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| My snapdragons |
I sit out on the front porch on a cool evening after hard day of teaching. Research papers were due and time-management is not a strength for eighth-graders. They only care after the deadline has arrived. Then it’s pleading time. I wish I could be stoic, unmoved, or at least Zen--feeling in a deeply, compassionate, yet centered way, at peace, knowing it is better for them to learn cause and effect now then later. I could smile and say, “I see, I see.” But I can’t do that. I get angry: “My social security depends on the likes of you! Do you want to pledge allegiance to China! If I end up working in a sweat shop for United Nike of Chinese America, I’ll hunt you down--the laziest of all generations!” Then I give in, let them slip past the deadline again, because I just don’t have the heart to fail them. Terrible teaching, terrible parenting, terrible being.
So, I came home exhausted, and there were plants to water. I thought maybe I’d wait until morning, but I felt guilty. What if I kill some of them? So, reluctantly, I grabbed the hose and began my job. As usual, I weeded while letting particular flowers soak. As usual, it happened. As the shadows grew long and the air cooled, the redundant pulling of weeds and noting improvement slowly melted my troubled day away until I was relaxed enough to sit on the porch and watch the first stars appear behind wispy, tropical looking clouds and the mimosa tree, the scent lilac still strong in the air from our scrawny little bush.
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| My snapdragons being watered |
And now I write this blog totally at peace. Even though I know America is the titanic. It’d be a great novel, if there was a plot. But there isn’t, because in order to have a plot, someone has to have a goal. No goal, no conflict, and this generation doesn’t have stress--only facebook, texting and videogames.
Okay, maybe I’m not at peace, but the air is still sweet.
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