LJ Idol Week 11: Recency Bias
Last school year I had the kind of class that could wear a fake mustache and still keep their cool. I don’t ever remember anyone acting a fool or purposefully breaking a rule. No one made sounds like a rhinoceros and the kids were just not obnoxious. Every bit of it was bliss and I often reminisce about the amount of awesomeness that I experienced.
When this school year began I was pumped like lotion, expecting a class of similar proportion. Little did I know it would be a struggle straight from the get-go. They came in dancing, prancing, bouncing, pouncing, and -ing -ing -ing.
They did all the things that my kids last year didn’t. They fussed and cussed and stepped on shoes and such. This turned into that and that worked at my nerves. They were eight years old acting like four; one even pooped on the frickin floor. I was floored. Until one day I wasn’t.
I came to accept the fact that I had two dozen children bubbling with buffoonery who were usually unruly. Like an elevator, they often took their behavior to a whole new level but I stopped becoming disheveled. Instead I reveled in the challenge and managed to balance my sanity with this reality. I conferenced about the nonsense with parents and saw how many grew up in an environment of reckless negligence and carelessness.
Once I saw where they were coming from I knew where to go. We heaved and we hoved and we grew and we growed. They became more manageable and our relationship grew beyond amicable. In fact, I’m a bit sad to see them go. Despite all the lows I love them like my own.
With that said, I hope next year's bunch is nothing like them.
When this school year began I was pumped like lotion, expecting a class of similar proportion. Little did I know it would be a struggle straight from the get-go. They came in dancing, prancing, bouncing, pouncing, and -ing -ing -ing.
They did all the things that my kids last year didn’t. They fussed and cussed and stepped on shoes and such. This turned into that and that worked at my nerves. They were eight years old acting like four; one even pooped on the frickin floor. I was floored. Until one day I wasn’t.
I came to accept the fact that I had two dozen children bubbling with buffoonery who were usually unruly. Like an elevator, they often took their behavior to a whole new level but I stopped becoming disheveled. Instead I reveled in the challenge and managed to balance my sanity with this reality. I conferenced about the nonsense with parents and saw how many grew up in an environment of reckless negligence and carelessness.
Once I saw where they were coming from I knew where to go. We heaved and we hoved and we grew and we growed. They became more manageable and our relationship grew beyond amicable. In fact, I’m a bit sad to see them go. Despite all the lows I love them like my own.
With that said, I hope next year's bunch is nothing like them.