When my uncle Demar and uncle Joe were 11 years old and 9 years old, my grandparents put them on a bus in Virginia with their saddles. They rode the bus to Starr Valley, Nevada.
They were 9 and 11.
I am around 8 year olds turning 9 every day and that astounds me.
I keep reminding myself of that story because I am feeling all the feels about Mark. These words by Kelly Corrigan resonate:
Any parent with an ounce of self knowledge will agree that parenting is a multi-decade exercise in recalibration. In our house we are either grossly overreacting or, just as unsettling, underreacting.
I do both too much and too little but maybe I just need to remember Joe and Demar.
(Yes, it was a different time.)
They did it though! They survived! My grandparents were champions at letting their kids be independent.
I'm over here just trying to channel Harvey and Margaret Dahl!
In other news, the honeymoon is a little bit over with my third graders. They are chatty. Oh so chatty. I taped a chart to each desk yesterday. If they get five stars, they can get something in my prize box. I will mark the stars with my red pen and x them out with a black sharpie as needed.
It isn't my first rodeo.
For example, I was making copies and so was Tyler, the courageous only male teacher. He said, "Have you always taught at Bonneville?"
I said, "A long time ago, I taught at American Heritage School. You were probably not even in elementary school yet."
He said, "I'm 32!"
I said, "I'm 50."
He said, "Oh."
2 comments:
He obviously thought you looked very young!
I thought Joe was only 8 when he and Demar traversed the country via bus. Even worse! And you do look young because you ARE young! Good job handling all the things!
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