teaching

Exit 238. The relationship goes both ways.

I saw a coworker the other day. Her children, two of whom had been students of mine in the past, were with her. The oldest one is now in high school. She was in my class three years ago, in that same memorable class as the girl who dropped precalculus, the guy I had no memory of, Protractor Girl, and the friendly guy I saw at the basketball game.

I waved. She waved back.

“How’s it going?” I asked.

“Good,” she said. Or something like that; I don’t remember the small talk part word for word. “How are you?”

All I could think of to say was, “I’m really stressed right now.” It’s true. I am really stressed right now. I have a lot of things at home that need fixing. My house is a mess. I have a lot of school responsibilities I’m trying to juggle.

“It’s okay,” she said. “You’ll get through it.”

There are plenty of stories out there about teachers inspiring students. Most people have a favorite teacher who inspired them in a particular way, whether or not this teacher even taught the subject matter that the student in question enjoyed. But, after almost two decades of working in education, I would venture a guess that there are just as many stories of students inspiring teachers. Students and teachers are a significant part of each others’ lives for a time, and the relationship goes both ways. My former student is correct here. I will get through this.

And so will all of you. Happy Easter/Resurrection Day, friends.

Exit 227. Taking my own advice.

Two unrelated things happened this week that, when juxtaposed, say something interesting about me.  

The first was a conversation I had on Tuesday with a former student who is now in high school.  I’ll call her “Lambda-2 Fornacis.” Lambda was in my class three years ago, the same class as Protractor Girl, The Boy I Have No Memory Of, and The Kid Who Sat Behind Me At A Basketball Game Once.  She was the kind of student that most teachers love to have in their class. She did her homework, it was neatly written, and she always was one of the top students in my class.  I think she had straight As all through middle school. I normally tell students that they can add me on social media after they finish middle school and go on to high school, but somehow (probably because these kids have older friends who talk) she found my Instagram (which doesn’t have my real name anywhere on it) and started following me the year after she had my class, when she was still in middle school.  I didn’t do anything about it, though, because I figured she wasn’t the type to cause trouble, although I didn’t follow her back until the day after she finished middle school.

Anyway, Lambda asked me something about a recent post on Instagram, I replied, and then I asked her how she was doing.  She mentioned that she had dropped precalculus. This year has been the first time she had ever struggled in math, she didn’t like the teacher she had this year, and she had been rethinking her career plans.  I have to admit, that was a little disappointing to hear at first, because she was such a great student for me, and I’m always disappointed to hear when people don’t love math as much as me. However, I completely understand where she is coming from, and I told her so.  I told her about hitting the same proverbial wall with physics my freshman year at UC Davis, how I struggled so much with that class at first, and while I still did well, it just didn’t feel as natural for me as math did. It was during that first physics class when when I decided for sure to major in mathematics and not physics, and I didn’t take any more physics after I was done with the minimum that would be required for the math major.  I told her that there’s nothing wrong with changing your mind about your future plans, especially since she’s only 15. I told her that as late as age 19, I was telling people that there was no way I would ever be a teacher. And I told her that I took all the most challenging classes in high school, to the point that I had some very long days senior year, but I wasn’t doing it because I had a career plan. For me, it was because I felt like school was the one thing I was good at, and I would be a failure if I didn’t.  This is not a mentally healthy outlook. I know that Lambda is going to be successful no matter what direction she takes her education.

That was Tuesday.  On Wednesday night, I got very little sleep.  I discovered another important thing here at the house that needed to be fixed.  I started to panic under the pressure of everything that needed to be done. I was behind on grading papers.  I had errands and chores that were piling up, and the kitchen sink was full of dirty dishes. I had now four important home repairs that needed to be dealt with as soon as possible, one of which was already making life more inconvenient in very tangible ways, and another of which had the potential to do so if left unchecked.  I couldn’t sleep, and I wasn’t sure if it was related to stress, recent changes in medication, other health problems I didn’t know about, lack of exercise, or what. It’s very hard for me to get these home repairs and chores done sometimes, because I’m rarely home during business hours and my schedule isn’t very flexible. I don’t get a lot of exercise this time of year, because I’m only home when it’s cold and dark.  And I couldn’t call in sick and take a day to recover from the lack of sleep and deal with these problems, because the classroom is such a mess that a substitute wouldn’t be able to find what they needed, and the kids would get behind anyway because my curriculum doesn’t work well for people who haven’t been trained and aren’t well-prepared.

