Archives for March 20, 2010

Time Machine: Teacher in Heels

Lately, I feel like this blog is circling back around to the beginning of my blogging days. You see, there was a girl that existed before Charlie–a girl that chronicled her adventures teaching special needs kids at an inner-city school.

So, I’ve decided to write some of my previous life down here, as a record. You can keep reading, but you’ve been forewarned. . . this isn’t my usual fare.

I guess I’ll start by explaining how I grew up–the girl I was when I decided to become a teacher. You see, I was the kind of girl who had most things handed to her in life. Not all things–but most. I wasn’t a blonde cheerleader, but I did get my first car when I was fifteen and I did like to get my formal dresses in Houston rather than in town so that other people wouldn’t have the same one.

I wasn’t one of those ridiculous people you see on My Super Sweet Sixteen, but I was the kind of girl who never loaded a dishwasher, never attended public school, and who had her own platinum card at sixteen. When I was eight, I thought there were three professions: doctor, lawyer, and teacher. When I was thirteen, I had a friend whose family name appears on a common kitchen product and another who had a suite in her house instead of a just a bedroom. I might not have had it all, but I had friends that did.

I spent my weekends jetting here and there in my car. I hung out at my friend’s lake houses. My picture was in the social section of the newspaper, but I thought I looked terrible. I planned my spring break in Destin and worried about which color sofee short I should buy to match my bathing suit.

These were my concerns.

I wasn’t concerned about school–I was bored by it. I got A’s and B’s, rarely did my homework, and never, ever studied. I had boys to think about! and Friday night! and prom! Oh how I thought about the prom. I even bought prom magazines, which are actually just big huge advertisements that you pay for–kind of like bridal magazines.

I doodled in my planner and worried about the weekend.

I can promise you I never thought I’d be a teacher–thought I was way too smart for boring job like that.

Shows how much I knew. . .

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