My kids just came home with their progress reports. Each of their comment sections was filled with wonderful notes like, “She is a joy to teach,” “She is doing very well,” “I could not ask for a better student.” I am, of course, very proud of how well they are doing. Though, I can’t help but notice what a stark contrast they are to my progress reports. Pick a grade, any grade of mine, between 2nd and 9th and they all have a distinctly different tone from what my kids received. Think more Professor Snape’s would be comments on Harry Potter’s progress report and less McGonagall writing to Hermione. And now I have gone and compared myself to the hero of the wizarding world and my teachers to the professor who hated him (…Or did he?! That is a discussion for a different day.) So hold on for just a minute.
Former 2nd – 9th grade teachers, if by some bizarre turn of events you happen to be reading this…it wasn’t you, it was me. I know that now. You would have never guessed at the time but, my atrocious grammar aside, I became an excellent student in my later years. I eventually became a teacher with students just like my former self…because, life. Lessons learned, albeit too late for your benefit, but better late than never, right?! – Christy
Okay, thanks for waiting. It needed to be said. Back to progress reports. The point is for many consecutive years, mine were bad. Bad despite the fact that my father was one of their fellow teachers and, at my first school, my grandfather was the principal. I received a lot of comments along the lines of, “Christy should put in more of an effort.” Or, “There is room to improve.” Or, “Christy has some difficulty staying on track.” Or, my personal favorite, “She started off better than she finished!” Well, that pretty much sums up my entire life.
“She started off better than she finished.” Honestly, it’s like that teacher looked into my soul and saw my true potential. It’s why, now in May, one of my daughters’ lunch today consisted of a breakfast bar (whatever that is), an applesauce, and a fig newton. It’s why my children can say, “Well, for awhile we were doing our chores.” And it’s why, now not-quite-mid-year, I have read less and less books. Yep, you read that right. So apparently, I still need progress reports, given to myself, by myself, and for myself (to ensure a completely unbiased report.)
Here it is. At the end of last year, I set a goal of reading at least 52 books this year (one a week). I did not specify which kind of books, but ideally, I was thinking that the list of 52 would not include any of the children’s books I read. I naively did not believe that specification would matter. Children’s books are such fast reading and all I need is space for one of “my” books a week. No problem. And for the first couple of months it was.
But now, now I am beginning to slide. Here are some cold hard facts about my literary life at this moment:
- I have only read eight (8!) non-children’s books so far this year.
- Of those eight (8!), half were for my book club. Meaning, I have only read four (4!!) of my own volition.
- I have quit reading five books. One of them not even getting past the first page.
- I have returned ten (10!) books to the library that I never even opened once.
- I am enjoying the book I am reading now but am averaging about two pages a day. TWO. PAGES. A. DAY.
Not-quite-mid-year progress report comments:
“Christy has shown potential for success. She needs to work hard and remain focused. I know she will enjoy the challenge of learning to finish better than she started.”
Or so help me!