#22 I, Isabel Scheherazade have a pity party for myself: I’ve got two examples of how school makes me feel. And it isn’t good. I mean the examples are good. School isn’t.
The last time we had a family vacation–two months ago–Mom and Dad brought us kids to Cape Cod. We rent a cottage with its own set of dirt and log steps to a sandy beach which, even at low tide, was funfunfun. But it’s what was in the cottage that I want to write about.
That first day, when I walk into the kitchen, I see this droopy, flannel shirt hanging on a hook behind the back door. Left-over and forgotten.
Like me. (Um, maybe I’m exaggerating here. I haven’t been forgotten, although I’m definitely part of a left-over family.)
Not that I feel sorry for myself or anything, but, besides the I’m-a-forgotten-shirt comparison I thought of another example of how I feel about school. It comes from the way-back-seat too.
Dad says, You need a brother break, Isabel; let’s go fishing! He shows me how to plop my line in the water just behind a rock or a log. This is a favorite spot for trout, he explains. They like to stay out of the fast-moving water. I spy a big, old trout lurking in the shelter of a rock while the water rushes around him.
At school, I’m like that trout. Kids stream around me, nobody notices–no one steps out of the main flow of people to make me comfortable.
That’s a Mimi word, by the way–comfortable. She says, “Anyone visiting at our house has to be made to feel comfortable. It’s not enough to be polite; you need to go out of your way to make whoever it is feel at ease.”
Well, I’ll just say this: the kids at my new school haven’t heard of Mimi’s rule.