I realize it's been... let's say more than a little while since I've posted, but I swear, I've got a really good reason which I've been working on, and once I've finished coming up with it, You'll see.
But the point is, that during that absence, only one person actually asked about my blog. One person actually reads my diatribes and derives some degree of joy out of them. Which means that only one person has really been encouraging me, and making me believe that there is some reason to continue.
That individual is my department head, Brenda. She has been my superior (inasmuch as one such as I can have such a thing,) at school for the last seventeen years, and was instrumental in making my (sadly no longer extant) Mythology class happen. She has been a guiding force in my career and I have learned more from here than I can describe (I actually could, but I don't want to, because that would take a while.)
But now she is retiring. After (30? 40? I have no idea how long she has been there, I just assumed they built the place around her,) years, she is leaving the teaching profession to... I dunno, paint flowers? I have no idea what people do when they stop teaching, I just assumed I was going to die in class one day (probably fifth hour.)
So it seems only fitting that I honor her illustrious career (teachers can have those, right?) I would make a new post in her honor (note to self: don't use honor twice, fix that in editing later.)
But I'm not good at sappy tribute posts, so how best to not suck at this? Then I remembered that I'm really good at taking a better writer's work and adding a bunch of goofy shit to it so that I sound all smart and shit (note to self: don't use shit twice.) (Second note to self: maybe don't use shit at all? Maybe buy a thesaurus?)
So I was reminded of the moving words of A.E. Housman's poem "To an Athlete Dying Young" and thought I could just rip that off. That would be classy as balls! (Note to self: you might not be as good at this as you thought.) So here is my attempt at a classy tribute. Without balls.
When Fridays came, those first few years,
You drove home tired, weak, in tears.
Dreading Mondays, wracked by stress,
How you survived was anyone's guess.
Today we ring the final bell,
Your tenure ending with its knell.
Chairs on desks, cabinets locked,
Home you'll go, alarms unclocked.
Smart lass to slip betimes away,
From overcrowded dank hallway,
And photocopiers that jam and freeze
Can cause no stress for those at peace.
Hands that have their red pens capped,
Round student necks dream not being wrapped.
And feet whose pacing days now pass,
No longer twitch toward laggard ass.
Now you will not see the legions,
Whose certificates merely show completion,
Students whom the system failed,
By E2020 their losses veiled.
So remember, ere the echoes fade,
Each poorly-grammared accolade.
Recall each student whose unsure future
You did your level best to nurture
And to your name will cling those masses,
Who learned so much within your classes,
Remembering each lesson and story,
They learned because of Mrs. Corey.
Happy Retirement, Boss.
