Once Upon a Time: A Tale of Teen Boys

Once upon a time, I managed to get an A in a class without reading the required text:

And then I was hired to teach… that same class. Guess which book they still use? Yeah. That one. Now I have to actually read it. Like read, read it. And try to make it comprehensible for my students.

Then again, once upon a time, not so very long ago, I was unemployed, and somewhat freaked out about that. And then I had four jobs, three of which I am paid for, and which I love enough that I would probably do for free anyway, should funding for education totally run out… (Shhhh. Don’t tell Payroll, or the Legislature.)

Crazy, I know. But I would–even though time is flying and my kids are growing and changing so fast that where once upon a time there were sippy cups and tricycles constantly littering my porch, now there are random automotive parts. I discovered this when I emerged from my front door for the first time in months today after an 8 hour stint of writing yet another syllabus (I generally go in and out the backdoor):

Since when do my children buy 5 ton pickups instead of dollar-store water guns? Was it when mowing lawns for the neighbors turned into this?

I took that picture the day before Mother’s day. Because seeing my boys working like that is better than a bouquet. It redeems my faith in them when I see things like this:

It’s been sitting in his doorway for almost six months now. I moved it from beside the front door, six months before that, and positioned it there as a gentle hint. I only wish I were kidding.  And yes, that’s an exterior door. He may or may not have soundproofed his room. And yes, he built his own room, this year–wired, sheetrocked, taped, textured, trimmed out, and painted his own room. And built a closet, and put in two doors. But the backpack filled with all the academic detritus of his eighth grade year is still sitting in his doorway. A year later.

Boys.

And I thought “Sociolinguistics: The Essential Readings” was hard to figure out.