Freedom of Voice

Dear Students, I hear you when you tell me I need to “relax” and “chill.” I do. And, trust me, I try.  But, I can honestly tell you that it’s not going to happen.  Why? Because I care. I am deeply invested in your success, not only in my class, or even in school, but your lifelong success in everything you aspire to do.  And, I want to help you accomplish your goals.   That’s a heavy order to fill.  Sometimes, I feel like I care more than you do, and that’s a frustrating feeling.  I work beyond my regular workday to find things I know will help you learn. I also know that the majority of you will complain about the very lesson I think is the bomb.  I know I give you “boring” passages to read, make you write on topics you have no interest in, give you difficult assessments, and push you when I know you’re not giving me your best. I do it on purpose. And the purpose is this: Whether you want it for yourself right now or not, I want to se...

It's 11:15, and I haven't made my bed. Some of you are shrugging and thinking, so what.   This is my everyday situation.  I don't know how you can live that way. Documented proof: just in case you don't believe me! Right now, that messy bed is taunting me with its dented, unfluffed pillows, bunched up sheets, and rumpled comforter. The decorative pillows tossed carelessly on the storage bench at the foot of the bed, the ultimate insult. "Come on, Annmarie," it's calling. "It will only take a few minutes. Don't leave me like this. I beg of you." Sorry, bed.  I'm committed to this nutty little experiment. Meanwhile, every fiber of my being is holding up miniature picket signs reading: Make the bed, NOW! Disarray is the ENEMY! An unmade bed is a SIN! Sheet lives MATTER!  I will resist. I must. Not that I wasn't already acutely aware of this, but all signs lately lead to one undeniable fact:  I am wound tighter than an ...

"I can feel it coming in the air tonight, oh Lord."  This famous Phil Collins line loops in my mind's soundtrack, a grim reminder that changes are coming--quickly. Stress is building; doubt is rearing its ugly head. How do I know?  John was up at 4:30 this morning, out the door by 6:15. As we talked while he was getting ready, he ticked off a list of all the little things that need to be accomplished over the weekend. He sounded a lot like me when I feel overwhelmed, fretting about the small stuff because it can be managed, conquered more easily than the big stuff. Guilt squeezes my stomach the way I wring out a sponge. I'm all twisted up inside over something I said last night. Something I should have just kept to myself. "I can't believe in a little over a week, you're going to be leaving me," I whisper as we are dozing off. "I know," is his answer. "It's sad."  That last, short sentence hangs in the dark...