I finished three classes this week which means that I have been grading papers and projects for 2 consecutive weeks trying not to go crazy. Although, even through the mind wills it, the rest of me did have a meltdown on Friday.....fade to black.....
On Wednesday night, I finished the class 90 minutes from the house and got home late (natch...). I started to work on the papers and presentation grades the first thing in the morning on Thursday....had to run to the Food Cupboard to volunteer (can't give that up), shower....work...another class....during this class, the presentations went into overtime since students did not stick to their 10 minute limit. And so, I dismissed class at 11pm. People were not happy.....anyway....
On Friday, it was my goal to finish three classes worth of papers, presentations, and grades. Yep, that was my goal. So, I started early, stayed in my pajamas and robe, and did not move from my office until the goal was achieved. Somewhere along the day, I threw on old sweats to walk the dog. As I was plowing through good papers, bad papers, awful papers, and amazing papers, it happened....
Yep, the doorbell rang. Nope, I am not getting it. No way. Then I looked down and it was the girl scouts. Nope. Not getting it. Come back later, kids. Then my conscience kicked in: "Hey, you dummy, you were a girl scout once. Get off your butt and order some cookies!^%$#("
Fine. Fine. FINE! I answered the door with three of the quints standing there while Diva yapped. "Would you like to buy some cookies?" The three of them looked so cute with the girl scout wearing their sashes and their brother Lil D standing next to them holding up his bicycle.
Now, last year, I ordered two cases of cookies for $100.00. Couldn't do it this year, so I said in a hurry, "Put me down for one of each. Later...."
"No" they said. "You have to write your name and address and check off your cookies on the order form."
"OK" I scribbled my name and address and saw that I was the first person that they stopped to see to sell the cookies. I guess that buying two cases of cookies gives a person a reputation as a soft touch. And thus, everything was signed and sealed. As I was ready to close the door, Lil D looks at me and says (oh so innocently), "What's wrong with your hair?"
Huh? My hair? "Uh, Lil D, what do you mean?"
"Well, it is messy and is sticking up."
Nice. Nice. Really NICE! Yeah, I just scared the kids. SO, I tried to explain to him that when I graded papers, I pulled at my hair. I did not want to tell him that it prevents me from screaming since many of them are bad, but I kept my tongue and shared that I played with my hair when I worked. Then I looked at him give me a look from the fur snow boots that I was wearing with my sweat pants to the chocolate stains on my shirt. Let's face it, I looked a mess and scared the kids. That will teach them to knock on my door at the end of the term. Actually, it teaches me not to listen to me conscience when I knew better and should have stayed hidden on the second floor of the house.
After leaving the kids to sell more cookies to a better dressed and showered neighbor, I trudged back to the office. As I began to work on another paper, tho phones rang....the house phone and my cell phone. Dad was on one line; the big leftie was on the other. Nice. Nice. NICE!
So, I answered both. Dad was upset about something. Buddy was happy about something. I decided to take the happy call and hang up on the unhappy one. Conscience again? Naw....I was not in the mood to listen to him when I was melting down...so, I spoke with the big kid who said that he had a great bullpen....all balls were zipping....only three bad pitches. Well now, that is good news. "Going out tonight to have a few beers with the guys." Have fun. Don't drink and drive. Walk home. Be careful.
That was the last that I heard from him this weekend, which means that he slept most of Saturday until he met with his high school baseball coach.
The coach contacted him to share that he was bringing his family to campus because his daughter had a gymnastics tournament. Naturally, he wanted to see his protege and have a tour of the facilities.
Now, here is where I get a bit salty. This is the coach who kicked him out of the dugout for showing up a few minutes late when he could not find a a parking space after taking his father to work. He is also the coach who could be heard screaming every time the kid threw a ball to get him the (*%&S off the mound and out of the game. It is also the coach who was puzzled when college coaches called him for more information about the kid when he was being recruited. He was shocked because he did not think that the big guy could pitch or play. He also gave him the "Most Improved Baseball Player" award at the banquet when he was clearly the MVP (this is not sour grapes, it is based upon statistics and being the only senior on the team named All State). This award makes all of us smile....
And now, he is on campus and wants a tour of the field and baseball facilities. Yep....all I can think of is how he screamed at my son who called me and said in tears: "I am never going to pitch again" because the coach told him &%$)) *!.
So, dude, you want a tour? OK, are you also telling the community or whoever would listen that he is at this university because of his magical coaching prowess? He is responsible for my son's success? Really?
Perhaps I am keeping a grudge, but I have never spoken to the man, nor do I ever intend to. He made my kid's life (and therefore my life) a living heck for three years. It was me who pulled him up by his shoelaces when the coach threw a hissy fit or belittled him or cursed at him. Maybe it made him stronger. That is definitely a possibility, but all I can think of is three years of constant torture.
Then today, I saw a study performed in England about kid's coaches and how most of them can be construed as bullies based upon the definition of bully. I can see it. I actually saw it and lived it. Were all of them bullies? Absolutely not. The majority of the coaches were nice people who encouraged the kids knowing that none of them were the next Michael Jordan or Derek Jeter. Yet, my son's Catholic school 5th grade football coach taught him how to curse in sentences. Nice. That plus tuition will give the kid the entire Catholic school experience.
I guess that I am a bit negative today, so it is time to leave the office and have some fun. I hope that you can too.
Peace!
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