Middle schoolers live for screen printed t-shirts. This one is one of my favorites. Click here to buy one for yourself! But I digress.
My five-foot professor made me cry today. She made me very small. (And not in a "fit into size 6 jeans" sort of way). For the record, I didn't cry until I was in my car and driving away from Bethel as fast as I could. (Screw their 19 mph speed limit. Seriously.) Okay, let me back up.
I met with the reading education department head today to turn in my portfolio for licensure and fill out the right forms and everything. There were a few instances that classified this woman as "mean" during our time together today. First of all, when she took my portfolio (without opening it for a second, by the way), she assured me that she would go through it all by the end of the week and that I would probably have to revise some things, so I shouldn't get too excited about having it done. Awesome. Then she went on to address my participation (or lack thereof in her eyes) in a reading clinic we conducted in July. Forgive me if I was in the throes of morning sickness and wasn't thrilled to be driving 45 minutes everyday in rush hour to take part in the most unorganized clinic setting EVER! She took my "half-heartedness" (her sweet words) as a red flag for my participation in the whole program. (By the way, this portfolio is the end of the licensure program, and the masters is done by April. Nice timing if you seriously are concerned about me). She just kept going on about how I don't seem to have a passion for doing this and she wanted to make sure I wasn't just staying with the program because I had already taken this many classes. THEN, as we were talking about my being pregnant, she had the guts to tell me how hard it will be complete the last class with a newborn and that I would probably have to finish the class at another time. "Because right now, it all seems fine, but once that baby comes, it won't be!" I'm not stupid. I know it isn't the most ideal situation. But frankly, her skepticism makes me even more motivated to do it!
So as I'm completely stomped into the dull carpet of her poorly-lit office, all I want to do is scream, "CAN'T YOU TELL MY PREGNANCY HORMONE-INDUCED EMOTIONS ARE A LITTLE FRAGILE RIGHT NOW?" But I didn't. I smiled, nodded, and left.
I left so hurt, discouraged, and questioning of my abilities and future plans. I don't think it was her job to make me feel this way. But for some reason, she felt the need to do so. Unfortunately, she isn't just the department head. She is our primary professor for this program and I'll have her for a class again in October. Hooray!