“This is gay.”
This is the first critique I received from one of my sweet, little angels about my first class assignment. He was on the wrestling team. I received the same thoughtful review from a football player and a sophomore student. I didn’t teach sophomore English, but this particular student loved freshman level English enough to repeat the course, thus earning the title of super freshman. I never met so many people proud of un-accomplishment.
“Really?” I drew back with shock and awe at the harsh critique. “It’s so simple, though. Besides, you get to use water colors paints and it can be anything! It’s all about YOU!”
“Water colors are gay.” They reply.
Coming out of shock, I demonstrated the penalty for using derogatory language in class. It is a weird transition monitoring such lax behavior. Indeed, a sad state of affairs when such abuse of language feels commonplace.
During lunch, my critic dusted the areas of my classroom gone untouched by janitorial staff. He expressed the gay-ness of such a penalty beforehand. Meanwhile, I check my email.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
To: MrJ@webmail.org
From: Mandynificent@gonzaga.net
Subject: Blind Date?
Hey Josh! How was the first week of school? I heard you’re single again? What’s up with that? Although I know it’s soon, I have someone in mind for you to meet. Would you be interested? Let me know and I’ll give you her number! Later Babe,Mandy ;)
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I was interested.
The first time we met, I immediately deemed myself unworthy of her company. Amy wore the demeanor of an unapproachable goddess. Something of myth, imagined from texts of the Greeks. She was a centerfold breathed into life. Her shadowy hair was tamed only by intricate and faint strands of light. The attention of the room was demanded by the curves she purposefully, strategically accented.
“Well…”, I said to no one, “This isn’t going to go anywhere…”
I already announced my demise beforehand, already switching body-language that communicated “No, thanks. I’m already like-a-brother to enough girls”. I’d still remain and have a drink, talk, and politely make my exit. It was the weekend and I couldn’t leave a foul impression on an acquaintance.
“Amy?”
“HI! It’s so nice to meet you!”
“Yeah, likewise…”, the painful first impression phase commences.
“Do you want to grab a table?” she offers.
“Feh! Why waste a perfectly good bar stool? Know what I mean?”
“Oh, okay.”
From this point, we hit the basics of introductions:
She lived in the same town, in the same state most of her life. She was still going to school, but lived on her own. Two bedroom apartment, one roommate. March 14th, 1983 – only a year younger than me! Favorite color is purple. Favorite beer is Shiner. Favorite wine is Red. Not big into sports, but loves writing poetry. Coldplay, Amy Winehouse, and Radiohead. One tattoo, planning for more. One brother and some step sisters.
Pretty level headed so far.
We close the bar and stroll into the parking lot. So much for plan A. Commence the awkward goodbye phase.
“Well…” I commence, “ I guess time flies… and all that good stuff.”
“Yeah, but…” she parries, “I’m not really tired…. are you?”
This isn’t how the Awkward Goodbye phase works! Yes, yes I am tired! I’ve been teaching all week and have a faculty workshop to attend in the morning.
“Yeah, I’m not tired either….”, says me.
“Well… I don’t want to go home… my roommates been bugging me…”
“Huh….”, I’m confused.
We stare at each other. The lights from the bar flicker off, abandoning me. She speaks again before biting her bottom lip.
“Well… what are we gonna do then?”
“Well…”, eloquently I brainstorm. It’s more akin to a brief sprinkle or fog. “I don’t have roommates anymore… but I do have more Red wine at my place if you want come-"
“Sounds good! Let’s go!”
“…sounds good. Let’s go.”, and we do.
6.20.2008
Chapter 3: Single Male. Enjoys walks on the beach. Sagitarius.
Panic. Anger. Defeatism. Such emotional states are associated with Emo music (see My Chemical Romance, Fallout Boy, 30 Seconds to Mars, or confiscate an iPOD from any student and start browsing). Being dumped fosters identical moods that are as recursive as the banal lyrics, riffs, and gimmicks of the mascara painted “musicians” (Sorry Elvis, technically they’re considered musicians, too). Binge drinking soon mixes into the cycle. Usually friends are involved; especially guy friends.
Shaving is annoying with a hangover. So, I stop. Attending daily faculty retreats with a hangover is worse. Tragically, this cannot be stopped. Less than a week remained before the first day of school. It was too early to decide whether this was excellent or catastrophic timing for a break-up. If I could keep my mind preoccupied with work, there’d be no time for doubt, regret, or self-loathing. After all, I had to keep my head clear, maintain a professional facade with new coworkers. How pathetic would it be for me to be sad over a silly thing like a break-up! Besides, I’ve been single before! It was over five years ago, but I must have had more exciting things other than being in a relationship to occupy my time. I just had to remember what those exciting things were…
[Three boys crowd around a very blurry television screen. One stands behind the TV arranging various amounts of foil paper. It’s me arranging the foil paper.]
Me: “This is stupid! Where did you get such a stupid idea?”
Heavy-set Boy: “Quit being such a whiny little bitch! I’m telling you I got this to work at my grandma’s house last weekend! You could see vagina and everything!”
Scrawny Boy: “Whoa!”
Heavy-set Boy: “It helps to turn the brightness all the way up too.”
[Turns the brightness up]
Me: “Can you see anything yet?”
Heavy-Set Boy: “No, you’re sucking at it. Here, try the big foil penis. I dunno why but it usually helps with transmitting the digital signal or something.”
Me: “But my parents have cable, not satellite.”
Heavy-Set Boy: “It’s amazing how much of a whiny bitch you are. You really set the bar!”
Me: “FINE! Gimme’ the foil penis.”
[The bottom half of the screen clears up and audio clears.]
Heavy-Set Boy: “Bitch! Don’t! Move!”
