Thank You Grover Cleveland
“I put my heart and my soul into my work, and I have lost my mind in the process.”
~ Vincent Van Gogh
Grover Cleveland was the 22nd and 24th president of the United States of America. The only thing I know about him is that he signed Labor Day into being a Federal Holiday.
I am a special education teacher in a state that does not take the COVID virus seriously. Our Governor is a Trumpanzee who is counting on a Cabinet Position next time IQ45 is in office. God forbid! Otherwise, this governor will need to go back to scooping ice cream. He owned a Cold Stone franchise before making a name for himself as one of Trump’s proud boys.
Thankfully, my school district has a mask mandate and has done everything but hog tie teachers to get them vaccinated.
Governor Dicey Ducey has threatened to withhold funding for any district that requires students wear a mask. The kids are fine with it. The adults are the ones losing their minds. And, the unvaccinated adults are bitching the loudest.
We are five weeks into the first quarter and things are not going well. The absentee rate for COVID related issues is extremely high. I could not find concrete numbers at this time.
I’m exposed to COVID every single day. Obviously, the vaccination works and masks are a good idea. It’s a miracle I have not been ill.
In addition to COVID worries, my special education caseload this year is nineteen 5th graders. Fourteen of them are boys with a variety of disabilities ranging from autism to emotional, learning, and behavior disorders. Most of the students have been raised by video games. Nowhere on planet Earth, is their conduct acceptable.
In light of confidentiality, I can’t publicly describe the bullshit that is going on in public schools today.
My daughter told me, “Mom you have lost your sense of humor. Five years ago you would have thought that was funny.”
“I’m not laughing!”
Thank you Grover. I need a day off to meditate.
There are help wanted signs in almost every window. People are not going back to work for a variety of reasons. I want to know their secret. How do they pay rent? Where do they get food? Most of all, isn’t it expensive to buy their kids all the latest violent video games? I guess it’s cheaper than childcare? But, if you’re not going back to work, why do you need childcare?
So many questions.
Many women work through their childhood wounds and trauma through their relationships with shitty men. I’ve done my share of that “work” for sure, but my healing challenge is in the shitty jobs I’ve done in the name of a paycheck.
Speaking of Paycheck…
I know people who love their jobs. They prefer work over any other activity or relationship. I was married to that person.
I say, “Good on ya.”
For the most part, that has not been my experience. And God knows I’ve tried! I’ve changed jobs nearly as often as underwear.
At an early age, it became apparent that if I wanted to have anything, I was going to need my own money. I had a paper route, babysitting gigs, and worked real jobs the minute I turned thirteen. The benefit of growing up in a small town in the 60’s and 70’s.
Every girl in town took her turn at the A & W, Bob’s Pizza, The Chuckwagon, and Helen’s Café. I also worked at the drive in theater, filed paperwork at the doctor’s clinic, pumped gas and washed windows at a gas station, anything to earn a dollar. Actually back then, it was more like a quarter.
Why would I do that?
I wanted my own horse and at fourteen and a half, I had enough money saved to make that happen. I didn’t check in with mom or dad about this purchase because they were hard to pin down. Code for not present or not sober. And, they would have agreed for the first time in their marriage and said, “Hell no!”
A little palomino filly. I named her Spice. She was beautiful and she was mine. Spice nearly killed me on more than one occasion. She was barely green broke. A fact the horse trader failed to mention. And, I had to work my ass off to pay for her upkeep. She was run through a barbed wire fence by another mare, and torn to shreds. The stable where she boarded helped with her vet bills but basic care was more than expected. I scrambled to keep her for over three years, until I left for the Navy. My parents found out about her when she threw me off and I was knocked unconscious. Someone at the stable ratted me out. By that time I was completely out of their control, and they had no interest in reining me in.
Footnote: I wanted my own children to develop self-reliance. I encouraged paper routes, babysitting gigs, lawn mowing, or working retail so they could have their own money. Two of my children embraced this philosophy wholeheartedly. In fact, they pegged self reliance with a vengeance. The other one embraced entitlement. Resisted working and resented me for suggesting it. Go figure?
The Navy. Third Class Storekeeper. Supply chain. Yuck! Uncle Sam was my ticket out of town, and paid for my college education. I’m grateful. But the job sucked. One example was, hand counting thousands of screws, bolts, and washers. It was called inventory. I called it bullshit early on, and made up numbers to write on white index cards. Before technology.
My work history goes on and on. To name a few:
Rural route mail carrier. I was either cold, hot, wet, windblown, run off the road, mauled by a Rottweiler, and yelled at by a welfare recipient for being late with his check. And, the supervisors are required to take master training at being complete assholes. No wonder these people go postal!
Backroom supervisor for Target. Actually, this is a decent company to work for. The problem was being a supervisor. People wouldn’t show up for work. They didn’t call in. I got tired of doing the work of three people.
My all time favorite job was, a Librarian at Albany County Public Library. I felt capable, smart, and at home. Totally positive experience. However, it didn’t pay enough to cover my lunch.
7th and 8th grade Home Economics teacher at Laramie Junior High School. The words Junior High just about says it all.
I taught Business English to adults in the Czech Republic for a year. I was denied a work visa. A bounced Czech. Not funny at the time.
I have taught special education for the last twenty-four years, in three different states. I have taught three year old preschoolers with developmental delays through twenty-two year old incarcerated students in Coconino County Jail. And … everything in between.
I have made the heartbreaking journey from preschool to jail.
Part of the journey has been a labor of love. Some of it a labor of self preservation. It has been a great deal of hard work.
I haven’t completely lost my mind in the process, but it’s not over yet.
Happy Labor Day!