I went to work on one hour of sleep (and I had gotten three hours the previous night).  I made an important decision while I was tossing and turning: long story, but basically I sent an email to the administrators saying that I needed to back out of one of my weekly commitments.  This would give me one more day of the week that I could get home a little earlier when needed, if I needed to deal with something before it got dark and places closed. Thankfully, they were very understanding.  But, I told the principal, I still feel like I do so much less than so many other teachers. Some of them are working on graduate degrees. Many of them attend more professional development workshops than I do. Some of them are department chairs, or serve on committees.  And many of them have young children of their own. I feel like there is something wrong with me, that I have such a hard time handling my own job, let alone all that extra stuff.

And then it hit me.

Why do I have such a hard time taking my own advice?

Just a day and a half earlier, I was messaging Lambda telling her that it was okay not to burden herself with hard classes that she didn’t need.  So why can’t I tell myself that it is okay not to burden myself with stressful commitments that I don’t need?

Everyone’s brain works differently.  I get more easily stressed and overwhelmed, and I’m fighting demons from the past that many of my coworkers don’t have.  If I really believe what I told Lambda, then it’s hypocritical to insist upon myself that I take on extra commitments that I don’t get anything out of.

It’s now Saturday, and I feel so much better.  Getting out of that extra commitment allowed me to leave earlier than usual on Thursday, which gave me time to make some phone calls to start the process of dealing with the two most pressing home repairs.  I didn’t get completely caught up on grading, but it’s now a three-day weekend, so I’ll have time to catch up.

I’m going to be fine.  :)&[4].

Exit 220. No memory of this kid.

Every year, on the first day of school, I give my students an assignment where they answer some questions about themselves.  It gives me a chance to do some necessary paperwork while they are writing, but it also gives me a chance to learn a little bit about who is in my class that year.

One of the questions I ask is who lives at your house.  That way, I can see if a student has a large family, or if they live with both parents, or if a relative other than Mom or Dad is raising them.  I added to that question two years ago: “If anyone in your house has had me as a teacher, circle their name.”  I looked at my class list that year and saw a few familiar last names, most likely younger siblings of students I had had before, and by that point I had been at the school long enough that I was probably going to be getting younger siblings of students I knew every year until I retired (unless I end up at a different school for whatever reason).  So I added this, just in case there were any students whose siblings I knew but I didn’t notice that they were related.

Students aren’t good at following directions, of course.  I’ve had a few students just see the words “circle their name” underlined, and they circle the names of everyone in their family.  And the reverse happens too; I had one this year name her older sister on that paper and not circle her name even though her sister was in fact in my class.  Whether this was due to not circling the name or just not knowing whether her sister had been in my class and being too lazy to ask, I don’t know.  With this student, it could have gone either way.

Sometimes I can tell right away when a student has an older sibling whom I know.  This year, there is one boy in my class who very much resembles a girl from three years earlier with the same last name, except that he’s a dude and not built like a gymnast.  On the first day of school, I told him a funny story involving his sister and a protractor, which he said he remembered hearing about back when it happened.

One girl this year circled her older brother’s name.  I just assumed it was a mistake.  The name didn’t seem familiar, and it’s a fairly distinct last name that I would have remembered.  I never asked her whether it was a mistake or not.  But about a week ago, a student sitting next to this girl mentioned that she had heard stories about me from an older friend who was in my class last year.  I just kind of chuckled.  The girl who had circled her brother’s name then said, “My brother told me he liked having you as a teacher.”

I made some noncommittal remark, something like “That’s good, I’m glad.”  But that really got me thinking.  Apparently this girl did in fact have a brother who was in my class, and I had no memory of this kid.  I thought maybe he never actually had my class.  Maybe his friends were in my class, so he knew who I was.  Maybe he was a student who liked to hang out in my room after school and do homework, because I’ve had students do that sometimes some years.  Or maybe he came to the club that I sponsor once a week after school.  But surely I would have remembered him if he had actually been in my class.

I got curious a few days ago.  I clicked on the archives of previous years of the student information system and started checking class lists, going back to the first year I was at that school.  And eventually I found him.  The girl was right, and I was wrong.  He was in my class, in 2015-16, my second year at this school.

And I had no memory of this kid.

That was a pretty memorable class, too.  Some of the students I remember the best were in the same class as him, the same period in the same year.  Like Protractor Girl.  And the student who sat a few rows behind me at a Kings game once.  And one of the handful of students who have been consistently in touch with me since they left the school.  And the daughter of a coworker who had a hilarious quote about one lesson that I’ve shared with every class since.  But I don’t remember this kid at all.

