DIXIE DELIRIUM: Ramblings On The Fine Art And Act Of Teaching
Extra Credit Reading: I Was A Wide-Eyed Substitute Teacher, Too, Before All This Got Started
A DIXIE DIARY: The Spring Semester Of My Rookie Year
Is Teaching Fun?
Old Burrell Almost Killed Me In High School Lit Class. Now I'm What You Call His Colleague
Classroom Confidential: Bodily Funktions
Teachers Have To Write Essays, Too. Here's 932 Southern-Fried & True Words Of My Own
Essay A Go-Go: What's Up With Them Adults?
Rebel Yell: Give Todd A Holler
Tuesday
Feb152011

November 2

There are more females than males living in Georgia … The population of our state is growing rapidly.

Georgia, by Elmer D. Williams

 

Dear Dixie,

No school for the teachers today.  Got to go to another one of those conferences.  And this time it wasn’t just a half-day deal.  It was the whole deal ... the annual conference of the Georgia Independent Schools Association held at a fancy college-prep boarding school in the Appalachian foothills in northwest Georgia.

Now, before you think a few hundred teachers wandering around going to different classes to help them become better teachers was real boring, let me tell you, in the class I went to, Teaching the Whole Child, the instructor held up what looked like a seat cushion and asked if anyone in the class would like to sit on a vibrating seat cushion.  You know, to help keep you attentive.  We use these in our school, she said.

I admit, the first thought that came into my head was not teacherly. 

The blonde haired woman sitting to my right shot her hand up pretty quick and all I could think of—with this woman sitting three feet from me—was that if during the lecture she starts seeing Jesus then holy God almighty. 

She’s also the woman who had walked into the classroom a few minutes before class started and without embarrassment announced she didn’t have anything to write with and could she borrow a pen or pencil from somebody.  For an instant I thought I didn’t have the day off and I was back at real work.  Plus, one of the instructors handed her the pen you got for free in your conference bag of goodies and it’s the pen with the switches for different colors at the top.  Black, blue, red, and green.  She holds the pen up and squeals, Do ya’ll remember these kinds of pens … they’re so neat!

I was thinking ... Lady, we all got one.  You, too, you doo-doo head schoolteacher.  Look in your bag of goodies.  Now I was squirming in my seat and I didn’t even have a sex device.

So we start in on the material and there is no way I’m going to look over at her every second or so even although I want to very much but if some awesome force of nature saw to it that I could grow a third eyeball real quick on the right side of my head, well.

The class ran over by ten minutes so this meant the woman next to me sat on a vibrating seat cushion for seventy minutes without having seen Jesus.  I find that extremely gloomy and dispiriting.  For her.

Of course, you never know.  Some women are mighty mysterious in that department I read once in a Cosmopolitan magazine in the Publix check-out line.  Aisle three.  The article said some women can be vacuuming the living room floor and all of a sudden see Jesus and you’d never know it.

Class dismissed.  I got out of there as fast I could.

While I’m hauling it my cell phone rings and it’s Lurlene.  I was hauling it through Canton at that moment.  Old Cherokee Indian territory.

Lurlene wanted to know all about the day and what I learned and what good new things I might bring to the classroom tomorrow?  Lurlene asked all that in a certain tone of voice that reminds you of your math teacher who would always scrape her fingernails across the blackboard to get your attention.

I asked Lurlene if she was going to … or had already … pestered all of her other teachers on their phones who were hauling ass home who had gone to the annual conference to see what good new things they’d be bringing to their classrooms tomorrow.

Nope, Lurlene said.  Just you.

 

 

Next Entry ... March 21: Jogging The Brain