March 29

She's only 11 (no picture today)
I have this student in my class who is an amazing writer. Her passion is writing and you can tell she does it in her free time. I have spoken with her parents about her craft and urge them to have her enter something in a contest. They tell me she's writing a book. I'm excited for that.

So for my class jobs, I have students write "job applications." I make it pretty open ended, asking only for 3 things:
1. Their name
2. The job they are hoping to get
3. Why they think I should hire them

I usually get standard "applications." Most look like they were created the night before or the morning that I remind them that applications are due. Some have done some pretty cool computer generated stuff. Some have definitely won me over with humor. Some have even gotten letters of recommendations. This year, however, the job application that I got from my writer was as follows:

“Please Stand?”

“Amanda!” I heard her voice cut through the air like a gentle knife, holding up the envelope. I’m so used to seeing it. Still, it may never get old.
Standing up, I take the attendance from her hands, and readily leave Room 16 for my short, yet important, trip to the school’s office.
“Thank you!” the ladies in the small office tell me happily. I nod and turn to leave, a glow I’ve become accustomed to on my face and in my heart.
I make my way back to the classroom. Opening the door, I’m prepared for the next part: leading the class in something that’s been stapled to my mind my whole life.
After looking around, I open my mouth to speak… but nothing leaves my pursed lips. I couldn’t understand. I had done this before, lots of times. What was the difference now?
I looked around again. Then, I found it. Like a stop sign on an empty road. The eyes. I had waited too long. They stared. Hard.
I became uncomfortable, felt useless. I was getting cruel faces, even from the least expected to hurt feelings. Dead now, I give it another try, effort cutting edge.
“Please stand!” I say, thankful. The looks soften, but, not to be outshone in the pride war, their tone remains slightly rude. It was okay now, though. I got through it. Doesn’t that give me something to show for?
The next day: uneventful. No slack jaws, no meanness, no freezing up. Things run smooth. It makes me grateful for my job.
“Please stand! Right hand over your heart!” I hear myself say, getting silently obeyed by my fellow Room 16ers. Then I lead the Pledge. I love my job, deserve it, am good at it. I get a little nervous sometimes, but it’s rare, and I get through it all.
I can see it now.