My husband was eating lunch. It was 3:33 and he had been home from work for about 20 minutes.
And I was in the kitchen taking the bread out of the oven.
And we heard the front door open and close.
My husband said, “It is 3:33, I wonder if that is Sarah.”
I thought a moment and replied, “Well, you could call out, ‘Is that Sarah?’ and if someone answers, you will know it isn’t her.”
Friday, March 18, 2011
Story of the Day 3/ 10/ 2011
These things just seek her out.
Stories.
Okay, they seek out Sarah. She just seems to be a magnet for things that make for good stories. Unfortunately, things that make for good stories are usually painful while they are happening, even if you know, at that moment, that they will make good stories.
But I am wrong, it is not that Sarah is a magnet for these things, it is just that there seem to be a lot of stupid people who seem to be in charge of the things around her. Or maybe that really is the same thing.
When I came home from work, yesterday evening, Sarah was already asleep, but she had left a message for me taped to my bathroom mirror. It said, “Do you know who is my interpreter for tomorrow?”
Unfortunately, I did.
When Sarah woke up, this morning, I told her, and she gave me a really horrified look and said, “No, not the vagina woman!”
Now, Sarah had this interpreter a few times and she let the Resource teacher know that this terp cannot sign well, has poor vocabulary and can’t understand Sarah. So, perhaps you might think that this terp would not be scheduled again. But she was. And then, there was the day that she spent an entire class period explaining to Sarah how to measure the surface area of a vagina, and a right vagina , and of assorted other vaginas.
And of course, Sarah’s obnoxious mother (me!) let the school know that this terp had a slight vocabulary problem.
And the school let the teacher know and let the agency know. And then, they scheduled this woman to terp, again, for today.
So, to be honest, I was expecting another story.
When Sarah came home, I asked, “Did she spend math class signing vagina?” Since today was the review for the test over measuring the surface area of…triangles, this was, actually, a rather obvious question.
But she hadn’t. Although the teacher drew 4 triangles on the board and demonstrated how to solve for surface areas, he managed to avoid saying the word “ triangle” during the entire class period.
However, the terp managed to find another word to masturbate…I mean mutilate. “Perfect”. Which, when she was done with it was not perfect, it was “F***”.
Now, in a normal situation, you might expect that Sarah could say something to the interpreter like, “ Ummmm, you really should sign it this way.” And then Sarah could demonstrate the correct sign for her.
But, of course, this is not a normal world, and this is the same terp that we have previously explained to the school, cannot understand Sarah.
You might wonder, what do I mean when I state that this interpreter cannot understand Sarah, so I will give an illustration from what happened , today.
This morning, Sarah and the terp both arrived before the start of the first class. Sarah asked her (knowing that she commutes from near Chicago),"What time do you wake up in the morning?"
This is not a tough question and Sarah signed it clearly and slowly.
The interpreter said, "What?"
Sarah again, more slowly, signed, "What time do you wake up in the morning?"
The interpreter said, "Please tell me, again."
Sarah signed the same thing very slowly.
The interpreter got a puzzled look on her face and looked at the classroom clock, looked at Sarah and signed, "Time now?"
Sarah said, "No, not what time it is now. I mean what time did YOU wake up, THIS morning?"
The interpreter said, "You?"
Sarah said, "No, not ME. I mean YOU. What time did YOU wake up?"
The interpreter sat there looking puzzled for a couple of minutes then said, "Oh, 4:00"
Maybe this will illustrate why Sarah cannot correct the interpreter when she signs "F***", why Sarah cannot participate in classroom discussion, or ask a teacher a question, and why she is petrified a teacher will ask her a question and she will have to rely on such an interpreter to interpret what she says.
Of course, this interpreter is scheduled again for next Tuesday. I am sure it will be a very educational experience.
And another Story.
Stories.
Okay, they seek out Sarah. She just seems to be a magnet for things that make for good stories. Unfortunately, things that make for good stories are usually painful while they are happening, even if you know, at that moment, that they will make good stories.
But I am wrong, it is not that Sarah is a magnet for these things, it is just that there seem to be a lot of stupid people who seem to be in charge of the things around her. Or maybe that really is the same thing.
When I came home from work, yesterday evening, Sarah was already asleep, but she had left a message for me taped to my bathroom mirror. It said, “Do you know who is my interpreter for tomorrow?”
Unfortunately, I did.
When Sarah woke up, this morning, I told her, and she gave me a really horrified look and said, “No, not the vagina woman!”
