TheMommyBlog

Saturday, January 12, 2008 Me, Me, Me

Recently, my sixth grade teacher wrote to me through this site, and I nearly wet my pants. She found me while Googling our former principal (I had Googled her too; weird how unpleasant people haunt your memories; we were wise and wary adversaries all through grade school) and wondered if I remembered her, which was very funny because I’d been thinking of her a lot lately, as one of Logan’s teachers reminded me of her. Tough, but fair. Funny, but would snap you out of it if you crossed the line.

We’ve traded a few emails, which is such a trip, because you never get to see what your teachers do later in life, and they don’t get to see how you turn out. I couldn’t believe it when I told her my age and she said that she was only twelve years older. TWELVE YEARS. So that’s why all the teachers seem so young to me.

I just had to paste tonight’s exchange. I can’t stop smiling....

Mindy,

Sorry, but I only have a few minutes for a quick note.  The Amazon box arrived today with you book. I can’t wait to read it.  Would it be impolite if I brought it to dinner while I met my friends.  I know the answer but can’t wait to read a book written by someone I taught.

I will talk about this sweet, kind and beautiful sixth grader I taught years ago and her book.  Don’t worry about the swearing.  I do it all the time.

I replied just before bed (well, bed is after I post this):

Hee, Are you kidding? I’m trying to get it out there and in the hands as many moms and aunts possible. Rearing kids is the hardest, most miserable job in the world, when it’s not the best thing that’s ever happened to you. Not many people will admit that, though, and I guess that’s the reason people read my stuff. I don’t candy coat it. I never have, as long as I remember, thought I don’t if you remember me like that.

You’ll recognize a few names, especially in the Overdue Letters thing in the front… I didn’t have good memories of grade school. My brother and I were different because our mom was divorced, and we only saw my dad in the summers and every other holiday, in Ohio. The secretary used to make snide remarks about how my mom never volunteered in the lunch room, and I felt weird not to be in a two-parent household. We were sort of outcasts, and the cool kids made fun of us. I spoke to a few of them later and they have no recollection of it, but it scarred me, and heavily influenced how I raised my own children. I will not have bullies. Unkindness is not tolerated.

Tonight, I’m at the beach house in Capitola with mom and my stepdad, Phil, and the kids. I told her at dinner about our correspondence and she didn’t remember you (because she was never around for anything school related, of course). However, when we noticed how cold it was outside, she produced my St. Gertrude Senior Varsity basketball jacket. I nearly fell over. Logan wanted to wear it, and for few moments he thought I was soooo cool. I said that the coins in the pocket were probably still there from eighth grade, and Phil challenged me. “Let’s see what the dates on the coins are.” Sure enough, they were from 1974, 1981, 1963, and 1972. There you have it.

Thank you so much for buying my book. I would have sent one… I used to have a thing on my site where you could order it autographed by me and or the kids, have wine spilled on it, cookie crumbs sprinkled in the pages, or ants pressed in the creases (you’ll see why later). I couldn’t believe how many people wanted the kids’ autographs ("Do we sign our real names or our book names? Do we know this person?” *pen poised*), and quite a few wanted the lipstick kiss, and one wanted wine. I dipped my finger in a nice Bordeaux and signed it that way. God, I love my readers.

OK, time to hit the sack - hope your dinner was good, and if it included any of my former teachers, I hope you said hello!

xx

Mindy