A-

First of all, you really need to mind your own business. In case you forgot, I am a father as well. Do me a favor and stay out of my life. We are all so sick of you sticking your nose where it doesn't belong. You have know idea or the circumstances of that day. Haven't you learned to keep your mouth shut yet. Don't ever talk to me like the way you did in your email. I don't know who you think you are. You know most of us think you are nothing but a snobby, spoiled girl who has been given everything but knows nothing about the real world, so Shut It!

B-

Dear Big Brother,

Your maturity astounds me. The issue is not me and you; it's the fact that you ditched your Father's Day plans with dad and didn't let him know till half the day had gone by. He called and you let him sit by the phone waiting all day long until you were ready to call with the news that you were not driving up to visit. He spent the day alone, which is superb. He broke plans off with me since you come around so infrequently, and you didn't give him enough notice so that he and I could have spent the day together.

Before I end this letter there are three points I'd like to address:

1. Just because you are a father doesn't make you a great son. Since bailing out is what you do, besides your other hobby of borrowing money and calling it an early inheritance rather than paying it back, that means you are a shi-tastic son. Way to go!

2. Never imply that your life was so much harder than mine, and that my life was simply given to me. You went to public school, boo fricken hoo. Dad offered to pay for your college just like mine, but, dear brother, whereas I studied and ended up with a diploma. You partied and lasted, oh, how long was it? A quarter, six months? The point is that I wasn't handed A's in high school, college, or grad school; I earned them. There's this radical method called studying...maybe you should have tried it rather than drinking from a bong.

3. To tell me to get out of your life would imply that I was in it. It's not very hard to exit when you've never truly been invited in. I heard via grape vine that you had married seven months after it happened, although Dad and the rest of the family heard that way too (see you are a great son! Way to go!), it wasn't until she was about to burst that I found out she was prego, hmmm...and the list goes on.

4. Oh, and I guess I lied. One last point, which has to do with sticking my nose where it doesn't belong. Yes, I should be more like you when it comes to this point. Your wisdom rings true. So when we discovered that our niece had fleas I shouldn't have said a word. Maybe I should have sent over a dog collar and pretended it was a bracelet. Gee, bro, you are so right! Who cares if her scalp is crawling with fleas, she smells like cat pee, and she's going deaf because of her filthy environment! Thank you for showing me the light!

Sincerely,

Your favorite lil sis

My Infinitesimal Brother

What is worse? Being considered a snobby bitch or a selfish prick who only comes around the family when he wants to borrow money? Someone who studied and went to college or the screwball who took wedding money, broke off the engagement, spent it, and claimed that it was his early inheritance? Honestly, my brother is the biggest douche bag in the world, I mean king of douche bags and deserves some kind of award for his supreme doucheness. I still can’t believe he blew off his own father on Father’s Day, returning dad’s phone call five hours later to say p.s. I’m not coming. Dad broke plans with his other children ie me so Prince Prick could come and visit, and then what does he do? Yes, his royal doucheness cancels. Well, all I can say is that I hope his son turns out to be just like him. I hope one day my little nephew will teach my brother what it’s like to be treated so poorly. Maybe then he’ll realize that we don’t just live in his world to serve him.

Last year I remember sitting in the MR theater where are staff meetings were held while our Principal announced to the staff the names of the people being laid off. Uncomfortable, we, those of use being named, sat together at a table assuming those around us felt relieved that they were not getting the ax. I assumed wrong. It's been a year, and I'm no longer at that school. I have made a new home and now have enough seniority to squeeze barely past the RIF list. Feeling happy I went to our staff meeting not realizing the blow I'd receive. Our principal stood in front of us, just like the one I had the year before, and began the sad tale of who'd be "let go." Name after name, a heavy feeling seemed to suffocate the room as we realized who we would probably never see again. Some left by choice, others like Laura had been blindsided only hours earlier. I did not feel relieved, comfortable; I just felt sad and guilty. Guilty that I was still here while others were jobless in this thriving economy. One teacher fortunately had found a job already, sad but happy I felt since she and her husband had just bought a house. I just wish it didn't have to be this way.

