I've let so much get in the way of my blogging lately. If it's not my all-consuming interest in Turkish tents or my distracting desire to promote Robbie and Nate to Sterling Scholar status, it's writing a talk on immorality to give to the whole ward. Yes, yes, there are many things I love about my calling but what I love most are the many opportunities it affords me to talk openly and often about chastity. Nevertheless, I appreciate the gentle reminders from various commenters to make time for what is important. Blogging.
So no one even asked about the Ward Christmas party at Independence High. Strange. I thought that was mighty interesting. As it turned out the party was uneventful. A piano could not be located. I complimented a woman on her daughter's hair, she didn't' hear me and thought I had complimented her hair "You like it? I haven't even done anything with it in months!" Yes. I noticed. And while there really was not enough dessert, no one seemed to miss the 300 cookies I refused to have the young women bake. There were, however, 13 extra hams. Please, no comments on the sad irony of having a party at the alternative high school because it could seat so many more people than the church and then having very few people show up. It's a sore spot. And so are the 300 cookies.
When I was at Independence High I couldn't help but remember the last time I was there and the day that changed my life forever. It was called "student teaching." It happened when I was a secondary education major at BYU with wide eyes and a big heart. I was enrolled in classes such as "Instructional Design," and planned to one day be a high school teacher. My time at Independence High taught me that I'm not cut out to live in a Gangsta's Paradise a la Michelle Pfeiffer in Dangerous Minds. Rather than return to the school, I dropped all my secondary education classes, changed my major to just English, and resigned myself to getting a Masters Degree before I could have any kind of paying job. I haven't looked back. I don't really want to talk about what happened at Independence High other than to say, me no likey.
Please, no comments on the sad irony of how now instead of teaching high school kids I sit at home and blog with them.