I feel bad when I realize that there are former students who I don’t remember.  A few years ago, I wrote (warning: there are a few of you with whom I’ve discussed some of my fiction writing other than what has appeared on this site, and clicking the following link may contain spoilers about the events that inspired that writing) about a particularly memorable experience about forgetting a former student.  But in that case, eleven years had passed in the time since I had had that student, and I had moved.  This time, it was not nearly as long, and I’m still at the same school, with his sister in my class right now.

I just got out the yearbook from his year to see what this kid looked like.  And he wasn’t there.  That made this whole thing look even more creepy at first… but probably not, he was probably just absent on picture day.  I found his picture in the yearbook for a different year, though.  And he still doesn’t really look familiar, except for the fact that I can see the resemblance to his sister who is in my class right now.  While I was looking through the yearbook, though, I saw so many other names and faces whom I hadn’t thought about in years.

I’m sure I’m not the only teacher who goes through this.  I’m sure it’s perfectly normal, after having 140-150 students every year, that I’m not going to remember every single one.  It just makes me feel bad.

I don’t spend a whole lot of time reading those papers about my students.  Maybe I should get them back out every few months as I get to know the students.  And in the meantime, I’m glad that this student thought I was a good teacher, even though I don’t feel like one since I don’t remember him.

Exit 171. Assumptions need to be challenged.

A couple weeks ago, I was asked to help out with something at school.  I was prepared for the possibility about a week in advance, and I said sure, because it was not anything particularly taxing.  Given the circumstances, which aren’t really relevant here, it was not going to be known until the last minute if they needed my help.  (This essentially involved a contingency plan, because a guest speaker was unexpectedly in a situation where she may have had to cancel unexpectedly.)  And sure enough, at the last minute they asked me to do what I had prepared for.

As I was leaving work that day (it was a Thursday), the principal thanked me again for my help, and my willingness to step up.  She said to send her an email with my favorite Starbucks drink, and I did.  Vanilla bean frappuccino.  As I’ve said multiple times before, I don’t like coffee.  I can’t handle the taste of coffee.  I tried, back in the ’90s when hanging out at the coffee shop was all the rage.  A couple times, I ordered coffee drinks with lots of stuff in them to make them taste better, and I couldn’t finish them because I could still taste the coffee.

Friday morning, during my first period class, the principal walks in with my drink.  I smile and say thank you, even though I can see right away that it is not a vanilla bean frappuccino.  Maybe one of my Starbucks employee friends can help me out here, since Starbucks isn’t an option yet on Google Translate… the label said “Gr Cafe Vn Frapp.”  My guess is that it was similar to my desired vanilla bean frappuccino, but with iced coffee too.

I mentioned, with students in earshot, that this wasn’t the drink I ordered.  But I really did not want to be unappreciative.   So I took a sip.  Not great, but not as bad as I expected.  I stirred in the whipped cream, which made one student tell me I was doing it wrong because I have to drink the whipped cream first.  But stirring in the whipped cream made it taste better.

I finished the whole drink.

I drank a coffee drink.  The whole thing.  For the first time in my life.

I’m probably not going to order this again.  It wasn’t that great.  But I learned something really important from this experience: Maybe some of my long-held assumptions need to be challenged.  I always thought I didn’t like anything with coffee in it, but apparently that is not entirely true.  What else out there might not be entirely true?

Exit 162. Not the new guy anymore.

I told someone recently that the upcoming school year will be my 18th year teaching (not including 2005-06, when I was traveling for half the year and substituting the other half).  How is that possible?  The students who recently graduated from high school and are starting college this year were newborn babies when I started teaching.  Where did all the time go?

And more importantly, why do I still feel like a new and inexperienced teacher?

Part of the reason is because I haven’t been teaching in the same place for very long.  I haven’t been in any one public school or school district for more than four years.  Every time I have started over, I have felt new again, since students and their parents don’t know me, and I am unfamiliar with the school culture and the curriculum.  I spent seven years at a tiny private school, and that’s kind of a different world, not to mention that there were only nine teachers and many of them had been there for a long time, so I still felt new in some ways after a while.

