I love my job. Nothing's changed. Even on the hardest days...I still love my job. Having said that, I must confess, not too long ago was one of those days when I could have totally bailed. I MADE myself drink my coffee. I MADE myself go through the functions of getting everyone ready for the day...ironing clothes, packing lunches, nagging (what's a morning without a little nagging from your mother?). I didn't even try to force my hair into submission...it wanted to be spiky and rowdy, so that's what it was. Yep, could have TOTALLY called in with a non-relevant, nothing close to legitimate excuse. But I didn't. I'm not playing a martyr. I'm being an adult. We do what we have to do when we have to do it....because that's what adults do.
However, the whole time I'm going through the process of doing what I have to do, because that's what I have to do...running through the back of my mind is a wonderful poem by the late, great Shel Silverstein. There was a substitute teacher during my middle school years (As if being a full time middle school teacher isn't enough of a calling...she was a SUBSTITUTE middle school teacher...automatic qualification for canonization, in my book!) named Mrs. Czerny. Everyone of her class periods ended by her reading from Shel Silverstein. Didn't matter if it was Social Studies or math. She read to us and I'd speed to the library at my next opportunity and check out whatever Silverstein publication that was available. Which, returning to our story, is why "Sick" was looping through my head, the other day.
I mean...genius! The things a kid will say to get out of going to school. And not necessarily because anything is wrong or bad or upsetting at school...just because sometimes, you just need to be anywhere else other than where you are duty bound to be. Like me...the other day! Soooo...Mr. Silverstein, wherever you are...forgive me.
However, the whole time I'm going through the process of doing what I have to do, because that's what I have to do...running through the back of my mind is a wonderful poem by the late, great Shel Silverstein. There was a substitute teacher during my middle school years (As if being a full time middle school teacher isn't enough of a calling...she was a SUBSTITUTE middle school teacher...automatic qualification for canonization, in my book!) named Mrs. Czerny. Everyone of her class periods ended by her reading from Shel Silverstein. Didn't matter if it was Social Studies or math. She read to us and I'd speed to the library at my next opportunity and check out whatever Silverstein publication that was available. Which, returning to our story, is why "Sick" was looping through my head, the other day.
Sick
“I cannot go to school today,"
Said little Peggy Ann McKay.
“I have the measles and the mumps,
A gash, a rash and purple bumps.
My mouth is wet, my throat is dry,
I’m going blind in my right eye.
My tonsils are as big as rocks,
I’ve counted sixteen chicken pox
And there’s one more--that’s seventeen,
And don’t you think my face looks green?
My leg is cut--my eyes are blue--
It might be instamatic flu.
I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke,
I’m sure that my left leg is broke--
My hip hurts when I move my chin,
My belly button’s caving in,
My back is wrenched, my ankle’s sprained,
My ‘pendix pains each time it rains.
My nose is cold, my toes are numb.
I have a sliver in my thumb.
My neck is stiff, my voice is weak,
I hardly whisper when I speak.
My tongue is filling up my mouth,
I think my hair is falling out.
My elbow’s bent, my spine ain’t straight,
My temperature is one-o-eight.
My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear,
There is a hole inside my ear.
I have a hangnail, and my heart is--what?
What’s that? What’s that you say?
You say today is. . .Saturday?
G’bye, I’m going out to play!”
Said little Peggy Ann McKay.
“I have the measles and the mumps,
A gash, a rash and purple bumps.
My mouth is wet, my throat is dry,
I’m going blind in my right eye.
My tonsils are as big as rocks,
I’ve counted sixteen chicken pox
And there’s one more--that’s seventeen,
And don’t you think my face looks green?
My leg is cut--my eyes are blue--
It might be instamatic flu.
I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke,
I’m sure that my left leg is broke--
My hip hurts when I move my chin,
My belly button’s caving in,
My back is wrenched, my ankle’s sprained,
My ‘pendix pains each time it rains.
