She was calling to welcome Ezra to her classroom, she said, except that she didn't call him Ezra; she called him Cameron. And then the message cut off mid-sentence, and there was no follow-up phone call.
Because of the way she spoke--have I mentioned her thick accent?--I was only able to discern her first name. But I went to the school web site, looked up the kindergarten teachers, and figured out who she was. It was the one teacher I didn't like when I visited the school, the one teacher I hoped Ezra wouldn't get. She was too brusque, it seemed, not enough warm-and-fuzzies. Conversations with other parents confirmed this impression for me.
Parents aren't allowed to make requests for specific teachers, but I had been told that it was okay to write a letter describing Ezra, and the school would do its best to match him up with the right kind of teacher. Which is what I did at the beginning of the summer. And not only did I write the letter; I also sent it!
In it, this missive of masterful prose, I talked about, among other things, the fact that Ezra had his own internal disciplinarian and needed someone
So, okay, I guess my writing isn't as persuasive as I had previously thought. And I guess we'll tolerate this
4 comments:
surely you at the very least anticipated (and more likely attempted to provoke) a response form this accented Southerner. how does that carly simon lyric go? of course it was about me!
good luck with kindergarten and ezra's ivy league ambitions.
What are you, a psychologist or something? A psychologist with a Southern accent?
maybe...
Ya'all don't know what yourin are in fer.
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