In high school, back in my day, to graduate on the honors track you had to take two years of a foreign language.
It was “suggested” to me, by my parents, that I should take Spanish.
It would be useful, they said.
However, my mother had minored in Spanish in college and if there was one thing I did not ever want to do, it was to follow in my own mother’s footsteps.
So I signed up for German.
In no time flat, my mother had marched me up the counselor’s office and demanded that my schedule get changed to Spanish. And bonus: my other electives had to be rearranged so now I *got* to take a typing class instead of art.
Anger consumed me.
For two years I seethed. The only B’s I ever made were in Spanish. I wanted to send the message to my parents that I was purposely not trying in that class.
I don’t think they cared, actually.
But I sure did.
So, one day I this week I was cruising through blogs that I follow when a gravatar picture caught my eye on a blog comment (I wish I could remember whose post)…
I know her.
I checked the name.
Sure enough, she was my Spanish teacher from way back when. She was tough and demanding and “scary” and fabulous in her frilly dresses, impeccable hair and nails, and matching mules that slapped her heels when she walked.
And she blogs! I should also mention that she looks exactly the same as she did back then. I don’t. She does. Perfectly coifed hair and all. How’s that for aging gracefully?
Do you know how weird it is to hear/see your Spanish teacher from high school (BEFORE the existence of the internet) say/type the word “blogosphere”? Pretty damn weird, I tell ya.
Mrs. Scarberry, thank you for giving me “B’s” when I didn’t really deserve them. Thank you for still managing to teach me something in spite of myself.
In the end, Spanish was exactly what I needed. So was typing.
I hate to admit that.
There is always a plan bigger than us…