What She Wore: Pink, long-sleeve tee; tweed skirt that is mainly white with pink and purple running through it; purple, pointy-toed mules with a pink bow. The kids call em my witch shoes.
I work with a woman who’s in her second year of teaching, but in her first year as a special ed teacher. We’re on the same team, and service the same group of kids, so I’m the one who’s showing her the ropes. We have a fairly interesting working relationship. We’re close in age. We come from the same area, and she’s well aware that I’m a private school girl. For some reason, I think this makes her very sensative around me. She once told me that she doesn’t like to ask me questions because I smile while she’s asking them. She told me that she thinks I’m looking at her like she stupid. I thought I was looking welcoming and ready to help.
Today, I stepped on her toes a gain. We were going to a portable that she’d never been to before, and we were walking together. We stopped to talk to someone, and when we started off again, she went in the wrong direction. I called out to her, and she turned around and said, You don’t have to talk to me like I’m a poodle. Well, you were going in the wrong direction. Still, you don’t have to poodle me. Now, I have a very sing-songy voice at school; the kids have accused me on more than one occasion of talking like an elementary school teacher. I have a silly voice! I made an executive decision at that moment: I wasn’t going to stop talking like that any time soon, so I told her, That’s how I talk–you’re just going to have to get over it. She fumed for a minute and huffed a bit, and then kept walking with me out to the portable.
I used to be so worried about making people mad. After teaching for a couple of years, I come to expect it. Now, granted, I usually expect thirteen-year-olds to be mad, but still–there’s something very refreshing about know that I can’t be bullied by another person’s anger.
I’m sorry if I made her feel like a poodle–that’s my voice.