I have kinda in my mind made a decision to write in this blog a little more often and be a little more diligent and eloquent and tell of things that have meaning and purpose. Maybe dig deeper and bring up more feelings.
However, I don't know that person...so....
Do you remember when you were a kid and you would pass notes in school *gasp*. Inevitably, someone would pass something with a question with three boxes (sometimes just two) which would indicate a "Yes" response, a "No" response, or a "Maybe" response. This could be as easy as does one want to sit by you at lunch? Maybe one that would require your parents' permission as does one want to spend the night? It could even *deep breath* ask if you liked this particular person. And by like, of course, it would be "like" or "like like." We were far too young to know of love or frankly even care about it. Eventually, the teacher would catch on or perhaps one would be careless in the "pass" and the note would be confiscated. I wonder how many "eye rolls" the teacher did in a given school year at the nonsense she (sorry, but I mostly had nuns growing up!) had to read.
So, with that, I will tell you a high school story. I have many of them, but because I really don't want my children to know what kind of a teenager I was, I have kept a lot of them under wraps!!! But this one shows more of my vindictive side (thank you, Josie Camacho, for that gene!!). So, geometry (aside note here...duh! Geometry, of course I am passing notes in this class!), 10th grade year, Mr. Hall, forgive me, I forget the hour. Me and my friend, Michelle Bettis. We would pass notes. Stupid things usually, but nonetheless, important to us at that time. Who was seeing who. Who was not seeing who any longer *wags eyebrows*...oh yes...that sort of stuff. Who might be.....*whispers* pregnant?! Ahhhh...remember that one, we will come back to that. So, Michelle, better known then as Shelly, and I would pass notes, filling the other in on the most important things going on in our lives. This was an almost daily thing. Now, remember young friends, texting was not even heard of back in 198*cough*...yeah back then!! Passing notes was the texting of the 80s! Anyway, Michelle and I would pass notes. Michelle and I would get caught. Usually by something stupid like over aiming in the throw across the room or perhaps even a too-loud giggle of something that was written! Mr. Hall, he would take our notes and he would read them. Sometimes to himself, occasionally out loud! Oh yes...one of THOSE teachers. So, we, being the 15-year-old smartasses we were at that time, decided to "teach him a lesson." We concocted a story of one of being pregnant. (I honestly cannot remember who was the pregnant one). We had it all worked out before class. We started the process. The first line or two asking the other what they were going to do? Did the father know? Did her parents know? Oh, it was fantastic! Well, indeed, we got caught. Mr. Hall picked up the note, I believe in mid air!, and took it to his desk. He opened it to read. He went white as all the blood drained from his face.
After a few minutes, he called us into the hall (Mr. Hall in the hall...lol...forget it, that just struck me funny). He was concerned. He was sad. He was supportive. I felt like complete crap. But we had taken it way too far to go back. Our "lesson" that we were teaching him, was quickly becoming our "lesson" on hurting people.
Michelle and I never talked it about. I think we both felt terrible.
A few years later, my senior year, I needed a filler class. I decided to be a teacher's aide and I went to Mr. Hall. He gladly took me in. I would go to his class and grade his papers and put the stuff up on the chalkboard that he asked me to and fill out the grade book (yes, a real book, that you had to write in...no computers in 198*cough*...you get it!!!). Sometimes I would be ditching my earlier class....I mean, I mean sometimes I would be sick and could not make my earlier class *wink* and go to his class early. He was cool and let me. He would ask me to run errands for him that occasionally took me off campus (Coke and a Snicker bar!). He was actually a really nice man. We became close in that year (not like THAT!!) and he counted on me and I could count on him and his room for a place to hang for a few hours. This would have been two years later from the time he read our note (BTW, that was the last note he ever took from us). Hundreds of students later. We were talking one day as I was leaving his class and he asked about the pregnancy. I wish I would have been a stronger person then and told him it was all made up. I wish I could have eased his conscious a little bit and let him know none of it was true. But, I couldn't. I could not own up to the fact that we had tricked him and ended up hurting him as bad as we had. I told him that everything worked out in the end. I didn't elaborate or fill him in on anything. But I felt terrible. I wish I could find him and tell him now. He might not remember me or the incident any longer, it was nearly 26 years ago that he asked about it, but I saw the deep concern in his eyes and the fact that he loved his students and wished nothing but the very best for every single one of them. He was one of the good guys that got kicked in the shins by two 15-year-old girls. Sorry, Mr. Hall.
It is things like this and the way we handle them, I think, that make us who we are. Had I told him the truth, this guilt I had of lying to him would have diminished if not entirely left. I might not ever remember the story. I am not sure what the moral is here ... Don't lie? Don't get caught? Maybe this is the moral of the story: When one goes to teach another a lesson, it might end up being a lesson for you.
