My Best Day Ever At School

I gave my students the following assignment. Write a short personal narrative about either your best day ever at school or your worst day ever at school. When I give writing assignments I always write along side the kids. Here is what I wrote.

My throat was so dry no amount of water could slake my thirst. I had not slept for five nights. Every possible worst-case scenerio imaginable had been played and replayed in my mind like a favorite episode of Seinfeld. And yet, believe it or not, this was my best day ever in school.
From August 1980 until December of 1993 I trudged my way through college. To say my journey was more like a marathon than a sprint does not even begin to give the process the recognition it deserves. It was a marathon for sure, but imagine a marathon that at different times during the race you have various handicaps thrust on you. “For this mile and a half you will have a broken leg, wear a blindfold, and have a 100 pound bag of hammers tied to your wrist.”
I staggered, stumbled, fell in the mud, but always, and baby I mean always, picked myself up and raced on. December 19, 1993 I finished the race. I was a college graduate. And that day led me to my best day ever at school. On that day I had that degree in education and I was a teacher.
So, cotton-mouthed, sleep deprived, bowels of water and knees of jelly I stood at the front of the class, looked those 4th graders in the eye, smiled and sang to the mountaintop, “Good morning class, my name is Mr. Theobald, I am your teacher.” My first day of teaching was without a doubt my best day ever at school.

Nobody Smokes Anymore

I sometimes think my Mom’s two main food groups were cigarettes and coffee. Sure she would eat, usually after the rest of the family. With seven kids around the table, 8 if you include the old man, she had little time to sit down and join us. But during the day when children were off terrorizing their teachers, or hanging out at the pool, mom was on the cigarettes and coffee. For her smoking was a social event, a vice to be shared only with those few close friends who could appreciate a smoke filled kitchen and a pot of fresh black coffee. She wouldn’t smoke a cigarette with just anyone, no sir, that was a privilege reserved for only the chosen few.
A quick check of the contents of the ashtray was like reading the guest book after a wedding. The brand of butts ground out in the bottom of the tray revealed the afternoon’s smoking partners. If it was only Kents, you know Randi had walked up for a quick cup of coffee after lunch. These little chats usually revolved around Alter Society gossip and the latest troubles of their respective brood. Camel non-filters let you know Jeanne stopped by after her weekly trip to the grocery store. I can still see her, “I only have time for one cup Liz, I have ice cream in the car.” Jeannie loved those camels. She would take a hit, then daintily pick tobacco scraps from her tongue. A few ground out Marlboros and I knew Phyllis was up. Mom and Phyllis usually had the most animated, and longest conversations. Swim team, children, grand children, fights with spouses, and gossip, gossip, gossip.
These four women accounted for 24 children. I would be curious to know how many of those 24 smoke today. My guess is very few. I know I don’t. But I do miss the smell of cigarette smoke in the kitchen and the sound of my mom’s laughter. Nobody smokes anymore, it’s kind of sad.