irony

We had Open House last week. It was generally painless--as one teacher observed, "like a cocktail party, without the cocktails." Okay, maybe not so painless.

Here's the funny thing: I had this kid last semester, Slacker-boy, whose father decided he (the father) would take my course via email correspondence with me. It got to the point that the dad was emailing me 2-3 times A DAY, asking for clarification of assignments, wanting to know exactly what I had SAID in class that day, etc., etc. I thought I was going insane. I even printed out all the emails one day to show to my dept. head (and to allay my fears that perhaps I was being uncooperative). In just the first 6 weeks, the stack was thick enough to qualify for a healthy novella. Needless to say, I was SOOO happy to see that Slacker-boy was no longer in my class this semester.

So here's the funny part: The dad stops by my room during Open House to say how sorry he is that Slacker-boy is not in my class this term. I assure him that Mrs. ___ is a great teacher. The dad shakes his head, "Yes, but she's not you. I just can't think of enough good things to say about you." I thank him. He continues, "You may not remember, but Slacker-boy started out with a 29 in your class. He ended up with a 77. You're the best."

I didn't remember. I thank him again. I am grateful for his kind words. And even more grateful that Mrs. ____ has Slacker-boy this time around.