Moving on out...

The trouble with an open door is the fact that you get to glimpse inside but are not necessarily invited in.  I sometimes wonder which would be better, to never have to look inside and ache for something you won't get, or to never know the hope of the open door.  I think the beauty of hope is that while the door still remains open, if it does close, the hallway remains lined with other doors.  But right now, the light of the present open door is still so inviting...

For a man who insists that he does not want a dog in the near future, my husband has made a fatal mistake.  I knew he was in terrible trouble as soon as I opened a Christmas present from him that he prefaced with," It's the next best thing to a dog."  Cruel, cruel words accompanied by devilish laughter.  A plan that backfired and will ultimately lead to his demise. 

I opened up the package to find a book about a dog, a yellow lab, in fact.  The dog that I grew up with and have wanted to replace since my freshman year of college.    Does he think that I can look at pictures of a dog that mirrored the dog of my youth and not covet it?  Am I strong enough to read about a woman who just had a miscarriage and found comfort in her rambunctious, yet in this moment, stoic dog, and not desperately want such a creature?  Of course, such a book would not calm my longings for a dog but increase it tenfold. 

Oh Matthew.  Poor, poor Matt.  He doesn't even know what's coming to him.  He has awakened the pooch-loving beast within me, and I will not rest until I have my very own.      

I'm okay with being called a bitch.  I mean, not by anyone, I don't enjoy it, but I'm okay with it within the walls of my school.  I know that sounds completely distorted and wrong.  It is.  But still, it's okay.  I work with teenagers.  Teenagers that for whatever reasons, are screwed up.  And there's no place else I'd rather be.  I don't think they go home at night and lay in bed and say, "I'm glad I cussed out Mrs. Green today.  I feel like a better person because I did that."  Nope.  They feel horrible about themselves.  Even if they can't identify that feeling.  Even if they say and believe that they don't care.  Even if that feeling drives them to want to do it again because in some way, it makes them temporarily feel better.  They care.

And I care. 

Not how they want me to though.  Yes, it makes me feel an inch tall.  It depresses me, angers me, and makes me not want to teach- sometimes.  But it reinforces my desire to be in public education.  Call me a bitch.  Tell me to f-off.  I'll still teach.  I'll still teach that there is a right way and a wrong way to treat people.  I'll teach that what you say and what you do matters.  I'll teach that people can change.  I'll teach by showing them.  I will love them. 

So go ahead, I say, tell me to f-off.  Disrespect me.  BRING IT ON.  I'LL STILL TEACH.