The paths we take though a city are laid out in asphalt and stone in side-yard fences in restaurants and convenience stores known and unknown.
I drove down the freeway today, took the less-than-predictable exit, one later than I'd planned - paused in front of a neon land laid out on the vertical white walls of the nearest museum. It cast a red glow like the firelight of the video installation in the next room over.
M., who was once a new grad reporting to me and with whom I’m still in touch as an interesting person to talk to, just sent me this article:
I can still remember how mad I was, freshman year of high school, when my Spanish-class teacher wouldn’t give me an A. I’d gotten A’s on (a statistically appropriate number of) the tests, so I figured I deserved an A in the class. The teacher was adamant: no A for me. I’d skipped (a whole lot of) the homework.
Who was this teacher, I thought, to insist I do busywork that was clearly unnecessary to learn the material?! Hadn’t I proved I was right?!*
Looking back, I’m pretty sure the teacher was just young and immature, and maybe didn’t want to set himself up for dealing with a whole class full of argumentative would-be homework-skippers.
Looking back, I’m proud I went right on skipping the homework. B’s be damned. I knew I was right.
Looking back, I’m also really, really, really grateful to my parents for supporting me in this. Talk about ways to be fortunate in life – parental support in figuring the ROI on any given effort at a young age has paid off I-don’t-even-know-how-immensely in happiness. Thanks, Mom & Dad. Thanks.