Recently Gary said something that made me bust out laughing. I was leaving to observe a student teacher and said, “I’m worried that I wore this same skirt the last time I observed her class.”
He dismissed my fear with, “Don’t worry. No one will even notice what you’re wearing.”
“What!?” I said. “Teenage girls notice EVERYTHING their teachers wear, say, do, or do not do!”
They criticize pants that don’t fit well, shoes that are worn out, a dress older than their parents are, a necklace, earrings, makeup, or lack of makeup, an unusual pronunciation (even if it’s a word they don’t know), your voice, your posture, your haircut, your car, your lunch, your pet, your children, or even your momma. Nothing is off-limits. To most teens, teachers give them too much homework but not enough praise. Also, we provide endless chances for them to perfect their criticism skills.
I remember once wearing one navy sock and one black sock. So I deserved the, “Hey, Miss! Your socks don’t match.” I also had to claim the, “Why you mixing a pearl earring with your fake diamond one?” And I turned hot sauce red when a usually quiet girl pointed to my left ankle and softly said, “The staple you used on your pants’ hem is about to fall off.” Guilty as charged.
But I didn’t like the observational skills of a fifteen-year-old who stood up in class and pointed to my white shirt’s left pocket and smiled. “Your mustard stain reminds me of my baby sister’s throw up!”
And nothing stings like the, “Hey, Miss! You oughta give whoever cut your hair a minus-one review on Yelp!”
Even the unintentional criticisms can punch your self-image in the face. “Miss! Guess what! You and my great-grandma have the same blue jean skirt.” During my 36 years of teaching, students have been both ruthless and helpful.
I’ve had kids point out lettuce between my teeth many times. The kind ones whisper the problem (“There’s something in your teeth”) while you’re picking up that day’s assignment. The uncouth ones make sure all thirty-four classmates hear them announce, “Hey, Miss, your spinach had a fight with your honeydew at lunch!”
Some adjectives that were meant to grind down my confidence in my lesson plans have been: “Hey Miss, this book is lame…whack…stupid…sorry ass… boring… sucks… all kinds of wrong… too easy… too hard…awful…lousy…inferior…crummy…basic…cheesy…off…and crappy.”
One time when my principal observed me teaching, a cute cheerleader passed judgement on my new dress by looking me up and down and slowing shaking her head. Then the fact that my lesson was clever, creative, and engaging meant nothing to me, and the dress I paid way too much for was in our Goodwill bag the next week.
After I turned fifty, the teens’ criticisms made me laugh more often than blush. So what if I got confused when using my room’s “smart board” or messed up streaming video on the doc-cam.
“You’re forgetting to unmute the sound, Miss,” or “Your hyperlink doesn’t open,” did not bother me.
“Hey, Eric, could you sort out my tech issues?” I’d say and all would be well.
And the quips about my crooked glasses, out-of-date clothes, or uncool taste in music did no harm. When someone noticed two inches of my half-slip showing, I could step behind a bookcase and roll up my slip’s waistband as I continued analyzing Shakespeare’s use of figurative language without missing a metaphor.
I love the line from the Oak Ridge Boys’ song “Leaving Louisiana in the Broad Daylight” — “I gotta roll on between the ditches.” Turning older has made me tough and carefree, where the snarky criticisms not only slide off my back but evaporate into a lavender mist.
Sittin' Ugly Sistahs 