As I was pulling out of the school drop off line this morning, I noticed that every kid entering the building had a gift box or handful of flowers. Was it Valentine's Day? Was a popular kid having a birthday?
Then I remembered the email that came out last week - the one I saved as a reminder but never referred back to: Next Tuesday is Teacher Appreciation Day, do something nice in return for all that they do for us.
Well, I missed that too. As you count your blessings, be thankful that you aren't one of my kids' teachers.
I looked around the car, was there anything I could run back in? A half used Starbucks card? A fairly nice Uniball Pen? A coupon book with 90% of the bargains in tact? The blue and white polka dotted dish towel I hang around my neck to keep coffee off of my bow tie? Give it up man, you lost this one. You have an 8:30 meeting. It ain't gonna happen. As I hit the on ramp to the 440 beltline, the verse of a poem entered my brain. So teachers, I love you! You are good to my kids. This Ode I wrote on the way to work. It may be short-lived, but so are the carnations.
An Ode to our Teachers
Roses are Red, Violets are blue You're the best teachers for a dad with no clue.
My kids are on track, you won't let them fail, One day Nurse Huber even clipped Michelle's toenails.
I forget lunches, I forget drinks, The class mom sends my reminders in red, not blue, ink.
I don't pick up on time, my kids' hair is deshelved, and if you ask me why - my face just looks puzzled.
Sorry I forgot the flowers and trinkets, If organizing was a ship, like the Titanic I'd sink it.
(If anyone knows my kids teachers, please forward this to them. I lost their email addresses.)