Friday, June 17, 2011

You not going anywhere

School's out-for summah!
School's out-foh evah!
Last day of school.
In special education, there is lots and lots of summer school.
So there never is a last day of school.
Its kind of like a terrible dream.

A terrible dream where everybody says "becept" and "expesially" and doesn't smell too good.
Where every Wednesday, on in to infinity, is pizza day.
1 slice per student, the note tells me; 1 cup of diced pinapple per student, one scoop of mixed green salad (which is usually the shredded iceberg left over from taco Tuesday) per student. One minute of my life lost per student.

But things are not so bad.
When I took the GRE, you had to copy out a paragraph in cursive before you could start the test.
I don't remember cursive too good, and it took me a long, painful time. The old woman moderating the test frowned down upon me all the while, and under the heat of her scrutiny, I felt my 'e' and 'r' getting confused, my lowercase 'g's plummeting off the page. I wished for a big sheet of lined paper and pencil so I could show that old lady I knew how to do it right.
But there was only one tiny space. It filled up so quickly with my unhinged marriage of toddler-cursive and 'hey! a spirograph!" style of handwriting.
When I was finished, I held it up to her proudly.
One gray eye appraised me with deep suspicion, the other stared off at some invisible point far to my left.
She let out a sigh that contained every unkind judgment you could levy against a  human person, signed the paper, and pointed me in the direction of my testing cubicle.

I always think of that when I need inspiration to overcome adversity.
That nice old lady with a lazy eye made it as a GRE moderator; we can all be anything.

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