Now, Sarah had this interpreter a few times and she let the Resource teacher know that this terp cannot sign well, has poor vocabulary and can’t understand Sarah. So, perhaps you might think that this terp would not be scheduled again. But she was. And then, there was the day that she spent an entire class period explaining to Sarah how to measure the surface area of a vagina, and a right vagina , and of assorted other vaginas.
And of course, Sarah’s obnoxious mother (me!) let the school know that this terp had a slight vocabulary problem.
And the school let the teacher know and let the agency know. And then, they scheduled this woman to terp, again, for today.
So, to be honest, I was expecting another story.
When Sarah came home, I asked, “Did she spend math class signing vagina?” Since today was the review for the test over measuring the surface area of…triangles, this was, actually, a rather obvious question.
But she hadn’t. Although the teacher drew 4 triangles on the board and demonstrated how to solve for surface areas, he managed to avoid saying the word “ triangle” during the entire class period.
However, the terp managed to find another word to masturbate…I mean mutilate. “Perfect”. Which, when she was done with it was not perfect, it was “F***”.
Now, in a normal situation, you might expect that Sarah could say something to the interpreter like, “ Ummmm, you really should sign it this way.” And then Sarah could demonstrate the correct sign for her.
But, of course, this is not a normal world, and this is the same terp that we have previously explained to the school, cannot understand Sarah.
You might wonder, what do I mean when I state that this interpreter cannot understand Sarah, so I will give an illustration from what happened , today.
This morning, Sarah and the terp both arrived before the start of the first class. Sarah asked her (knowing that she commutes from near Chicago),"What time do you wake up in the morning?"
This is not a tough question and Sarah signed it clearly and slowly.
The interpreter said, "What?"
Sarah again, more slowly, signed, "What time do you wake up in the morning?"
The interpreter said, "Please tell me, again."
Sarah signed the same thing very slowly.
The interpreter got a puzzled look on her face and looked at the classroom clock, looked at Sarah and signed, "Time now?"
Sarah said, "No, not what time it is now. I mean what time did YOU wake up, THIS morning?"
The interpreter said, "You?"
Sarah said, "No, not ME. I mean YOU. What time did YOU wake up?"
The interpreter sat there looking puzzled for a couple of minutes then said, "Oh, 4:00"
Maybe this will illustrate why Sarah cannot correct the interpreter when she signs "F***", why Sarah cannot participate in classroom discussion, or ask a teacher a question, and why she is petrified a teacher will ask her a question and she will have to rely on such an interpreter to interpret what she says.
Of course, this interpreter is scheduled again for next Tuesday. I am sure it will be a very educational experience.
And another Story.
Monday, March 7, 2011
Story of the Day 3/7/2011 #2
Ely has had a headache.
It has been growing and growing and growing.
It had grown to the size of a very nice bike. A very nice bike that happened to belong to his roommate. Wait, is a person your roommate , if you live in the closet?
At any rate.
His headache had grown to the same exact size as his roommate’s bike.
Which was missing.
His roommate is away for a week or ten days or something like that and Ely, one morning, went out and left the porch unlocked.
When he came home, he realized that he had done this, but nothing seemed to be disturbed.
Until later, when he noticed that his roommate’s bicycle wasn’t on the porch.
His roommate’s bike is always on the porch.
Except, maybe it needed a repair, or maybe it…
Or maybe it was taken.
So, with a headache that was growing day by day, Ely was awaiting the return of his roommate.
This evening, I received a brief email from Ely:
“AMELIA HAD HER BIKE IN FOR A TUNE UP!!!!”
And I didn’t even have to ask, I know that Ely’s headache is now gone.
It has been growing and growing and growing.
It had grown to the size of a very nice bike. A very nice bike that happened to belong to his roommate. Wait, is a person your roommate , if you live in the closet?
At any rate.
His headache had grown to the same exact size as his roommate’s bike.
Which was missing.
His roommate is away for a week or ten days or something like that and Ely, one morning, went out and left the porch unlocked.
When he came home, he realized that he had done this, but nothing seemed to be disturbed.
Until later, when he noticed that his roommate’s bicycle wasn’t on the porch.
His roommate’s bike is always on the porch.
Except, maybe it needed a repair, or maybe it…
Or maybe it was taken.
So, with a headache that was growing day by day, Ely was awaiting the return of his roommate.
This evening, I received a brief email from Ely:
“AMELIA HAD HER BIKE IN FOR A TUNE UP!!!!”
And I didn’t even have to ask, I know that Ely’s headache is now gone.
