words.
I’ve written before all about words. words written. Words spoken. Any words directed at you. They’re powerful. They can make you feel elated or like something someone scraped from the bottom of their shoe.
Today in the school yard a little reception class girl walked up to me and said “You’re the really nice lady aren’t you?” – She was standing next to a shy little girl who I work with, who was grinning from ear to ear, and so I’m guessing I was the really nice lady. I wasn’t sure how to respond. The best I could come up with was “Um, I’m not sure, I might be the really nice lady. I try to be nice”. That made me feel really good.
Not long after that, I was working with a group of 7-8 year olds and I was apologising for my messy scrawl on the board. A really cute little boy in year two comforted me with the following words:
“Mrs Steward, it’s not that bad. There are teachers in this school who are worser.” I decided to take that as a compliment. Or at least encouragement.
I thought I was on a roll, and when my ego could take no more polishing, my Headteacher brought me back down to earth by calling me an Ignoramus. In his defence this was directed at my knowledge (of lack thereof) of music, specifically dance music. But really? I took the gist of the word, but all the same I looked it up.
ig·no·ra·mus
–noun,plural-mus·es.
an extremely ignorant person
—Synonyms
simpleton, fool, dunce, know-nothing.
I’m so glad my boss is happy to employ me as a simpleton. Ego officially restored to normal self-deprecating state.
