day one: beginning

Kazzy

day one: beginning

I am a new special ed teacher. After twenty-one years I am back in a familiar spot, but at the same time in an unfamiliar situation. And it is that unfamiliarity that also has me back at the university getting my Spec Ed license. School during the afternoon and school at night. But it's all good. This is a chance to see what my 45 year-old brain can handle, as far as new challenges are concerned. Got my husband and two sons that are still home behind me. I feel like it is an experiment.

I want to write a blog entry everyday for the next calendar year (and continue with my Musical Monday posts). I need a place to be my touchstone, and I am going to try this place. But because of my work, school, family, and church obligations I will read fewer blogs (I don't think anyone will miss me. Seems like I don't get much reciprocity lately anyway...). So I will write.

We did testing today with a handful of kiddos. Adorable little lumps of clay. I am still trying to find my way in the paperwork, but feel at ease with the kids. Connie and Liz will be great helps, especially C.

Adam has been packing for his move out to the dorms this weekend. A joyful boy. I will miss him, but know this is good and right. A stack has begun in the middle of his bedroom of things that will move out with him.

Yesterday in my rush to prepare the classroom, work with the new technician, Liz, and run back and forth to the other neighborhood elementary where my youngest was having his open house, I found myself darting into the grocery store for some bananas and small chocolate donuts (balance, people). On my hurried way back out to my car 4 minutes before I was due back at my own classroom for our own school open house, I saw an elderly man slowly swinging his legs out of the driver's door of an old, beat-up, white Lincoln. Then came the crutches with the arm braces. His door was swung open in a way that blocked me from getting to my driver's door, so I stood near the hood of my car and waited. Then after he was finally upright he realized that he had forgotten to put his handicapped tag on the dash, so after mumbling a few things to himself he climbed back into his car to dig out the tag and place it in clear view above the steering wheel. Meantime I am only slightly impatient because watching this process has become a bit therapeutic to me. And then I recognize him.

Brother Harris, right? My husband has great respect for you. Gideon Burton. He worked with you in the English Dept at BYU.

Oh, Gideon. Yes. Ask him to stop by and see me at my home sometime. I have some things to talk to him about.

I'll do that. You take care.

Then as I check my clock I see it is now 1:59. I start to finally pull out when he comes back to my window to tell me a short joke about being a technical writer. Then he walks away, toward the store front, and I see his suspenders are unclipped from his pants and he is barely able to shuffle his way to the sliding doors.

Thank you, nice old man, for reminding me to slow down.