So, perhaps this is not appropriate for a blog whose subtitle reads "an explication of domesticity."
I never was too into appropriate.
At Bible study last night, a good portion of what we studied came out of Jesus's Sermon on the Mount. The focus of the study was on the truth that life is not fair, but "blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of Heaven."
This study was incredibly apt, because just earlier that day, I had done a radical revision of a piece for my Teaching College Writing class. The subject of my piece? Life is not fair.
I thought I would share:
Read, if you care.
(I promise: there will be no more rhyming in this piece for you to bear)
In high school, I worked part-time as a waitress in a local restaurant that might as well have been a retirement home. The restaurant floor was in a constant traffic jam, backed up by blue-haired old ladies in wheel chairs, widowers hunched over walkers, and waitresses swerving swiftly through these customers, attempting to serve the rest of the over-65 clientele promptly. In our small town, each of my customers always ended up being a childhood friend’s grandma , so I frequently heard remarks such as, “my how you’ve grown! I remember when you were still in diapers!” and “now honey – stay in school. It is the best life insurance you’ll ever have!”
One afternoon, I went out to a table in my section, and there sat my first-grade teacher, looking exactly as she did when I was in first grade (old), and her husband. I said “hello” and “what can I get you to drink?” and it was clear that she, understandably, did not remember me.
As the meal went on, I realized it wasn’t just me that she couldn’t remember. She couldn’t remember what she had ordered to drink. She couldn’t remember whether she liked gravy on her mashed potatoes. She couldn’t even remember the name of the restaurant where she was eating.
I remembered her, however, quite clearly. Before first grade, I was still under the Sunday-school class delusion that everything in life was fair. The sort of fair that manifests itself in an even-number of goldfish for each person; the sort of fair that calls on the first student that raises his or her hand in class.
I am left-handed.
“Why are you not using the scissors I gave you?”
At the end of the year, I received a “B” in art because, for some reason, “Anna cannot cut a straight line.”