But I think I’m finally starting to feel like I’m not the new guy anymore.  My school has had a lot of turnover since I was hired in June 2014, with several retirements, several others taking other positions elsewhere in the district, a few moving away for family or financial reasons, and one death.  Even though I’m only going into my fourth year at this school, I think I’ve been there longer than about half the staff, and among the six math teachers, I have been there the second longest, and I am tied for second in terms of how long I have been a full time teacher in the district.

I have started preparing for the upcoming school year, and I have gotten to meet some of my new coworkers.  And the idea of not being new anymore is finally starting to sink in.  I am able to help some of my new coworkers find their way around the school, get the computers to work, and, in the case of math teachers, learn how the curriculum works.  And this really seems to be helping my confidence.  I’m not quite as shy or reticent among my other coworkers as I used to be.  I feel more like I belong, and less like I’m always rubbing people the wrong way.

I have written before that my principal has told me that she could see me being a leader among the teachers.  Maybe she’s right after all.

(By the way, I missed another week on this blog.  Sorry.)

Exit 155. Light at the end of the tunnel.

I can see a light at the end of the tunnel.  In a few days, I will be finished with this school year.

The end of the year is always a bittersweet time.  I’m glad to have a break coming up.  But I’m definitely going to miss some of the students.  Although their math skills left much to be desired at times, this year’s students really were sweethearts for the most part.  Of course, many of them I will still see walking the halls next year (but then, last year’s students who are finishing middle school entirely I won’t see around anymore), and there are always a few every year that I stay in touch with.

The end of a school year is also a good time to reflect.  I can look back and think about how this year went, and what I can do differently next year.  I had some ideas for things I could do differently this year, and once the school year started, and I became overwhelmed by many other changes made across the whole school, my ideas didn’t get implemented well.  It didn’t work the way I had expected it to.  So I’ll try again next year, and it will be better now that I know how this year turned out.

This is also a good time to reflect on my personal life.  I have some time off coming up, obviously, and that is the perfect opportunity to do things out of my comfort zone.  Sometime in the next few days, I’m going to write a list of goals for my summer break.  It sounds kind of clichéd, but I’ve done this a couple times in the past, and it really did help me do something out of character that I wouldn’t ordinarily do on at least one occasion.  I don’t know yet what will be on my list, and I don’t know yet if I’m ready to share my entire list, whatever it ends up being.

I often feel pressure at the beginning of summer vacation, like I have to make this the best summer EVER!!!.  And I often feel pressure at the end, because of everything I wanted to happen over the summer that didn’t happen.  I’m trying not to worry about all that and just enjoy life.

Exit 137. Maybe this is my legacy.

I am at a wedding right now as I am writing this. It’s that boring part where everyone is waiting for the family and wedding party to take pictures. I probably won’t finish this whole post now; that seems too antisocial, so I’ll probably finish it at home.

But that’s not the point. I’ve been to somewhere upward of 40 weddings in my life, and this is the second time I’ve been to a wedding of a former student, and the first time I have ever been to a wedding of two former students marrying each other.

As I have gotten older, and stayed in touch with some former students, I often feel like I’m stuck in a weird time warp. My former students grow up, graduate, get adult jobs, get married, and have families of their own… and I don’t really change at all. Last week, I was Facebooking with another former student from a different school. I asked her how her daughter was doing; she said she was crawling already and made a remark about how they grow up so fast. I replied, “I know! I don’t know firsthand, since I don’t have children myself, but I’m sitting here talking to you, I’ve known you since you were 12, and now I’m asking you about your kid. In fact, you are the same age now as I was when I was your teacher.”

I often feel sad about the fact that I don’t have a family or children of my own. It feels like I’m missing out on a beautiful and wonderful stage of growing up. But maybe this is my legacy. Maybe I just wasn’t meant to have a family of my own. Maybe staying in touch with some of my former students and watching them grow up is going to take the place of having a family of my own. It will never be the same, but this is a beautiful experience in its own right. And I don’t have to change diapers. I can still be an important figure in others’ lives without being biologically related to them.

And it’s entirely possible I may still have children someday. Life isn’t over, and I’ve been wrong about things before. For example, I was wrong that I wouldn’t finish this blog post before the wedding pafty finishes taking pictures. Hurry up, already. I’m hungry.

Exit 123. You’re tough.

Since I teach math, I have had many students over the years tell me that I was one of their favorite teachers, despite the fact that they hate math, or they are bad at math (they think), or both.  I know that feeling well, although as a student, math was never the class I hated.

