Whatever story your son is telling you, the truth is: he punched me.

It's so nice to meet you. Thank you so much for coming to your son's parent-teacher conference. I know we have never met, even though I had Stephen in class last year. I'd just like to say, no matter what your son has told you, he is the one who punched me in the mouth.

I'm sure he's at least mentioned the incident last year, but let me be clear: I did not bite your son's hand. I'm sure he will tell elaborate stories about how other students saw me bite him and how I called him a liar. Honestly, who are you going to believe? Some snot-faced kid who punches teachers in the mouth? Or me? Look at me, I'm like, a grown-up.

I'm sorry about having to tell you that your son is a liar, and prone to violence against educated women, but I think it's best that you know. I hope you are able to find him some help. He may need years of therapy to reprogram his obviously confused memory. How sad, I think he actually believes that I bit his hand and then lied about him punching me. Poor kid.

A Teacher's Funeral

Here's the deal. I know this guy who was a teacher at a school in my district. He was the drama teacher (like me) and did a lot of shows at the community theater (twinsies!). This guy was a really nice teacher guy, and honestly I didn't know him that well, but rather knew of him. Anyway, I thought it would be prudent for me to attend the memorial service and pay my respects, along with the rest of the theater community.

I show up and there are a lot of nicely dress kids there. "Wow," I thought, "How nice of them to pay their respects by showering and putting on clean clothes." During the service, lots of actors and other directors got up to memorialize this man's contributions to their lives and the community as a whole. Then the kids began to bravely, and tearfully, speak about their "favorite teacher." Their words were kind, and truthful and eloquent (for the most part.) As the audience sat in the theater and shed a few well-deserved tears, listening to children speak from their hearts, I was suddenly struck with a sobering thought: "What will the children say about me when I die?" Here are a few possibilities:

"She used to tell me to turn my face off."
"She fell a lot."
"Even when she threatened me with the pointiest part of her elbow, I knew she was kidding."
"One time she bit my hand." (I will argue, to my grave, that kid punched me in the mouth.)
"Sometimes we thought she might be possessed by some type of evil spirit."
"I remember how she used to say that the crushed soul was the most delicious part of the child."
"I'm pretty sure she wasn't a real teacher."
"She used singing as a torture device."
"I think she changed her name so often because she was running from the law."

I'm not saying that this sudden realization is going to make me change my teaching strategies, just that if I die, you might want to record what the children have to say. It could be entertaining.