My husband, daughter and I recently spent a week at Fort Walton Beach, Florida. If you’ve been to this area, you know the drill. Beach, pool, fried seafood, sleep, repeat. But this year I honed in on the most annoying of beach life — the inconsiderate guest. You’ve met them on your vacation I’m sure. The person at the pool who brings a huge radio and blasts music, despite signs asking them not to do so. The parent who doesn’t watch their child as they repeatedly do cannonballs into the pool narrowly missing your head. The beachgoer who smokes, treating the beautiful sand of the panhandle as one giant ashtray. The people who litter, those who swear loudly around children, those who enter any sort of public area with no intention of sharing it with any other member of the public. I tried desperately this trip to block out these annoyances. To bury my head in my book or dive deeper in the ocean with my daughter to escape the rude masses. It is, after all, a bustling condo and busy beach with hundreds of people wanting to enjoy some time off. I get that. But what happened to respect? To being considerate of others and our surroundings? I was taught these things. I teach my daughter these things. But I fear not everyone packs kindness and consideration next to the sunscreen as they leave on vacation.
First Day of School August 12, 2008
My daughter started fourth grade Monday, loaded down like a pack mule with bags of supplies. I’m still not used to the fact you have to supply stuff for the entire classroom, tissues, antibacterial soap, baggies, dry erase markers, and the list goes on. I remember needing only a notebook, paper, and a cigar box full of pencils for fourth grade. What does it say about our school system that we have to outfit classrooms with basic necessities because the school can’t afford to? Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind providing these items if my daughter and her friends need them. And in all honesty, I’ll often buy more than the list suggests just so they don’t run out mid-year. But I do worry that it’s a slippery slope and next year’s list may include toilet paper, chairs, desks, and a classroom hamster.
My little girl also found out Monday she will spend this semester in a trailer, or a portable, or an annex, whatever you want to call it. Her school calls it a ‘learning cottage.’ A ‘learning cottage?’ It’s a trailer. She is entering this overcrowded school rite of passage with a lot of wonder. She says it’s a little cold, the air conditioner is probably working overtime out there, and that it’s a little small, but that it’s fun to walk out to the trailer, i’m sorry, ‘learning cottage’, with your friends and have your own special classroom. I loved the trailer, or portable classroom, as they were called in the late 80’s, but I was in High School, so the prospect of being away from the main campus, at times unsupervised, was a wonderful proposition for a bunch of 16 year olds. I told my daughter it doesn’t matter where you learn, as long as you enjoy the learning process. And she does, very much. I’m so thankful for that. That will make all the difference as she moves into classrooms big and small, hot and cold, intimidating or inviting, over the next few years.
I just hope I don’t have to buy tissues and soap for all of them.
