I just renewed my domain name, so I feel it’s only right to update this thing, as I haven’t it quite some time.

Whoops.

So where was I?

I didn’t finish NaNoWriMo. I admit defeat. I was revising another MS at the same time, so it was hard to balance the two. But it’s okay. There’s always more time to write, right?

Speaking of writing, one of my old students (I taught high school for a year when I was 22/23. Yes, I was a baby.) emailed me out of the blue the other day, to say he finished a script and would love my opinion. I haven’t spoken to him in years, and he thought of me. And that made me feel absolutely amazing.

Truth was, I didn’t like teaching. I hated disciplining students. I hated caring so much that when one of my 130+ kids let me down, I felt broken. I hated giving up. But, ultimately, I knew the career wasn’t for me. But still-I think of the 10 or so kids who really made a difference to me. The ones who have since friended me on Facebook. The ones that email me out of the blue for my opinion. I can’t believe they still think of me (the way, as it happens, I still think of one of my high school teachers. In fact, she and her husband came to my wedding.)

One day there was a fight in my classroom. Two kids – the loner who wore dark and liked sci-fi and the jock who had girlfriends and pride – got into a fight. The loner just broke and started pushing. The jock didn’t fight back initially – I remember the surprise on his face – but eventually there was self-defence. And I remember thinking three things –

1. ….

2. Oh crap.

3. I need to protect my kids.

I know somewhere in that moment I thought to call the front office. I know eventually I moved from behind my desk. But I remember thinking that I didn’t want this to escalate. That I wanted my kids to be okay.

In the midst, two boys grabbed the fighters and held them back. And in the process, one yelled. “Ms. G, stay there.”

In this moment of panic, he thought the same thing I did, only about me.

The kids calmed down and everyone was fine. There was detention and suspension and all of that, and I’d like to say the fighters became friends in the end, but that’s not realistic. They avoided each other, but they didn’t have problems again. The class was quiet and I talked to them each individually because I didn’t want either to be upset or, for the former, alone.

My kids made me proud that day. There’s so much negative talk about teens and their behaviors, but in an unexpected moment, the two who broke up the fight, thinking not of themselves but of the other students-of me- were heroes in their own way. And I still think of that, now and then, when I hear about fight at school, or worse.

And I don’t know where many of them are nowadays, or how they’re doing, but I hope they’re doing well. I really do.

I’m standing behind my desk, staring ahead at nothing particular.

Co-worker: What are you doing?

Me: Thinking

Co-worker: Thinking about what?

Me: Life (dramatic sigh)

Co-worker: …You do write YA.

(After seeing about five “How To Get the Perfect Body” type articles in a magazine, I wanted to blog something in response. So, here it is.)

I have my father’s nose.

I never realized it before, that is, until my grandmother pointed it out about a month ago. Sitting at the dining room table with me, she poked at my nose and said it was just like my dad’s. And I smiled and she smiled and it was a cute moment.

The thing is, my nose as always been a point of contention with me. I suppose it’s been since high school when it became more noticeable and I became more noticeable. My nose is extremely crooked. Not in that if you look at it in a certain light kind of way, but more so in a oh, wow, your nose really points to the right, doesn’t it kind of way. Yeah, it’s there. It’s crooked. And it makes me sneeze a lot.

In fact, there are quite a few parts of me that have been points of contention over time. My belly rolls remind me that playing Just Dance once a week doesn’t equal working out. My thighs are so large I have to go one size up in pants, and then hope they fit everywhere else. My hips are pointy and bulbous. My shoulders are broad. I’m far from perfect.

But here’s my secret – my deep dark secret – I love my body.

I love that my belly rolls remind me that I’m human, and I, thankfully, eat enough. I love that my hips accentuate how small my waist is. I love that my thighs let me have more of an hour-glass shape. I love that I’m not a stick – and that my shoulders and arms remind me of the muscle buried beneath.

Like many others, it took me a bit to get to this point. I had moments of doubt, but I never gave in. I never once did anything I’d regret. Because no matter how uncomfortable I was with my body while growing up, I still knew it was mine.

 

So when the doctor told me that my nose is crooked because I have a deviated septum, and asked if I wanted to get it fixed, I said no. Because I love my crooked nose. It’s my dad’s nose, after all.