I recently saw a post, on the Facebook group for alumni of the high school I went to, saying that a former physical education teacher and coach had passed away.  I’ll call him Mr. F.  I saw him much the way that the students in my classes whom I described above see me: I hated PE.  I was never very good at running or lifting or any physical activity.  But I loved Mr. F as a teacher, mostly because he was really funny.  Sometimes he would say things completely unexpected out of nowhere.  One time, I told him, quietly, nervously that my stomach hurt and asked if I could use the bathroom before we started running or doing whatever we were doing that day.  He pointed toward the bathroom and said, loudly enough for everyone to hear, “Yeah!  Go take a big sh**!”  I have not stayed in touch with Mr. F, I haven’t seen him since I finished high school, and I don’t know anything about his passing other than someone on this post mentioned cancer.

But when I saw that he passed away, this was not the story I shared on that post.

In the summer of 1991, right after the year I had Mr. F’s PE class, I worked out in the weight room with the football team.  A lot of my friends told me I should play football, mostly because of how I was built.  But I was not an athlete.  I liked to eat too much, and I did not like to run.  But football players were the cool kids, you know how high school stereotypes are, so I worked out with the football team nevertheless.

There was another problem, though: I didn’t really understand football.  I understood the basics, touchdowns, field goals, first downs, and such.  So in addition to working out all summer, I solved this other problem the only way I knew how: I did my research.  I did a lot of reading that summer about football.  I learned about football rules, the roles of the different positions on the field, different types of plays, strategies, and the history of American football.  And when the first day of double practices came, just after my 15th birthday, I was ready.

No, I wasn’t.  Who am I kidding…

I was in the locker room getting ready that morning, and I saw Mr. F.  I had not seen him all summer, and I wasn’t sure if he knew that I was going to try out for football.  He seemed happy to see me, and he asked how I was doing.  I said that I was nervous, and that it looked like practice today was going to be tough.  “But you know what?” he replied.  “You’re tough.”  It really meant something to me that he believed in me, despite the fact that I could never run very fast or do a pull-up in his class the year before.

My football career lasted one day.  I lasted that morning and that afternoon, and I didn’t come back.  I was in way over my head.  I was badly out of shape.  But something positive did come out of that experience in the end.  It took a few months for me to get over the disappointment of not being good enough to play football, of letting down Mr. F and all my friends who encouraged me to play.  But by the time the following football season started, in the fall of 1992, I enjoyed watching football much more than I ever had in the past.  The time I spent learning more about the game helped me enjoy watching it much more, and this has stayed with me to this day.

It’s okay that I couldn’t handle football, and that I wasn’t very fast or strong in Mr. F’s PE class.  Not everyone is an athlete.  But I still found inspiration from Mr. F.

And it’s okay that some of the students in my class did not understand everything I attempted to teach them.  Not everyone is a mathematician.  But my students can still find inspiration from my class.

Exit 90. Am I really qualified for that?

A few days ago, I had an observation and evaluation at work.  (This is perfectly normal; I’m not in trouble or anything.  All teachers get evaluated periodically.)  In my school district, some observations are planned in advance, and some are unscheduled.  This one was unscheduled, and I felt like it couldn’t have come at a worse time.  The day before, I had missed half the day because of a meeting, and I felt unprepared because of this.

However, the meeting with the principal afterward went well.  She had entirely good things to say about what she saw.  She also said that she could see me being a leader among teachers eventually.  I’m not sure exactly what she means, but I’m thinking either she means that she could see me being involved in more committees around the school eventually to make decisions about the school and the curriculum.  Or maybe she could see me being the department chair someday, if the current department chair steps down.  The principal also said that she would want her own children in my class someday.  I feel like this is a huge compliment.  I’ve spent enough time in difficult teaching situations feeling like I’m just barely keeping my butt out of trouble that it’s nice to hear these kinds of things from my supervisor.

Her own children are younger than the students I teach, so it is entirely possible that I may in fact have her children in my class someday.  That’s going to put a great deal of pressure on me if and when it does happen.  I’ve taught the children of coworkers several times, including twice this year, but never the children of my principal or vice principal.  But it was her other statement that really struck out in my mind, that about being a leader.  I have a really difficult time seeing myself as a leader.

This came up another time recently at work.  I was in a meeting with just four other teachers, and some of the district math coaches, to discuss some issues related to the advanced 7th grade math class.  There is only one teacher at each school in the district who teaches this, and I’m it for my school.  It felt kind of weird being at this meeting without anyone else from my school.  I was the only one there to offer specific input from my school, and I could potentially be influencing decisions without anyone else to represent my school.  I think I did fine, but it still was not a position I was used to.

