The Gods of Song and Poetry

Chapter 25 - You Are Not A Little Girl Anymore

Chapter 25 - You Are Not A Little Girl Anymore

Mr. Parker stopped me before I went into his classroom to TA during Sophomore English.

"Analee, I have a question for you. Feel free to say no." Anytime a teacher starts a conversation that way, it can't be good.

"Okay," I enunciated slowly.

"I'll be starting the poetry unit with the sophomores today, and you know how I always start with videos of people reading their own poetry or poetry that inspired them?"

"Yes." I thought he was going to have me looking up videos for him or running the LCD.

"Well, I think sometimes students feel like you have to be some kind of professional author or complete weirdo to have something poetic to say. I'd really like them to see some amateurs sharing their poetry, as well as professionals. I had intended to wait until after you graduated to ask your permission to show the video of you reading Cuddles, but since-"

"There's a video?"

"Of course. I record all readings and speeches. Anyway, I thought it would be an amazing opportunity since not only do we have the actual author here, but a member of the audience as well, your sister. What do you think? Would you be comfortable with me using your performance? Maybe even answering some questions about it for them?"

Oh, I thought a lot of things about it. "Of course not you madman! What are you thinking? The whole point was to rip off the band-aid and never have to deal with it again! Plus, my girlfriend is in your class, for Chunk's sake! I don't want her to see me as a bawling little child! She thinks I'm so strong and so awesome! I can feel tears welling up right now! For Frack's sake, change your mind, Man! Now!!"

"I'd like you to know," Mr. Parker continued, "whatever your answer is, I will always look at that reading as one of the highlights of my teaching career. I will most likely never see a performance that brave again."

Mr. Parker often let me know that I was one of his favorite students in subtle ways. I remember once when I was a freshman he told my class, "I don't have favorite people, but of course I have favorite students. They might not be the ones you expect, though. They're the ones who give my class an honest try, who aren't so afraid of failing that they don't take risks, and the ones who help lift their fellow students up instead of trying to tear them down. They don't have to get A's to be one of my favorites, but they have to be willing to grow."

Right now, Mr. Parker was looking at me with something like admiration in his eyes. Do teachers know, I wondered, what that look means to kids who spend so much time feeling like they aren't good enough, aren't smart enough, aren't loveable enough?

"Of course, Mr. Parker." What else could I say?

I walked into the room and sat at my table off to the side. My mind was incapable of holding onto any thought for too long. It was bouncing around like a hyperactive puppy that had just been stung by a bee. I went from trying to calculate the odds of being rescued by a fire drill, to picturing myself sabotaging the projector, imagining Kelly thinking it was awesome, imaging Kelly thinking I was a hopeless baby, thinking it was a cruel trick and Mr. Parker was going to pull up the Drunk Lesbian Gropes Chicks Onstage video, wondering if Mr. Parker and the other teachers had seen the Drunk Lesbian Gropes Chicks Onstage video and panicking about that, and so on.

Mr. Parker came in and the class settled down. He went through his usual schtick to introduce a new topic and try to convince people it was worthwhile to learn about. Today, he said, they would only be expected to talk about the poems they heard 'in large group,' meaning the whole class. Everyone had to have a turn either starting a conversation by stating an opinion or respectfully responding, either in agreement or disagreement, to someone else.