A few bits of great news:
My fifth graders performed Shakespeare’s Henry V last night, using the original Old English, and did a masterful job.
Two friends and colleagues turned lyrics that I wrote into an actual song, the first time anything that I have written has been set to music, and it sounded terrific.
I received some potentially excellent news in terms of the possibility of Something Missing being made into a film. In fact, I read a script and liked it a lot.
But all of these wonderful moments from yesterday pale in comparison to what happened just before I left for my student’s play:
My daughter, suffering from a nasty stomach bug, threw up vast quantities of strawberries, blueberries and milk all over the kitchen floor, managing to splash my shoes in the process, and I cleaned it up.
This was a big deal for me. I do not handle vomit well. In fact, the first rule that I tell my students on the first day of school is “No throwing up in the classroom.”
I explain that even if they just think they might vomit, they are to leap from their chair and run as fast as possible to the hallway, and if possible, the bathroom.
Anywhere but the classroom, because I do not handle vomit well.
And yet I managed to watch my daughter throw up all over the floor, and then, while my wife cleaned up the kid, I managed to clean up the floor without much trouble.
This is big for me.
Perhaps parents have a natural immunity to their own child’s vomit?
Maybe my daughter’s vomit is especially benign?
Or could it simply be that I am finally toughening up?
