Personal Update…Barely

Hello Faithful Readers,

I have enjoyed writing for both of you, and I’m sure that my long absence has thrown you into an existential wreck.  Whoops.

I have had a number of adventures in the past few weeks, but I haven’t had the emotional energy necessary to do any writing.  Right now, I am just collecting words.  Later, I will organize them and throw them your way.

I’m not dead–I’m just behaving that way.

Idiom, Sir?

From the first day of school, I would differentiate between when I was speaking idiomatically or literally. I told them what an idiom was, and I challenged them to call attention to me when I used a new one. They really enjoyed that, so I read them a book called “In a Pickle” which describes the origins of some popular idioms.

When we read the meaning of “On Top of the World”, I explained some scenarios wherein someone might feel on top of the world. “When you get a perfect score on a test, you might feel on top of the world. When you score the winning point in a soccer game, you might feel on top of the world. When I kissed a girl for the first time, I felt on top of the world.”

Naturally, the reaction was a twenty-six part harmony of the word gross. The girls giggled, the boys furrowed. Then “Neil” raised his hand and asked, “What was her name?”

When I lie to myself, I say that I like the draw these situations out because it models for students the opportunity that story tellers have to heighten excitement by postponing the resolution of a conflict. This helps them with their writing—so the lie goes. When I am honest with myself, I know that I just love the attention. Same rationale, different person benefited.

“Not telling,” I say with swagger. The children are naturally disappointed, not realizing that even if I said the name, it wouldn’t change anything. “Let’s go to the next idiom.”

They rebel. They beg. I show signs to weakening, then I open the book. They plead, I acquiesce. I’ve got them right where I want them. “Her name is Esther.”

Then there was a wild explosion of satisfaction. High fives, hands to hearts, and more giggling. They don’t know Esther any better that I know the prime minister of Canada, but they had broken down their teacher. It was a victory.

I explained that she was now married with children and that we aren’t in contact any more. I opened the book and went on to the next idiom. That’s when Neil—with uncharacteristic disregard for the hand raising rules—belted out:

“What’s her number?”