Employee Perks

I recently attended employee orientation for yet another district (I alluded to this in "A Slow Morning in the Library").  The orientation defied my expectations, and it was geared more towards sharing the vision of the district and inspiring employees rather than focusing merely on the substitute teacher's paperwork and responsibilities.

I have yet to sub in this district, but I have begun to take advantage of employee perks--namely their wellness program.  As part of the program, they offer some afternoon classes--yoga, cardio kickboxing, and zumba at present.  Last Monday, I enjoyed sweating as I undertook cardio kickboxing.  Before me was a wall mirror and behind a dispersion of middle aged women--mostly teachers--engaged in uppercuts and sidekicks.  Having enjoyed this experience, I decided I would partake again on Monday. I woke up and taught 7th grade language arts (I was expecting 8th, but apparently that was a false impression).  The day went well, with minor incidents and students mostly on task.

Returning home, I refused to let myself depart ridiculously early for the zumba class.  Leaving at a more "appropriate" time, I headed towards a neighborhood I had been to many times before, and I began my search for the elementary school.  Watching street names carefully, I could not locate my turn.  My clock continued to tick and the radio voices blurred together as I began to fume in my frustration.  I wondered what I would do if I actually found the school.  Would I actually join the class late?  Probably not, and yet I wanted to satisfy my desire to find the school at least.  I became angry, and angrier still at my anger.  I thought, this could be an opportunity to pray for this neighborhood.  I uttered a sentence before winding by "Jolly Rd" and felt that some sick joke was occurring.

I then determined to return closer to home and go for a run at a lake I hadn't run at since summer.  I pulled in the parking lot, took off my coat, and headed for the trail sans mp3 player.  With the of my huffing and the dull and wet colors of Minnesota spring around, I gave full reign to my musings.  I quickly disposed of my frustration over not finding the class, instead turning my thoughts to teaching.  My arms were pale as the wilted white oak leaves below and my hands were flushed as I considered my situation.  I berated myself for not being thankful for the opportunity of employment as a sub, for being so choosy in which kind of teaching jobs I accepted, for refusing to do special ed or para work.  I soon had rounded a large section of the lake, and turned towards a second--wondering if there was one lake or two.  As I approached forks, I continuously veered left in my counter-clockwise direction, unsure how far I had gone and would go.  My sense of distance and time both dissolving like the snow which melted all around.

I know not how many miles I ran, but with each step, each choice to go further, I felt that I was doing some sort of penance, for anger, for ingratitude, for unfaithfulness.  I thought of how eagerly I accepted a job babysitting on Friday, knowing it would replace a substitute teaching experience.  I thought of the unemployed in this nation and I thought of the growing obesity, of the junk food I saw my students constantly eating.  And I ran, climbing hills, catching glimpses of the bordering serpentine lake--still unsure whether it was indeed one lake or three.  I yielded my musings to God and to the physical strain, finally able to recognize where I was again--previously having had all trees and snow and leaves meld into indistinct forms.  About 3/4 of a mile before the end of my run, I saw a man standing with his bike on the trail.  I tried to avoid his gaze as I passed, and he whispered, "there's a bald eagle in that tree."  Turning and still running in place, I looked up.  I recognized the form, though its bald head was hidden in it's wings.  I thought of the hawk I often see perched on the same street lamp on 610 East right before the 252 exit.  Today I had glanced it after my frustrated driving, and I felt something like redemption.

I continued to my car, veering off for a cool down walk onto the dock, the melting lake revealing cigarette buts and beer cans below.  At the end of the dock I gazed at the tiny bubbles forming where ice met recently melted water.  I walked back to my car, wondering at those who sat motionless in their cars contemplating the lake under a hazy sky, wondered if they were looking for redemption, and rolling down my window, I drove home.