My nose is cold, my toes are numb.
I have a sliver in my thumb.
My neck is stiff, my voice is weak,
I hardly whisper when I speak.
My tongue is filling up my mouth,
I think my hair is falling out.
My elbow’s bent, my spine ain’t straight,
My temperature is one-o-eight.
My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear,
There is a hole inside my ear.
I have a hangnail, and my heart is--what?
What’s that? What’s that you say?
You say today is. . .Saturday?
G’bye, I’m going out to play!”
I mean...genius! The things a kid will say to get out of going to school. And not necessarily because anything is wrong or bad or upsetting at school...just because sometimes, you just need to be anywhere else other than where you are duty bound to be. Like me...the other day! Soooo...Mr. Silverstein, wherever you are...forgive me.
"I cannot go to work, today, not even for a minute!"
Said a middle aged girl named Michelle Stinnett!
"My bed's so soft, my head's so heavy.
My body feels like it was hit by a Chevy!
My feet won't move, my legs keep twitching.
I can barely make it to the kitchen!
My hips are stiff, my ankles are squeaking.
And from my knees, I hear a creaking!
Heaven help us, my filter's broken...
I'll be saying what should stay unspoken.
My funny bone is oddly angled.
Delicate egos nearby are sure to be mangled.
There's a hump on my back and horns on my head.
The havoc I'll cause will be widespread.
My fangs are showing; I feel quite cross.
It's the truth, I say! No shine or gloss!
But I do feel droopy. In fact, quite dreary.
(This rhyming thing, a job so weary!)
The freckle on my hand, it looks contagious.
Have you ever heard something this outrageous?
The couch is calling. I cannot refuse.
Do you hear that rattling? Must be my loose screws.
New movies were loaded on Netflix last night.
To ignore my Roku would be impolite.
Pins to be Pinned and posts to be liked,
comments to be hidden, and blogs to be typed.
I'm going to fold my laundry...okay, maybe not.
Right after I perfect my wicked hook shot!
Beg your pardon? Chronicler reader said what?
Yes, I know...I sound like a nut!
But this is life, up close and real...
no wimps allowed, just magnolias of steel.
Time to end this, enough is enough.
All nonsense and rubbish. All nonsense and stuff.
I do love my job and it is such a blessing.
My inner Peggy Ann just needed expressing.
I can barely make it to the kitchen!
My hips are stiff, my ankles are squeaking.
And from my knees, I hear a creaking!
Heaven help us, my filter's broken...
I'll be saying what should stay unspoken.
My funny bone is oddly angled.
Delicate egos nearby are sure to be mangled.
There's a hump on my back and horns on my head.
The havoc I'll cause will be widespread.
My fangs are showing; I feel quite cross.
It's the truth, I say! No shine or gloss!
But I do feel droopy. In fact, quite dreary.
(This rhyming thing, a job so weary!)
The freckle on my hand, it looks contagious.
Have you ever heard something this outrageous?
The couch is calling. I cannot refuse.
Do you hear that rattling? Must be my loose screws.
New movies were loaded on Netflix last night.
To ignore my Roku would be impolite.
Pins to be Pinned and posts to be liked,
comments to be hidden, and blogs to be typed.
I'm going to fold my laundry...okay, maybe not.
Right after I perfect my wicked hook shot!
Beg your pardon? Chronicler reader said what?
Yes, I know...I sound like a nut!
But this is life, up close and real...
no wimps allowed, just magnolias of steel.
Time to end this, enough is enough.
All nonsense and rubbish. All nonsense and stuff.
I do love my job and it is such a blessing.
My inner Peggy Ann just needed expressing.
Oh, my Dear ~ delightful & timely! I subbed today and did not want to return Tues, but the same sweet teacher is out again tomorrow. (I could use your excuses) Shel is a fun one and you do him proud! Hmm...would HS computer classes listen to poetry?
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