If I were reading a blog post after years of silence from the author, I would expect a good explanation of the intervening time. Well, here’s the thing…
Life has mostly just gone on for me as it has for the rest of you. Work, weekends, family, growing older, Covid, the world burning, flooding, and drying out — somehow all at the same time.
[sfx: loud sound of knocking on wood to distract evil spirits] My family is well. My children are 11 and 13. My husband and I still work at our jobs as a math and English teacher respectively.
I can’t really share details of my daughters’ lives because they’re their own people and they value their privacy. I will say this: Two children can come out of your body and grow up in the same house and still be so different from each other it boggles the mind. And a 13 year-old can be taller than her mother. Who is NOT short.
Here is what is on my mind today. I watched episode 3 of House of the Dragon (HBO) last night. In the first few minutes, an anonymous citizen is being nailed to a post to be eaten alive by crabs. The villain is known as “the crab feeder” owing to this brutal practice. Alas! Overhead the nameless man sees his deliverance! Prince Daemon on dragonback, strafing the enemy with dragon fire. He joyously calls out to his prince to save him. The prince doesn’t see him. In fact, when Prince Daemon lands his giant mount, the man is crushed underfoot without a thought.
Why is this on my mind? Because it’s a metaphor for all people who suffer while the truly powerful fight their petty battles for power and gold. Who gives a shit which pampered, powdered aristocrat inherits the Iron Throne when we’re being eaten by crabs or burned alive by dragons?
If you follow me on Twitter, you know I’m engaged in current events. As we burn up in our 107 degree heat wave, praying that wildfires and mudslides will pass us over this year, it’s hard not to feel like that Westerosi peasant who had no time to be thankful that an indifferent dragonfoot saved him from a slow agonizing death. Sometimes it feels like we’re all waiting to see if we perish from intentional cruelty or from indifferent neglect.
So, that’s the main thing… How are you?
The Friendly Pedant by Mrs. Odie 
Take That, “Future Me”
I feel incredible. I must remember this feeling.
It’s 6 pm on the night of my grading deadline. My grades are due in 6 hours, and I am finished. Not only am I finished, they are up to date and accurate.
As a high school English teacher, I excel at content knowledge and creating meaningful assignments. I also strike an excellent balance of intimidating, inspiring, and hilarious.
Giving timely feedback and returning graded work? I’m shit. I’ve always been shit.
Last year I was overwhelmed by the social/emotional needs of my students. I erroneously believed I had to meet all of their needs and take it easy on them. But I couldn’t and I didn’t. My AP test scores were appalling. I took it so “easy” on them that while we had excellent rapport and loads of fun, I didn’t challenge them adequately. I have to do the things I have control over. I can teach writing. I can teach reading. I can show Saturday Night Live sketches and teach them about satire.
And I can grade papers.
For 23 years I’ve let stacks accumulate until the work is so daunting, I have had to pick and choose what to grade and what to estimate. I’ve felt insecure about my grades, so I’ve let counselors, students, and parents talk me into changing them.
Today, that ends! I have earned this new episode of House of the Dragon I’m about to watch. Earned it and then some. As of tomorrow, I have 170 revised essays to read and score, but that’s a problem for Future Me. I used to treat Future Me like absolute garbage — as if I had a personal vendetta against that bitch and her crepey neck skin.
This year, my teaching goal is current, accurate grades. When it comes down to brass tacks, students (mostly) only care about the grade, not the learning. I could spend another 23 years stomping my aching feet over my philosophical objections to the emphasis on grades, or I can drink this margarita and watch dragons.
Dracarys, amigos.
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