Last night I sat down at the sewing machine to figure out how to drive it. Within a very few moments long-buried childhood memories of Mum swearing at her sewing machine in the back room surfaced. Now, many years later, I can feel her pain. The bloody thing wouldn't work. The thread kept snapping, the bobbin tangled up and I had to carefully ease the thread out with a knife, (don't worry Sandy. I was very careful). I'd look at the diagram in the instruction book because I am a female and I don't mind asking for help, but nothing worked. Profanity emerged. I knew there was a reason why I was scared of this whole sewing thing. Wasn't so irrational after all. In the end Jordan asked me to "Put it away until tomorrow." I think the profane language was interfering with his enjoyment of the episode of 'Heroes' we had taped. Sandy happened to ring a few minutes later, so I swore at her machine to her as well. She's coming over between now and Thursday to help me work it out. She's good with diagram thingies. Sadly, I am not.
Brennan has his Orientation Day at school today. I'm so rapt. Only one more kid to go at Primary school, and then they'll all be with me. Yay! And no, this doesn't mean that I'm a control freak who has to keep her kids under her watchful eye at all times. I'm just really over primary school stuff after 12 years of it. The day I wash my last bright yellow school top will be a happy one. Brennan's been put in a form group with his best friend Marcus. I don't think he has any other kids from his friendship group in there, but that's ok. He never has any trouble making friends. He's miserable at the moment, though. Last night we went to the orthodontist and he's got the separaters in between his teeth. Apparently he's in a fair bit of pain. (When we got to the orthodontist's, I asked if Tony had paid the deposit for Brennan's braces. Nothing. I couldn't believe it. I went home intending to ring him, but I was a bit tired so I thought I'd have a nanna nap first. Lucky I did! I was woken by the lady from the orthodontist. Tony had just rung them, and had paid the deposit over the phone. So that was one unpleasant conversation we didn't have to undergo.)
Anyway, he's in the same form group as Jordan is this year (7D), but I'm desolate to discover that Mr Abode, Jordan's form teacher, has managed to weasle his way out of being involved with next year's crop of year 7s. Was being a leader.... nay... a father figure to my second son so awful that sweet helpless Brennan has now been abandoned? Where is the dedication to the young folk that we as teachers are meant to subscribe to? The little baby year 7s are like wriggly puppies. They need someone of high moral stature and great knowledge to gently but firmly lead them along the paths of academia and personal growth and self-worth. They need a form teacher who will guide them, nurture them and instill a sense of aspiration to live up the high ideals of personal behaviour and achievement that Mr Abode embodies. When young Jordan is faced with a moral/career/personal crossroad at any time in his life from now on, I know that the first question he'll ask himself will be, "What would Mr Abode, my idol, my mentor, my ideal of all that is upright and pure do?" So how in good conscience could he deny my little Brennan the same example? I'm shocked, people. Shocked and saddened.
(After writing this, I think I understand why I have never been asked to be a year 7 form teacher. )
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3 comments:
It is with a bowed head and heavy heart that I must admit that the Great Dances With Frogs has made a bitingly truthful post about my abandonment of – nay, reluctant severance from - the role of Mentor to my little Protégés in Year 7. I realise that in these uncertain and chaotic times it is me who must be the rock, the touchstone of rightness and goodness, for these wide-eyed innocents. Yet from Innocence there breeds Experience and I have much more yet to do with those lost souls at other year levels, particularly those year levels that stop teaching around early November or preferably before, those year levels who have exams and not reports at the end of the year, those year levels who buy you booze as a thank you present instead of a hand made card with embarrassing spelling mistakes. I will miss them, I will miss them dearly, those little humans with the loud voices who can’t sit still, but they will live on, forever, in my memory. I will always think of them, as I cross the bridge on my way home...7D, 7D, 7D.
Mr Abode.
Oh, BAD Mr Abode...abandoning his Year 7 responsibilities.
I feel your sewing machine pain. I experience it often myself.
Great blog! Thanks for stopping by mine.
Lol I know your pain, with 3 finished school totally and one still in the lower grades I can't wait till it's all over....
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