So I mentioned in my last post that, unlike my pre-2020 self, I’ve been indulging in the watching of social media. This is because it has become peculiarly entertaining, and if I hadn’t seen some of these events with my own eyes, I wouldn’t believe them myself as I retell them to my future grandchildren when they ask, “Gramma, what was it like to live through that weird year, was it 2020?”
So I check out what the government is saying, and what the protesters are screaming, and what the religious are preaching.
The self-proclaimed “prophets” appear to be doing a lot of dreaming these days, to which they ascribe “vision” status. These dreams seem to follow a common theme, which include the election, the president, and sometimes cataclysmic weather events and Israel are thrown in as well.
This got me to thinking about the dream I had last night. You may already know that teachers have dreams that run along common themes as well. We know this because we have regaled each other with them in the teacher’s lounge during recess. Maybe there’s been a study done about this phenomenon, which I’m sure is a universal one.
My dream went like this: It was my first day back in the classroom, with a brand new batch of students, and wouldn’t you know it, the Superintendent and other district office personnel are touring the school in support, and to check on student engagement. My eyes dart around my room, only to discover that I’ve still got that huge pile of old curriculum that I burped up out of a cupboard sitting out in plain view. No time now to stow it away, because the mucky mucks are already strolling around my room, stopping now and then to chat with a student, which disengages him from his task at hand. The student is confused by this stranger asking him questions, so his answers are less than stellar, which of course is a reflection on my professional abilities to engage my students in robust learning experiences. I’m relieved they haven’t noticed the pile of junk, or perhaps they are politely ignoring it. I begin to hope that I’ve pulled it off, if only they would proceed to the next classroom. But no, they linger, they’ve found a chatty student who will explain the activity to them in great detail, and I continue to hold my breath …..
I know, that wasn’t half as exciting as you thought it might be, but at least you know I didn’t make this up. And the interesting thing is that the characters, setting, plot, and events play out in other teachers’ dreams with surprising similarities. I know my retired friends still get them, too. I wonder if this will continue for the rest of our lives?
In all seriousness, and speaking of a dream, I wish our nation would take Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr’s “I Have a Dream” speech at its word. If we would do the part where people are judged by the content of their character, not by the color of their skin, then maybe we could make our way forward. It could work if we, the people, would honestly examine the content of our character. How about we start with the Golden Rule and ask ourselves: “Am I treating others the way I want to be treated?”
Can it be possible that everything we needed to know to get along we really did learn in Kindergarten?
Cuts With Scissors 