What’s it really like being a teacher, you might ask? Imagine yourself as a cool celebrity. The kind who cannot go anywhere without being noticed. Well, teaching is a job for those who failed at real celebrity status, and so are desperately trying to get some of that pseudo-status.
At the grocery store:
Child: “Look! It’s Mr. Millette!”
Yep, Mr. Millette is pretty cool. He even drinks milk.
I was thinking about just how cool I was to students one night. I couldn’t
sleep because of it. That or I have a 4-month-old baby. Anyway, sleep wouldn’t
come. Unfortunately, I had to spend the next day in Saskatoon with the family.
While in Saskatoon our two-year-old John Paul, as two-year-olds do, picked the
worst possible time to fill his diaper. Given where we were, I had to do a
diaper change in the vehicle. I hunched over uncomfortably in the van. I dared
not open the door since we were in a busy area of town, and didn't need any
added attention (after all, you never know when a student might walk by). The
van became a hot and sweaty box of tear inducing odour. I may or may not have
passed out in the operation. But on we went. Tiredness is a funny thing. That
is, you don't really feel like yourself. Whatever. I finished the diaper
change. Back to our day’s adventures.
As we left one area of the city, we gave John Paul a bottle filled with juice. By the time we arrived at a restaurant we noticed his bottle was empty and John Paul was soaking wet! Arrgh. No change of clothes either. Whatever, it'll dry.
So, we went and ate. Afterwards we went to a mall to
buy a few things and lounge around. When we got back to the van, we noticed
John Paul was really wet. Like soaked. Even my wife, Becca, and I, who
had carried him around a bit, were a little damp. What the heck! How much juice
did he spill!?! This was crazy. Becca suggested I pull off his pants to let
them dry. He could make the drive home in only his diaper. I started pulling
his pants off. Curse his tight-fitting clothes! Those bodacious hips! Every
time I kept pulling the pants down the diaper seemed to come down with them. I
tried again. Same result. This was getting ridiculous. I looked over at my wife
with a tired frustration. She looked at me with horror.
"He doesn't have a diaper on!" she
screeched.
"What?!?"
My immediate thought was to ask why not, but then remembered I had changed him last, so there was only one thing I could say: "Well I put one on him! Don't ask me how it got off! Who did it?"
My wife didn't buy it. I guess it's come to the point where I'm that dad. The one who is so out of it that he forgets to put a diaper on a kid. So, we had pee all over us. We were even stepping in it. So what? John Paul ended up getting a brand-new pair of pants in the whole deal. And my wife... let's just say that if she ever forgets to put a diaper on a kid... I'll tease her to no end! So there! Yeah. Watch out. You'll be sorry you ever mocked one honest mistake.
Later that night I repeated to my wife the horror of
the situation when I was changing him. The stench. The lack of oxygen. The
uncomfortable positioning. I was a hero really. I didn't see her there changing
him! How about a little sympathy here? To no avail. Apparently changing a
diaper requires that the old one be, what's the word, changed for a new one.
Details.
And, of course, the next day at school:
If they only knew the real Mr. Millette. Yes, the real
me. Diapers and all.
Or even no diapers and all.
