I had a short meeting yesterday with the teacher my son is scheduled to have next year -- the one that everybody tells me is so wonderful, wonderful, wonderful -- and she did indeed seem to be pretty darn neat. When I mentioned that he has a hard time sitting still at a desk, she even said the thing I often grumble when people complain about his activity level: "That's why he's in this kind of a classroom." She had a lot of good things to suggest about learning activities we could pursue with him over the summer, and gave every impression that she will make good use of his particular strengths in helping him to really learn next year.
So now, of course, I'm worried about what's going to happen to her over the summer. Because every time I think I have the perfect situation set up for my kids, something happens. The great teacher gets transferred or gets married and quits, the great aide gets reassigned. No one's ever died on me, but the great counselor I talked to at the middle school my daughter will be going to next year -- the one that everybody told me was so wonderful, wonderful, wonderful and who met with me and agreed with me on everything -- is now out of school with a brain tumor. They say he'll be back in the fall. I'm saying rosaries. Maybe I better include my son's teacher-to-be in those prayers. And tell her to make sure there are no buses coming before she crosses the street.
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