The other day, I met someone in the office. I mean, the principal’s office. That “someone” was a former student of mine who happened to be interviewing for a special education teaching position in my district.
As we shook hands and hugged and made small talk, I noticed one of my current students observing the conversation. (For the record, we were not exactly quiet, and the front office is not a large physical space. It would have been somewhat difficult not to see or hear us.) So I introduced Current Student (C) to Former Student (F), explaining that I’d been F’s teacher when he was in high school.
C’s eyes sort of glazed over as I felt myself cross his threshold from “adult who is older than I am” to “person who is so old that I cannot fully comprehend her lifespan.” It’s true, y’all: I am more than twice as old as C is.
But I wasn’t prepared for C’s characterization of my career. “Wow, you’ve been teaching long enough that your students have students of their own. It’s like you’re this teacher grandma or something!”
I have nothing against grandmothers or aging, but I still get to be a Ninja Teacher Grandma, right?