2002-03-12|9:38 a.m.
I really miss my dad. But I know that if he were here with me now, I'd still feel like I miss him. It seems as if the time I really miss doesn't even exist anymore. Like someone who dies, the moment is forever gone with exception to the memory that lingers in the emotion of things familiar. I miss the silly notes he'd write and leave in the lunches he'd make for me. I miss the wrestling and tickling fights. I miss his concern with girly things of mine like helping me comb my hair. I miss being ten years old and hugging him. When you are younger like that everything is far more meaningful. Even sleep. You go to sleep and wake up feeling truly energized. My dad loves me and I love him, but the feeling will never be there again.
Not too long ago I saw a teacher I had in high school at a restaurant. I came up to his table where he was dining with his wife who was also a teacher. His name was Mr. Meyer and he taught American Economics. He was the only teacher I went back after high school to visit. In many of my classes I was alone in discussion with the stance I'd take. I was far more sympathetic to the poor and trouble-stricken than most my peers. I was those people for the most part. My peers had grown up with bitter parents who like them bothered little to understand how these people lived. Among my advanced placement classes, students felt their own efforts and their parent's place in life (often in ranks with doctors and lawyers) were completely the product of hard work. Therefore, anyone who wasn't in the same status was not hardworking. In my standard classes, the students, who's parent's held much lower paying jobs for the most part, felt they were destined to work as hard as their parents were. They knew that they would become the true hardworking class and felt they truly earned whatever they had. This made them more bitter than the other students. These students ironically didn't see that, really, it was the other students above them, so to speak, that were the ones that really capitalized on their hard work, and they rather blamed the group below them. I imagine this line of thinking travels all the way down. Well back to my teacher, he would defend my comments when attacked by other students and we had a mutual understanding for life. Actually, he was growing quite tired and bitter himself of teaching these students and never succeeding in really teaching them the important thing-empathy. Yes, empathy in economics could save souls! So, when I saw him, I told him how glad I was to see he was well (he had retired the year before) and seemingly happy. His wife asked what I was doing and I proceeded to tell them. Minutes later into the conversation, he stopped me.
"I feel uncomfortable," he said. His face pulled in with worry.
"Uh, why?" I asked, breaking my smile into confusion.
"I have no idea who you are," he replied honestly. I shifted my weight nervously.
"Um, M. I had your class a couple years ago. You presented me a senior award in political science," I spouted off things hoping to anchor him and my embarrassment at once. He shook his head. We both apologized to clear the tense air, and I left feeling forgotten.
Most people do not remember me. In fact, A didn't even notice me in his class until I made a move to get us dating.
I know poor me. But seriously. What is it?
Word of the day: deglutition- the act or process of swallowing