There is a teacher at Walkers school from… let’s say Britain. Her name is a joy to say if you were to exaggerate it and draw out all of the vowels in a very English fashion. In fact, I cannot ever convey–in font– the joy I derive from saying her name repeatedly, using my awesome cockney accent.
Let’s just say that I might have overdone it, as is my tendency. Walker has forbidden me to mention her name. Ever. Again.
I can be annoying.
It’s very much in the same vein as not allowing me to burst into my off-key version of “Bohemian Rhapsody” whenever she says, “Mammmmmmmmmmaaaaaa” in a whiny voice. I literally cannot resist.
Unfortunately for Walker, this teacher’s name will sometimes creep into a school story and then I’m off to the races and Walker is banging her forehead into her hand in deep regret. And I’m laughing my fool head off.
Anyway, I suspect that this woman is a deeply unhappy creature and that makes me fascinated with her. She’s young; she’s married; she’s employed.
But the kids are scared of her, including Walker, who is scared of no one (usually) including strangers.
Her dark bangs hang right in the middle of her eyes. She’s tall, dark and willowy.
Recently, at my same volunteer stint where I beaned the child in the head with a football, I walked up to Walker’s young sunny teacher at the playground. She was there with two teachers. A blonde woman I didn’t know and the dark, foreign teacher with the fun name. The foreign teacher said loud and deadpan, “There’s a parent beside you.”
She didn’t address me directly or say hello. She didn’t even look my way. Clearly, she has astute owl-like vision.
It was almost as if she believed that I couldn’t hear this bit of warning–like I was a moderate danger to be warned against; like I was a rat with big teeth.
I almost cracked up in front of them both. I know I definitely giggled into my hand.
Walker’s teacher turned to me and greeted me warmly and we started chatting. After a moment of this, the dark teacher said, “I’m going to go stand over here.”
She then moved about 7 feet away and stood there by herself, huddling against the artic chill, literally hugging herself. She was dressed in a warm black vest with fake fur, zipped to her chin. It was about 55 degrees outside, not particularly unpleasant. And I’m ALWAYS cold.
I had to wonder if it was my mere presence that drove her off. I had to check and make sure that my deodorant was functional. I seemed to smell decent and no other teachers needed to remove themselves or step away from me.
I’ve been thinking about socialization a lot lately, in light of the shootings.
And how oftentimes, it’s the people that are deeply unhappy with themselves can’t dig deep enough to exert common courtesy. Luckily, most of the time, its minor little incidents like this and you just giggle and get on with your day.
