Attentive Disregard

It’s gonna be a long day.  I’ve two kids in this school.  Parents are supposed to go on line and fill-in for ten minute slots for each of their children’s teachers.  This means approximately fourteen meetings or so.   I’ve tried to fit them all in on one day and as I know from years past, it will never go as planned. 

I have a call at about fifteen minutes before the first meeting is supposed to begin.  Doing my best to sound confident and assuring I fend off sharp glances from my wife who is driving.  “Yes, that’s what we do, we’ll build out teams.”  I take my wallet and swipe to pass security and march in automatically.  My wife doesn’t have hers and begins to sign a paper with the guard to secure admission.

Sitting outside the middle school library I announce to the people on the phone-bridge that “parent teacher” day is about to start.  It’s not clear how many of them are old enough to be parents but it’s a sturdy talisman and they all politely and appropriately acknowledge the importance of such a thing. 

Trailing my wife in now to meet the gym teacher for our first meeting of the day.  A different gym teacher who is my size and who always works out with an unflappable look of disdain in the weekend gym routine we share, glances up at me now with a look of disdain.  I suck in my gut and walk past him with an eyebrow raised, channeling attentive disregard. 

Our gym teacher is . . . not here yet.  “I had your daughter last year and she is a lovely girl.  I’m sure Ms. X will be back momentarily.”  “No worries, we’ll be here all day.  We’ll pop back later.” 

No slack after that.  We start the 11:40 meeting at 11:42.  I spent those two minutes glancing in at the meeting in progress, eyebrow curved again, getting lots of exercise today.  We get to the 12:10 meeting seven minutes late and stay till 12:26.  And I now have complete disregard for the parents who are out there waiting, standing on one foot, peering in.   “This next one is down in the auditorium.  We better hurry.”  “We were just there.”  The parents of my younger daughter’s friend are seen once again on the way up, the down stairs.  They look exhausted and I assume we do as well.  I tell them to add oil.  They tell me to add oil as well. 

Tuesday, 10/23/17