My wife’s name is Mrs. Krider. That may seem obvious since she’s married to me, a guy whose last name happens to be Krider, but that isn’t at all what I was getting at. You see, Mrs. Krider is her teacher name. My wife, whom I love, the woman who thinks she can fit a water heater into the trunk of a Hyundai, she teaches children geometry. Yes, the same woman who can’t figure out where west is while standing on the beach next to the Pacific Ocean, she actually molds the minds of children. The future fate of our nation’s youth rests in my wife’s hands.
I’m not worried for a bit. The reason I’m not worried is because the school has a policy that neither of her own children can be enrolled in her classroom. She won’t be teaching my kids anything. As far as the other kids are concerned … well, that’s what Google and YouTube is for. There are plenty of videos on YouTube that can teach kids the quadratic equation, and there are lots and lots of cat videos. Who doesn’t love a good cat video to divert us from our real life problems or to distract us and keep us from learning anything useful?
You must know I only joke around and say these things about my wife because, in reality, she is incredibly intelligent, which is a good thing because being a teacher is a very difficult job. The world is lucky that my wife, who is really smart, has chosen to teach. She certainly didn’t become a teacher because she thought it would make her rich. She decided to teach so she could make a difference. Well, she did it to make a difference and to have summers off. Her motto is, “I don’t work in July.”
This motto/mantra/lifestyle of hers has caused some occasional issues at our house.
“Honey, could you help me take out this recycling?”
“I don’t work in July.”
“Oh, OK, Sweetie, I’ll just leave this bag of cans in the hallway and check back with you in August.”
I will admit that it seems like being a teacher is incredibly taxing, and the times that I have been lucky enough to see my wife in action inside the classroom have given me an enormous amount of respect for the teaching profession. To show my appreciation for what she does, every year before school starts, I go to her classroom and help her set it up. My job is staple and spit wad removal. I’ll admit, it isn’t glamorous, but somebody has to do it. I want my wife to begin every year with a fresh start and a spotless classroom to help shape minds in.
My “helping” does come with a few caveats. I want the room to look a certain way, a sort of anal-retentive way. I like things square, neat, and symmetrical. My wife is more, “Eh, staple it over there on the wall. Who cares if the posters are crooked?”
This drives me crazy. I try to explain to her, “Honey, if you hang this poster crooked, it will be a distraction to the kids.”
“No, it won’t. It doesn’t distract me one bit.”
“Honey, there are going to be kids who have the same sensibilities as me, and while you’re lecturing about integers, they aren’t going to hear a word you say because the only thing their eyes, mind, and every bone in their body will be concentrating on is, ‘Why didn’t Mrs. Krider hang that poster up straight?!’ Give these poor kids a chance.”
“Nah.”
“What do you mean ‘nah’? It will take three more seconds to hang the poster up straight. Why can’t you just spend three more seconds on it? Do it for the kids!”
“It’s fine.”
“Really? Is it fine when little Johnny only does half his homework? Do you give him an A if he does only partial work?”
“Of course not.”
“Then why can’t you just take a little bit longer, do the full work, and hang this poster straight for little Johnny?”
“Kids don’t care if my posters are straight. The only thing they care about is that I let them out on time for lunch, and they love it if occasionally I show them a YouTube video of a cat or something.”
“Just let me do it, then. I’ll hang everything up, and I will do it with a measuring tape to ensure that it is right.”
“Go ahead. Waste your time. Half these posters won’t survive the first week of school. I re-staple them up constantly. I don’t have time to waste making sure they’re straight for crazy people like yourself.”
“Of course you have the time. … You have all of July to do it.”
“I told you: I don’t work in July.”
She and other teachers may not work in July, but I will admit they do work very, very hard the rest of the year. My hat is off to all teachers and this year’s back-to-school efforts. I know you folks work hard all year—well, except, of course, summer, winter break, spring break, all the government holidays, any weekend, and a couple of sick days thrown in here and there. Just kidding! Go get ’em! Shape those young minds! And please, teach them about water heater and trunk sizes while you’re at it.
This year, Rob purchased a map for his wife’s room to help her remember her north, east, south, and west—or, as he remembers it from his teacher: Never Eat Soggy Waffles. She hung the map up crooked.
This article appears in Aug 14-21, 2014.