Rant Minus the Rave

A wolf moon is out tonight, large and full, filling the heavens with its large round face. It only happens once a year, and anyone, even poor people like me who don't own telescopes, can stand outside and tell friends and family members the next day that they saw this event. Unfortunately, I'm not going to be one of those people since I live in Seattle. Those people don't have to miss out because a thick layer of clouds won't be covering their sky. Only in Seattle would we miss amazing events because of rain. This year, even more than any other, has seen one rainy day after another. I'm starting to doubt that I'll ever see stars here. Why bother buying a telescope when the white clouds can be seen and enjoyed by all with complementary rain drops to add to the experience.

Poem to My Estranged Aunt

Dear Aunt D
You let our family fall apart
Sliced by a razor into shreds
Bleeding the life from the undead
Embittered ties stretched further still
Leaving time for all things unhealed
Gatherings of old left to rot
Rank and poisoned by a youth
Whose ungracious nature you chose to side
Letters sent to stab yet more
Blaming a woman so incredibly kind
Brats raised by your hands
What do you have to say
to a sister who lies near her grave
Will you still stay away unscathed
Will you never repent of your undoing
Time’s pendulum swings ever lower
To sever the thin cord that binds
You have barely enough time
Before it all ends

When Parent Teacher Conferences Take a Left Turn

Last Thursday I met the craziest woman in the planet, and it was due to the fact that I kicked her sleepy granddaughter out of my class and told her to go home. I had warned the class that sleeping would result in being sent home, but D did not care. And instead of signing out from the office and calling for a ride home, she decided to hoof it over to Federal Way, which was not the safest decision. Her grandma, a recovering crack addict, was non to pleased and decided to drive her back to school and scream at me.

I was sitting behind my desk watching a Shakespearean movie with my class when suddenly my classroom door flew open and I saw a mad black woman storming into the room. “I need to talk to you,” she yelled. My bored students all turned to look as she continued her rant. I told her that I was busy with my class and that I could meet with her afterwards. This seemed to appease her especially since I reminded her that she had to vacate the room asap. I’ve been attacked by parents like this before, and I’ve since learned that I do not have to endure a verbal ass chewing by an illiterate parent in front of my class. That’s what security is for.

So she left, and I sat wondering what our verbal meeting would look like. One day till the end of the year, and I was not exactly in the mood to deal with a parent. I know it’s my job, but common.

At 10:50 the grandma returned with her long pink fake nails and took a seat. She left D outside the door and began by apologizing for busting in on my class. The time a way had allowed her to reflect on her impromptu entrance. I sat in my comfy chair and listened to her talk about the reason why she was upset, which was a normal reaction. She had wanted someone to let her know that D was on her way; she had wanted to know why she was kicked out; she just wanted a phone call. Instead she had her well developed granddaughter, who has been followed by older gentlemen and harassed in the past, walking home along Pac Hwy, a dangerous road. What if she had been kidnapped? What if she had been hurt? She made valid points.

But then she decided to tell me more about D’s family because she felt it was essential that I knew. Her mother was an alcoholic, which was the reason why D lived with her grandma. Her aunt sold crack in SeaTac, and was never a good influence. Why was the family so messed up? It would take grandma a full hour to reveal the entire story.

She told me about her adoption, the abusive husband that accused her of cheating, and the crack addiction she used to struggle with. She told me how she lost her virginity. “So back to Dominique…” I would cut in, but she would ignore me. She told me how she could have cheated on her husband if she had wanted to. “It only takes 2 minutes for a man to come. I could have dropped my kids off to play in the McDonalds jungle gym while I humped him in the back of his car.” My face turned red. Then she told me about her dating life after divorce and her fear that her boyfriends would want to sleep with her daughters. “I told them they could fuck me at their place as long as I could wash my ass afterwards.” I was mortified and kept thinking, “What the hell?” My pleas to return to Dominique, the one she had wanted me to talk about, were not being answered. I tried standing up and saying, “Thank you for coming in,” but she continued. I started walking toward the door while she talked on about how she learned about menstruation. Seriously, I am not a confession booth; I’m not a female priest. While she threw in “Praise Jesus” and “Fuck” every other phrase, I kept thinking, “When will this end? How can I get her to stop talking?”

She had come in angry and left happy as a clam. I left exhausted and wondering if I should teach students and their parents about TMI, too much information!