Imagine

The joys of teaching your own children are sometimes never realized. The emotions involved when reading with a first grader is something akin to having water continuously dripped on your forehead for 12 hours. The ka-ah-t cat ih-z is ah-nn on th-eh the rah-uh-gh rug. Then there is the practice of Anger Management when interrogating the 4th grade parolee on whether or not there is any homework tonight, and if not then why is the teacher sending home notes every week about missing assignments. My personal favorite is when asked, I respond that indeed 2+2 is 4, the response fired back by a 4'2" person is "no it's not, my teacher said it's 5." It is at this point, the wheels fall off the bus, and I can only reply through clinched teeth, "go ask your dad."

Since I started tutoring, I have discovered this is a common trend in parenting. My favorite thing after each class is to watch the parents first peak their head in the door, as if to assess the damage and sweep for land mines before entering. Once they trepidatiously cross the threshold of the room, they gingerly walk over, and with one eye nearly closed as if to receive the final blow, ask, "how'd they do?" When I am still smiling and respond enthusiastically, "great," a look of shock, then relief washes over their face.

Between the three classes I have, there are nine students. All but two of them have ADHD. All of them are hysterical. Last week, when I was reading a story out load to them, I told them to close their eyes and imagine what a windy day in fall would feel like. One of my 2nd graders instantly shot up his hand and said "Miss Kristi, my imaginary is broke. It's like someone went inside my brain and turned it off, so do I have to close my eyes?"

Teaching other people's children is a joy I receive two days a week. Every Tuesday and Thursday for a few hours, I get to be smart and know what I am talking about. Every Tuesday and Thursday I receive the joy of parents telling me that the tutoring homework is done without the weeping, and wailing, and gnashing of teeth, and that they are amazed. For me, every Tuesday and Thursday is a little like a Stewart Smiley moment when I can look in the mirror and say, "I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and daw gone it, people like me."