Karen, I Deserve an Academy Award

I guess you didn’t know when

you wrote your opinion

that I woke up at 4:30 a.m.

to once again take my

husband to the hospital

one more time. One more

time and one more surgery.

I don’t suppose you know

the smile I show is one of

weight I’ve learned to lift.

At times, it’s real, and

sometimes it immitates

what I know people wish

to see. Aren’t I a great a

actress?  Karen, I

believe I deserve an academy

award because between the

hugs and smiles of kids,

once mine, who return to me,

and greeting those new; I

wanted to sleep. I wanted to

cry.  I wanted to disappear

in a foreign land. Learn a new

language and a history that’s

not mine. Write my name in a

new hand, and see a name of

another soul. Because, Karen,

I wish to forget hospital walls.

I’m tired of non-slip socks of

puking green. Perhaps you

perceived me as mean when

you failed to see the joy in my

eyes for a new one to join my

classroom? I’m sorry if you

missed it; kind of like following

simple directions. Karen, I

shouldn’t have to explain,

nor know words composed of

nothingness. I’m tired, Karen.

But you don’t know my mind,

nor do you view my heart. Are

you one who sees teachers as

robots with parts to destroy?

Each time a child comes to me

it breathes new life where winter

has long existed. Because what

you fail to see, understand,

comprehend, or feel to the core

of your humanity is this:

I pour the love I have for

my daughter, whose death

I witnessed, into the young

adults in my classroom.

Next time you speak,

speak only when you know.