taking the job

"So, are you going to take that job?" Mr. Brown asks.

"Yeah, I think I am."

"What about our proposal?" asks Mrs. Jackson.   "That was our baby."

It's silent.  "I mean, oops, these are Victorian times.  We would never have a baby together.  It's a metaphor you know.  Because, well, it would be wrong on so many levels . . . okay, just one level, but one very important level and you know . . . "

"I get it.  I know how to spot a metaphor," I explain.

"What's going to happen to it?" Mr. Brown asks.

"I'm going part-time.  I'll work as a pencil teacher the first half of the day then oversee our plan, the new pencil professional development and the district pencil classes.  Nothing will change."

"Don't lie to yourself.  You can't be pulled away and change both your status and position and pretend that things will be the same.  We'll be friends, but I guarantee that you will change."

"People always promise that they'll stay in touch, that they'll stay grounded.  But even if you teach part time you forget.  You forget how to hold your bladder for hours.  You forget what it's like when one kid wears you down by the end of the day.  I don't think it's wrong that you're going half-half, but don't be shocked if you only feel like half a teacher."

It's like a shot of whiskey and I'm thinking whiskey shouldn't be consumed at ten thirty in the morning.  So, I change the topic.  "How about that local hometown sports team?  I hear they are doing really well and perhaps we can live vicariously through their arbitrary athletic pursuits."

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