Story of the Day 3/7/2011
As related to me by my children:
Aaron said to Sarah, “Not fair, you got a big letter from Ely! And you got a drawing from Ely, All I got was a little letter that is the size of my penis!”
Taking this non-sequitir comparison in stride ( after all ,she is a Margolis-Greenbaum), Sarah replied, “Do you know why I got a big letter while you got a little letter? Because a big letter matches the size of my penis!”
Aaron moaned.
Aaron said to Sarah, “Not fair, you got a big letter from Ely! And you got a drawing from Ely, All I got was a little letter that is the size of my penis!”
Taking this non-sequitir comparison in stride ( after all ,she is a Margolis-Greenbaum), Sarah replied, “Do you know why I got a big letter while you got a little letter? Because a big letter matches the size of my penis!”
Aaron moaned.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Story of the Day 3/6/2011
Most of today has been spent dragging load after load of things out of Sarah’s room.
She is not going off to college, but she is in the midst of re-decorating, and the first step is to purge her room of all the “childish” things she has spent the past 12 years collection.
Good-bye to the card tricks and magic sets, good-bye to the nerf balls and keychain collection, good-bye to a load of chapter books that she read in Elementary school, good-bye to several hundred thousand basketball cards.
And, of course, it also meant purging her closet, where even more piles of these collectibles were lurking.
Being the good mother that I am (please don’t laugh), I was helping her to shed this detritus. I was lugging off stacks of old books and toys, and as I stood waiting to collect another load from her, she screamed.
She took a huge leap back from her closet and told, me to “get it!”
“What?” I said in my clueless-ness.
“I don’t know what it is, but it is awful! Get it out of there! I don’t even want to see it!”
Well, I have spent years being the person in the family who disposed of the mice caught in the mouse traps, squashed spiders and trapped bees to release outside, so I figured it was another such lovely spider as one occasionally finds in a closet. Or perhaps a centipede.
I really do not enjoy the job of pest-disposer, but I put up with it….but I was really hoping it wasn’t a centipede, because they gross me out …
Cautiously, I approached the closet, and looked onto the shelf. Staring back at me was a very furry, very large spider.
A very furry, very large, very still spider.
“It’s dead”, I thought.
When confronted with such a very furry, very large spider, dead is a good thing. I mean for the spider to be dead.
I poked at it, and something didn’t seem quite right.
I looked closer and poked again.
“It is fake!”
This didn’t’ reassure Sarah at all. She looked at me, totally repulsed and said, “I don’t care, just get it out of here.”
Which I did. But, I do not understand her incredible fear and loathing of this fake spider. I mean, after all, she is the same person who collected it and put it in her closet only a few years ago.
But then, it occurred to me, maybe the ultimately weird thing has happened and she has turned into a girl.
“Nah,” I thought.
But then Aaron spotted the spider sitting on the “get rid of” pile and asked if he could have it. “ Hey, Mom, this is so cool!”
She is not going off to college, but she is in the midst of re-decorating, and the first step is to purge her room of all the “childish” things she has spent the past 12 years collection.
Good-bye to the card tricks and magic sets, good-bye to the nerf balls and keychain collection, good-bye to a load of chapter books that she read in Elementary school, good-bye to several hundred thousand basketball cards.
And, of course, it also meant purging her closet, where even more piles of these collectibles were lurking.
Being the good mother that I am (please don’t laugh), I was helping her to shed this detritus. I was lugging off stacks of old books and toys, and as I stood waiting to collect another load from her, she screamed.
She took a huge leap back from her closet and told, me to “get it!”
“What?” I said in my clueless-ness.
“I don’t know what it is, but it is awful! Get it out of there! I don’t even want to see it!”
Well, I have spent years being the person in the family who disposed of the mice caught in the mouse traps, squashed spiders and trapped bees to release outside, so I figured it was another such lovely spider as one occasionally finds in a closet. Or perhaps a centipede.
I really do not enjoy the job of pest-disposer, but I put up with it….but I was really hoping it wasn’t a centipede, because they gross me out …
Cautiously, I approached the closet, and looked onto the shelf. Staring back at me was a very furry, very large spider.
A very furry, very large, very still spider.
“It’s dead”, I thought.
When confronted with such a very furry, very large spider, dead is a good thing. I mean for the spider to be dead.
I poked at it, and something didn’t seem quite right.
I looked closer and poked again.
“It is fake!”
This didn’t’ reassure Sarah at all. She looked at me, totally repulsed and said, “I don’t care, just get it out of here.”