This isn’t just about work.  I have a hard time seeing myself as a leader anywhere in life.  I have a hard time picturing that I might actually have a wife and children someday, like being the leader of a family isn’t something I’m capable of.  I’ve had multiple friends suggest that maybe I should deal with my difficulty in finding a church group by starting a group of my own.  This is scary.  Am I really qualified for that?  I have a lot I should probably clean up in my life, and I don’t know the Bible as well as some people I know.

Part of this is just the usual self-confidence issues that I’ve dealt with all my life.  I feel like I don’t really know what I’m doing in life.  Sometimes I feel like I’m still a scared little kid who should be doing what he is told.  I’ve experienced so much rejection, I’ve had many ideas shot down, and I’ve been neglected and ignored many times.  Because of this, I’m just used to seeing myself as insignificant.  But that is really no excuse.  I’m just selling myself short.  I shouldn’t let that kind of fear and negative self-image stop me if there is really a way I could be using my gifts to lead others.  God did not create me the way I am so that I could hide from the world.

Someone also pointed out recently that some of the best leaders are the ones who don’t necessarily think of themselves as leaders.  Many who confidently work their way into positions of leadership care more about themselves than the group they are leading, and their leadership style becomes arrogant and self-serving.  A good example of a more reluctant leader would be Moses.  God appeared to Moses in the burning bush and called him to lead the people of Israel out of their slavery in Egypt, despite the fact that Moses repeatedly told God that he would not be a good leader (Exodus, chapters 3 and 4).  I don’t know that there is an opportunity to be a leader staring me in the face right now, but maybe it’s something to think about and watch for.

After all, I have to grow up sometime.

Exit 39. Hearing her story really put my own life in perspective.

As I believe I’ve explained before, by some quirk of fate I’ve become The Cool Teacher to some of the kids at my school.  A group of my students likes to sit in my room after school to work on homework, or sometimes just to hang out and play games on their phones.  In the last month or so, some of their friends who are not in my class have been joining them.  Most of this group came from the same elementary school, so they have known each other for many years.

A few days ago, the usual group was there, and a new girl (new to the group, and not in my class, but not new to the school; she came from the same elementary school as most of the regulars) was with them.  I’ll give her the astrocode “Alpheratz.”  While they were there, they were talking about how Alpheratz has a key to ride the elevator.  The only students who are allowed to ride the elevator are the ones who can’t climb stairs for medical reasons, so I figured that she probably had a sprained ankle or something.  I hadn’t noticed any blatantly visible reason why Alpheratz couldn’t climb stairs.  “Why do you have an elevator key?” I asked, expecting a routine explanation like a sprained ankle.

“Cancer,” she replied, as matter-of-factly as it is possible to say that word.

“What?” I said.  I knew I had heard right, but it was totally not the answer I was expecting.

Alpheratz then went on to explain how she had started getting headaches as a kid and had been dealing with a brain tumor off and on since the beginning of elementary school.  Her friend who was in my class started talking about all the fundraisers they held for her and her family when they were going through this.  About half an hour later, when the kids were leaving my classroom, Alpheratz came over to my desk with a piece of paper and said, “Here.  This is for you.”  She had written two pages for me to read about her family, her condition, the surgery she had in first grade, and all the pills she has to take now.  (I won’t go into any greater detail about that, because it’s not my story to tell.)  And because of this, she has problems with balance and can’t climb stairs.

What struck me the most about all this was her positive attitude.  She didn’t hesitate at all sharing all this with me, and I had just met her an hour earlier.  Hearing her story really put my own life in perspective.  This girl has been dealing with this since first grade.  It’s pretty much the only life she knows.  And no one knows what will happen to her in the future.  But all she can do is keep on doing the best she can.  If I had been in her situation, I don’t think I could be so happy and positive and open about all this.  I’d be complaining about life not being fair, and I’d probably be really angry.  I’ve been in some irritable moods lately, but none of it has anything to do with the excruciating pain and uncertain future that Alpheratz must be going through.

Like I said last week, sometimes I just need to make do the best I can with what I have instead of complaining about things not being the way I want.  Alpheratz is a perfect example of this.  She was dealt a hand that I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy, and you would never know it just from seeing how she acts around her friends.  I want to remember how much I do have.  I’m relatively healthy, and I can climb stairs.  I have so much to be thankful for.  And I really hope this girl is okay and that she makes it, so she can go on to inspire others.