It’s a rare day indeed when I leave work and don’t feel like somehow, somewhere, I made a mess of it. It’s usually as I walk out the building that some words come back to me, and I see them in a different light and wonder who might have interpreted them other than how I meant them. We have all had that teacher who, with a flippant comment heard at a wrong moment, has inflicted some damage completely unknowingly, but deep enough to leave a mark.
Today was a rare day. I walked to the bus and thought, yeah, that went well. I was helpful, and kind and laughed with, not at. It was a good teaching day.
Which of course means that it likely wasn’t. Teaching teenage girls is like that.
Sometimes I think that going skipping through a mine field would be easier, less fraught with disaster.