Which I did. But, I do not understand her incredible fear and loathing of this fake spider. I mean, after all, she is the same person who collected it and put it in her closet only a few years ago.
But then, it occurred to me, maybe the ultimately weird thing has happened and she has turned into a girl.
“Nah,” I thought.
But then Aaron spotted the spider sitting on the “get rid of” pile and asked if he could have it. “ Hey, Mom, this is so cool!”
Story of the Day 3 /4 /2011
I am part of my son’s routine. His stand up comedy routine.
I am sure you had already guessed this.
And I can’t blame him.
Not only that, but I gave him more material to work from when we went to the grocery store.
This was very convenient because my taking him to the grocery store is already part of one of his sets, so it will fit in nicely.
( to see what this is in reference to: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WP5ZFDrM0FE&feature=player_embedded#at=138 )
So, as you know , if you know me at all, I like a good bargain. I am always checking the sale ads for the grocery store, and on my way out, I usually stop at the spot where they dump the “ markdowns” . These can be things that were seasonal (Valentine’s candy in March), goods with damaged packaging , things that just weren't popular ( someone really thought those paper plates would sell?), and , of course, cans and boxes that are close to or out of date.
While looking through the markdowns I held up a box and asked Aaron " Hey, look what I found! Do you want me to get you a box? They are nice colors?”
I signed this, but I also spoke it really loudly, since he is deaf and he hears best that way when he is opting to go the hearing aid route and is not standing right near me.
Well, apparently, imitating me dong this is going to be part of his next set. And also my response to his query as to whether or not they were out of date.
I don’t’ know why. I mean, they were a really good buy for a package of 24 condoms, and as for being out-of-date, well, if they are, it would be kind of nice to be a grandmother……
I am sure you had already guessed this.
And I can’t blame him.
Not only that, but I gave him more material to work from when we went to the grocery store.
This was very convenient because my taking him to the grocery store is already part of one of his sets, so it will fit in nicely.
( to see what this is in reference to: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WP5ZFDrM0FE&feature=player_embedded#at=138 )
So, as you know , if you know me at all, I like a good bargain. I am always checking the sale ads for the grocery store, and on my way out, I usually stop at the spot where they dump the “ markdowns” . These can be things that were seasonal (Valentine’s candy in March), goods with damaged packaging , things that just weren't popular ( someone really thought those paper plates would sell?), and , of course, cans and boxes that are close to or out of date.
While looking through the markdowns I held up a box and asked Aaron " Hey, look what I found! Do you want me to get you a box? They are nice colors?”
I signed this, but I also spoke it really loudly, since he is deaf and he hears best that way when he is opting to go the hearing aid route and is not standing right near me.
Well, apparently, imitating me dong this is going to be part of his next set. And also my response to his query as to whether or not they were out of date.
I don’t’ know why. I mean, they were a really good buy for a package of 24 condoms, and as for being out-of-date, well, if they are, it would be kind of nice to be a grandmother……
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Story of the Day 3/3/2011
I felt much better after they picked me up off the floor.
The second time.
Okay, I wasn’t really on the floor.
My son and I heard the call- ( which was obviously loud, if we heard it) that there was a need for blood- so we drove off to the downtown Indy Blood Center to donate.
I do this about 5 times a year. On a good year, they take my blood, twice. This is because I tend to be a little anemic.
And they only take it this often because I have learned how to cheat. I drink some caffeine, but not a lot of other fluids- and walk a bit- at a quick pace, before going in to give. It raises the hematocrit for an entire 20 minutes, which is just long enough for me to swear to them that I have never had sex with a prostitute or shared needles or had any really interesting tattoos or body piercings or a whole mess of diseases that I have never heard of and can certainly not pronounce.
I got off to a good start. The machine that determines if there is enough iron in my blood didn’t’ like my right finger, but it decided my left finger was better.
I am not joking; they will test your other hand, if you are a little low, and can get a substantially different reading. This happened last time, too, so maybe next time I will tell them to stick my right middle finger before my left t save myself the extra prick. It also makes me wonder how the left side of my body rates the better quality blood…
So, I passed the anemia test, and was seated on one of their very nice loungers pumping up a nice fist every 5 seconds while the blood flowed into the plastic bag. And even just a little bit before she detached the now full bag, I was feeling a little bit light headed.
From previous experience, I already knew that it is stupid to try to stand up quickly, but by the time she detached the bag, standing up at all wasn’t looking like a very good idea.
