms are all buzzing today regarding the possibility of an early dismissal for their children, I reminisce about those wonderous years when money had no meaning, and snow was worth its weight in gold. As I am thinking back, I find myself fired up about a snow-day experience that I am still angered about . . . 20 years later.
Our elementary schools were combined at the end of my third grade-year. My elementary school (Acme) was made K-3 for the entire district with the other facility (Colfax) as 4-6. I still don’t agree with the decision to integrate an entire class so early, but I guess I turned out OK for the most part.
We had an early storm in my fourth grade year—my first year at Colfax. We were granted an early dismissal and had to wait in a room near the front door where they queued lines of students waiting for different busses. “Bus A” was broadcasted over the address system. Mr. Ide (our music teacher) sent us marching towards the front door. As we made it to the front, we realize that the bus number posted in the window was not “A’, but “C”.
Sensing our confusion, the hallway monitor—a sixth grade teacher whom I had never seen before—realized the error and turned us around. As we returned to the bus room, Mr. Ide asked why we returned. As the first one back in the room, I looked up at him, pointed outside to the woman in the hall, and said “she sent us back in”, fully expecting her to communicate the error with him.
No sooner had I said this when Mrs. Miller—a name now permanently filed into my psyche next to evil—stormed into the room at lightening speed, grabbed my wrist, slapped it, and scolded me.
“How dare you. My name is not ‘she’. I have an actual name. It is Mrs. Miller. Never make that mistake again!”
Let’s put this in perspective. I was answering a question asked by another teacher. Perhaps it was rude to point, but I was 8; manners were not inherent at that age. I never heard of this woman or her name and shouldn’t have needed to. It isn’t like I said “that bitch in the hallway sent us back”. Last time I checked, “she” was not extremely rude.
I don’t know why I am so bothered by that single point in time, but I remember crying for three hours when I got home. Years later, we learned that my mom and Mrs. Miller’s mom work together. They would always chat about how well I was doing, and how fond of me Mrs. Miller was. What kind of bullshit is that? Feeling aint mutual babe.
If you are out there, Madame M., grant me an apology. It has been 19 years since this incident, yet I still recall it as though it were yesterday. To date, I have never had anyone be so rude to me as you were back then.
# posted by Jay @ 9:24 AM 
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We could start some therapy where I replace this memory with a better version.
It'll only take a few months.
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It'll only take a few months.
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