Stolen identity

This is not on topic at all.  This is just about my life.  And my stolen identity. I was at Wal-Mart picking up shelf paper and looking over the school supplies that are all ready being displayed when I got a telephone call that suddenly changed who I am.

It was my boss, and he turned everything upside down.  I’m a math teacher.  For the past ten years I’ve been teamed with the same partner, John, and during that time we’ve been in a three-way team often.  For the last four years Megan has been teamed with us also.  With the three of us we had a total of 75 students to deal with.  And with that many kids came tons of paperwork. 

John retired at the end of last year and the boss agreed that Megan and I could do a two-man team.  She was thrilled.  She would do the language arts and science and I could handle the math and social studies.  She not wild about language arts, but the science had her flying high and she’s been working on getting everything together all summer.

Back to the phone call.  Changed had occurred.  I’m now in a four person team and I’ll be teaching four classes of social studies.  What?  I’ve taught math for the past 22 years.  I’m a math teacher.  Who am I now?  Social studies always seemed like a sideline to me. I do enjoy it, I find it very interesting – but I’m a math teacher.

I still get to teach with Megan – who was devastated and nearly in tears when she found out about the changes, one hundred different kids to deal with, four language arts for her and no science.  For me personally the changes aren’t horrible.  Social studies has a new curriculum this year that could be a lot of fun and at this time it’s not tested – meaning I won’t be responsible for end-of-grade test scores.  I guess that will take some of the pressure off.

But there is one big problem.  One of the four teachers is Mr. K – the one I wanted to beat so badly last year.  I didn’t, although I had for the previous three years.  Mr. K and I don’t get along, at all.  There has been friction for ten years. Let me describe him.  Picture a thirteen-year-old boy, he is always right.  He knows everything and he would argue with a signpost until the signpost agreed that Mr. K was right.  Most of the time Mr. K is wrong.  He is actually 38, never married; he was fired from his wrestling coach position for aggression.  Was thrown out of the next match for shouting for at the players and telling them to ignore the new coach.

Don’t get me wrong; I can handle thirteen-year-old boys.  But I handle them as a mother would when necessary.  I will be professional and I will be polite, but I’ve watched him bully and run over partners for the past ten years.  Ladies and gentlemen – that will not be happening this year.

Stay tuned – I have a feeling you’re going to hear more about this.