Apparently, I wasn’t looking very good either, and she rushed out and got me a soda and then a juice container.
Then, after I couldn’t keep my eyes open, she started poking me. I did revive. And drank some more juice- and the next thing I knew that woman was poking me again.
After about 20 minutes, and more liquid and some cookies, I walked over to the seating area, where Aaron had bee busily eating every package of Oreos that they had.
I sat there very nicely for a few minutes, and then my head made it’s way down to the table. Two of the workers came over and decided they should lay me down on the floor. The idea of this was enough to revive me to the point where I told them I could make it to the lounge chair that was about 5 feet away. With help. Which is what happened.
Eventually, after some more liquids, I went back to sit at the table. By now, all of the Oreos were gone and Aaron was finishing off the last packet of peanut butter crackers. I am not exaggerating.
I sat there and felt quite a lot better, but told my bladder to shut up and behave for a few more minutes, because I really didn’t want those workers trailing me into the bathroom- which had now become a bit of a necessity as there is a limit to how many ounces of liquid I can drink and not need to pee- and I was past that limit!
I held out until I was sure their attention was focused elsewhere ad made a mad dash of a slow walk t the bathroom.
After I came out, Aaron was ready to leave.
I was rather concerned that I had embarrassed him, publicly humiliated him to the point where he would never go back to that blood center again, at least not with me.
But dear Aaron assured me that this was in no way true, and he was even relieved that no one there seemed to notice that he had eaten up every kosher cookie and cracker they had.
Hey, he is a growing boy!
The second time.
Okay, I wasn’t really on the floor.
My son and I heard the call- ( which was obviously loud, if we heard it) that there was a need for blood- so we drove off to the downtown Indy Blood Center to donate.
I do this about 5 times a year. On a good year, they take my blood, twice. This is because I tend to be a little anemic.
And they only take it this often because I have learned how to cheat. I drink some caffeine, but not a lot of other fluids- and walk a bit- at a quick pace, before going in to give. It raises the hematocrit for an entire 20 minutes, which is just long enough for me to swear to them that I have never had sex with a prostitute or shared needles or had any really interesting tattoos or body piercings or a whole mess of diseases that I have never heard of and can certainly not pronounce.
I got off to a good start. The machine that determines if there is enough iron in my blood didn’t’ like my right finger, but it decided my left finger was better.
I am not joking; they will test your other hand, if you are a little low, and can get a substantially different reading. This happened last time, too, so maybe next time I will tell them to stick my right middle finger before my left t save myself the extra prick. It also makes me wonder how the left side of my body rates the better quality blood…
So, I passed the anemia test, and was seated on one of their very nice loungers pumping up a nice fist every 5 seconds while the blood flowed into the plastic bag. And even just a little bit before she detached the now full bag, I was feeling a little bit light headed.
From previous experience, I already knew that it is stupid to try to stand up quickly, but by the time she detached the bag, standing up at all wasn’t looking like a very good idea.
Apparently, I wasn’t looking very good either, and she rushed out and got me a soda and then a juice container.
Then, after I couldn’t keep my eyes open, she started poking me. I did revive. And drank some more juice- and the next thing I knew that woman was poking me again.
After about 20 minutes, and more liquid and some cookies, I walked over to the seating area, where Aaron had bee busily eating every package of Oreos that they had.
I sat there very nicely for a few minutes, and then my head made it’s way down to the table. Two of the workers came over and decided they should lay me down on the floor. The idea of this was enough to revive me to the point where I told them I could make it to the lounge chair that was about 5 feet away. With help. Which is what happened.
Eventually, after some more liquids, I went back to sit at the table. By now, all of the Oreos were gone and Aaron was finishing off the last packet of peanut butter crackers. I am not exaggerating.
I sat there and felt quite a lot better, but told my bladder to shut up and behave for a few more minutes, because I really didn’t want those workers trailing me into the bathroom- which had now become a bit of a necessity as there is a limit to how many ounces of liquid I can drink and not need to pee- and I was past that limit!
I held out until I was sure their attention was focused elsewhere ad made a mad dash of a slow walk t the bathroom.
After I came out, Aaron was ready to leave.
I was rather concerned that I had embarrassed him, publicly humiliated him to the point where he would never go back to that blood center again, at least not with me.
But dear Aaron assured me that this was in no way true, and he was even relieved that no one there seemed to notice that he had eaten up every kosher cookie and cracker they had.
Hey, he is a growing boy!