XOXO
However, I don't know that person...so....
Do you remember when you were a kid and you would pass notes in school *gasp*. Inevitably, someone would pass something with a question with three boxes (sometimes just two) which would indicate a "Yes" response, a "No" response, or a "Maybe" response. This could be as easy as does one want to sit by you at lunch? Maybe one that would require your parents' permission as does one want to spend the night? It could even *deep breath* ask if you liked this particular person. And by like, of course, it would be "like" or "like like." We were far too young to know of love or frankly even care about it. Eventually, the teacher would catch on or perhaps one would be careless in the "pass" and the note would be confiscated. I wonder how many "eye rolls" the teacher did in a given school year at the nonsense she (sorry, but I mostly had nuns growing up!) had to read.
So, with that, I will tell you a high school story. I have many of them, but because I really don't want my children to know what kind of a teenager I was, I have kept a lot of them under wraps!!! But this one shows more of my vindictive side (thank you, Josie Camacho, for that gene!!). So, geometry (aside note here...duh! Geometry, of course I am passing notes in this class!), 10th grade year, Mr. Hall, forgive me, I forget the hour. Me and my friend, Michelle Bettis. We would pass notes. Stupid things usually, but nonetheless, important to us at that time. Who was seeing who. Who was not seeing who any longer *wags eyebrows*...oh yes...that sort of stuff. Who might be.....*whispers* pregnant?! Ahhhh...remember that one, we will come back to that. So, Michelle, better known then as Shelly, and I would pass notes, filling the other in on the most important things going on in our lives. This was an almost daily thing. Now, remember young friends, texting was not even heard of back in 198*cough*...yeah back then!! Passing notes was the texting of the 80s! Anyway, Michelle and I would pass notes. Michelle and I would get caught. Usually by something stupid like over aiming in the throw across the room or perhaps even a too-loud giggle of something that was written! Mr. Hall, he would take our notes and he would read them. Sometimes to himself, occasionally out loud! Oh yes...one of THOSE teachers. So, we, being the 15-year-old smartasses we were at that time, decided to "teach him a lesson." We concocted a story of one of being pregnant. (I honestly cannot remember who was the pregnant one). We had it all worked out before class. We started the process. The first line or two asking the other what they were going to do? Did the father know? Did her parents know? Oh, it was fantastic! Well, indeed, we got caught. Mr. Hall picked up the note, I believe in mid air!, and took it to his desk. He opened it to read. He went white as all the blood drained from his face.
After a few minutes, he called us into the hall (Mr. Hall in the hall...lol...forget it, that just struck me funny). He was concerned. He was sad. He was supportive. I felt like complete crap. But we had taken it way too far to go back. Our "lesson" that we were teaching him, was quickly becoming our "lesson" on hurting people.
Michelle and I never talked it about. I think we both felt terrible.
A few years later, my senior year, I needed a filler class. I decided to be a teacher's aide and I went to Mr. Hall. He gladly took me in. I would go to his class and grade his papers and put the stuff up on the chalkboard that he asked me to and fill out the grade book (yes, a real book, that you had to write in...no computers in 198*cough*...you get it!!!). Sometimes I would be ditching my earlier class....I mean, I mean sometimes I would be sick and could not make my earlier class *wink* and go to his class early. He was cool and let me. He would ask me to run errands for him that occasionally took me off campus (Coke and a Snicker bar!). He was actually a really nice man. We became close in that year (not like THAT!!) and he counted on me and I could count on him and his room for a place to hang for a few hours. This would have been two years later from the time he read our note (BTW, that was the last note he ever took from us). Hundreds of students later. We were talking one day as I was leaving his class and he asked about the pregnancy. I wish I would have been a stronger person then and told him it was all made up. I wish I could have eased his conscious a little bit and let him know none of it was true. But, I couldn't. I could not own up to the fact that we had tricked him and ended up hurting him as bad as we had. I told him that everything worked out in the end. I didn't elaborate or fill him in on anything. But I felt terrible. I wish I could find him and tell him now. He might not remember me or the incident any longer, it was nearly 26 years ago that he asked about it, but I saw the deep concern in his eyes and the fact that he loved his students and wished nothing but the very best for every single one of them. He was one of the good guys that got kicked in the shins by two 15-year-old girls. Sorry, Mr. Hall.
It is things like this and the way we handle them, I think, that make us who we are. Had I told him the truth, this guilt I had of lying to him would have diminished if not entirely left. I might not ever remember the story. I am not sure what the moral is here ... Don't lie? Don't get caught? Maybe this is the moral of the story: When one goes to teach another a lesson, it might end up being a lesson for you.
XOXO
1 comment:
Isn't it interesting to wander back in time and recall situations that (in a way) made us who we are today! We all know a Mr. Hall and a Shelley. And, gratefully, we all know and love Velvet!
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