Story of the Day 3/1/2011
Sarah came home and fixed herself an after school snack and then announced, “Wait until you hear the Story of the Day.”
An announcement like this is enough to make my head start throbbing.
First of all, her interpreter, C, the same one who almost fell off her chair while she was sleeping, asked her if Geography was often like this. I mean, the Geography teacher.
First he threw his pen against the desk. It hit hard and then flew up in the air in an arcing spiral. Fortunately, it missed hitting any students on it’s way back down.
It didn’t hit the teacher, either, though he would have deserved it.
Then he screamed. Sarah didn’t even need the interpreter to tell her that he was screaming, because not only was her desk was vibrating so hard from the volume, but her chest was vibrating; and while we have attend a lot of basketball games at the arena, downtown, and it is only on a very rare occasion that the crowds get so loud that Sarah experiences this.
He screamed, “I am really tired of all you kids having babies! I am 44 and my son is 5, do your math and guess how old I was when he was born!”
This was meant to be a math lesson, maybe….
Then he asked a girl, “Are you pregnant, now?”
And pointed at Sarah.
Sarah was stunned, and then she realized that he was one of those awkward Hearing people who struggle to do a good job pointing, and was really asking the girl who sits behind Sarah.
At which pint another, rather brave girl said, “Can’t you just calm down?”
To which he replied, “I am calm because I’m the coach!” At a volume that kept Sarah’s desk vibrating.
Now, Sarah doesn’t want you to think that she didn’t learn anything at all, today, in Geography class even though the screaming persisted for most of it.
She did learn how old the teacher is. How old he was when he met his wife. How old he was when he got married. How old he was when his son was born, and how old the son is.
Oh and that he has 69 students for Geography (this must be the total from more than one class), but that only 60 parents showed up for Back to School night. This was screamed with the information that this was a terribly disappointing number. Although, neither Sarah nor I can figure out why he thinks that is a bad number. I mean, deduct for the parents who have more than one student in the school and who have to visit teachers for their other kids, and deduct for the parents working a shift that doesn’t allow them to come at that time, and it seemed like a rather impressive number to us.
She is fairly certain that several of the other students are jealous of her and wished they were deaf, by the end of the 40-minute scream-a-thon.
Sarah is also fairly certain that none of this information to be memorized for the next test.
And at least C managed to stay awake during the entire class.
An announcement like this is enough to make my head start throbbing.
First of all, her interpreter, C, the same one who almost fell off her chair while she was sleeping, asked her if Geography was often like this. I mean, the Geography teacher.
First he threw his pen against the desk. It hit hard and then flew up in the air in an arcing spiral. Fortunately, it missed hitting any students on it’s way back down.
It didn’t hit the teacher, either, though he would have deserved it.
Then he screamed. Sarah didn’t even need the interpreter to tell her that he was screaming, because not only was her desk was vibrating so hard from the volume, but her chest was vibrating; and while we have attend a lot of basketball games at the arena, downtown, and it is only on a very rare occasion that the crowds get so loud that Sarah experiences this.
He screamed, “I am really tired of all you kids having babies! I am 44 and my son is 5, do your math and guess how old I was when he was born!”
This was meant to be a math lesson, maybe….
Then he asked a girl, “Are you pregnant, now?”
And pointed at Sarah.
Sarah was stunned, and then she realized that he was one of those awkward Hearing people who struggle to do a good job pointing, and was really asking the girl who sits behind Sarah.
At which pint another, rather brave girl said, “Can’t you just calm down?”
To which he replied, “I am calm because I’m the coach!” At a volume that kept Sarah’s desk vibrating.
Now, Sarah doesn’t want you to think that she didn’t learn anything at all, today, in Geography class even though the screaming persisted for most of it.
She did learn how old the teacher is. How old he was when he met his wife. How old he was when he got married. How old he was when his son was born, and how old the son is.
Oh and that he has 69 students for Geography (this must be the total from more than one class), but that only 60 parents showed up for Back to School night. This was screamed with the information that this was a terribly disappointing number. Although, neither Sarah nor I can figure out why he thinks that is a bad number. I mean, deduct for the parents who have more than one student in the school and who have to visit teachers for their other kids, and deduct for the parents working a shift that doesn’t allow them to come at that time, and it seemed like a rather impressive number to us.
She is fairly certain that several of the other students are jealous of her and wished they were deaf, by the end of the 40-minute scream-a-thon.
Sarah is also fairly certain that none of this information to be memorized for the next test.
And at least C managed to stay awake during the entire class.
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