Me: “I can’t see! Get a mirror or something you guys!”
Heavy-Set Boy: “IF YOU MOVE, YOU DIE!”
ME:
Scrawny Boy: “WHOA!”
Me: “Is it awesome?”
Heavy-Set Boy: “Well, it’s got a light green hue, but the bottom half is still very clear. You must be doing something wrong.”
Scrawny Boy: “Whoa.”
Heavy-Set Boy: “She’s really taking it! You should see this man!”
Me: “Damn it.”
[Mom walks in.]
Mom: “Hey boys, we’re ho… WHAT IS THIS!?”
Heavy-Set Boy: “ Hi, ma’am.”
Me: “Damn it!”
Scrawny Boy: “Whoa.”
On second thought, being single isn’t always so great. It’s especially inconvenient when you’re in a profession with predominantly married women and bar hopping is almost unheard of the first year teaching. Focusing on my career was my moment of peace, but I couldn’t escape the round table conversations of the newlyweds:
Parakeets are not meant to be pets. In some countries, if you buy your child a bird for a pet, it’s the same as child abuse. In fact, child abuse is less cruel than having a bird as a pet. When I get home, Molly, my dog greets me with concerned whines as to where I’ve been all day. We get the mail together and she watches me cook dinner. We eat at the dinner table. She can’t actually sit at the table but she sits on the floor and eats with me.
Molly licks herself; certainly that must translate to “yeah that’s an awesome lesson plan”.
Shaving is annoying with a hangover. So, I stop. Attending daily faculty retreats with a hangover is worse. Tragically, this cannot be stopped. Less than a week remained before the first day of school. It was too early to decide whether this was excellent or catastrophic timing for a break-up. If I could keep my mind preoccupied with work, there’d be no time for doubt, regret, or self-loathing. After all, I had to keep my head clear, maintain a professional facade with new coworkers. How pathetic would it be for me to be sad over a silly thing like a break-up! Besides, I’ve been single before! It was over five years ago, but I must have had more exciting things other than being in a relationship to occupy my time. I just had to remember what those exciting things were…
[Three boys crowd around a very blurry television screen. One stands behind the TV arranging various amounts of foil paper. It’s me arranging the foil paper.]
Me: “This is stupid! Where did you get such a stupid idea?”
Heavy-set Boy: “Quit being such a whiny little bitch! I’m telling you I got this to work at my grandma’s house last weekend! You could see vagina and everything!”
Scrawny Boy: “Whoa!”
Heavy-set Boy: “It helps to turn the brightness all the way up too.”
[Turns the brightness up]
Me: “Can you see anything yet?”
Heavy-Set Boy: “No, you’re sucking at it. Here, try the big foil penis. I dunno why but it usually helps with transmitting the digital signal or something.”
Me: “But my parents have cable, not satellite.”
Heavy-Set Boy: “It’s amazing how much of a whiny bitch you are. You really set the bar!”
Me: “FINE! Gimme’ the foil penis.”
[The bottom half of the screen clears up and audio clears.]
Heavy-Set Boy: “Bitch! Don’t! Move!”
Me: “I can’t see! Get a mirror or something you guys!”
Heavy-Set Boy: “IF YOU MOVE, YOU DIE!”
ME:
Scrawny Boy: “WHOA!”
Me: “Is it awesome?”
Heavy-Set Boy: “Well, it’s got a light green hue, but the bottom half is still very clear. You must be doing something wrong.”
Scrawny Boy: “Whoa.”
Heavy-Set Boy: “She’s really taking it! You should see this man!”
Me: “Damn it.”
[Mom walks in.]
Mom: “Hey boys, we’re ho…
Heavy-Set Boy: “ Hi, ma’am.”
Me: “Damn it!”
Scrawny Boy: “Whoa.
On second thought, being single isn’t always so great. It’s especially inconvenient when you’re in a profession with predominantly married women and bar hopping is almost unheard of the first year teaching. Focusing on my career was my moment of peace, but I couldn’t escape the round table conversations of the newlyweds:
“I can’t wait to get home and spend time with my husband!”
“My husband’s cooking dinner tonight, again!”“Tonight, the wife and I
are taking the kids to buy a parakeet!”
Parakeets are not meant to be pets. In some countries, if you buy your child a bird for a pet, it’s the same as child abuse. In fact, child abuse is less cruel than having a bird as a pet. When I get home, Molly, my dog greets me with concerned whines as to where I’ve been all day. We get the mail together and she watches me cook dinner. We eat at the dinner table. She can’t actually sit at the table but she sits on the floor and eats with me.
“Hey Molly, does this sound like a fun first-day lesson plan? Introduce
yourself by designing a tattoo (a.k.a. symbol) that represents you.
Include an inspirational quote and two metaphors that best describe you.
See what I did? The students will use literary devices, but they’ll think
it’s just a fun artsy assignment! Meanwhile, they’ll also be introducing
themselves to me!”
Molly licks herself; certainly that must translate to “yeah that’s an awesome lesson plan”.
“Yeah… I thought so…”
Chapter 2: When It Rains... (Revised)
Melanie met me at school to see my first classroom. She listened to my speech about how I would organize and decorate the room. Mel said she really needed to talk.
“I really need to talk to you.”
“We are talking! Look at this huge blank wall! I need posters from Universities across the country to cover it! Maybe pennant flags?”
“I really need to ask you something…”
“What? What’s the matter? Are you hungry? There’s an awesome Chinese place down the street. I’m gonna eat there every pay day! Look, I already picked up a menu and everything to keep in my desk, MY desk!”
“No. I just need to talk and don’t want to here.”
“Well, this is my classroom now. We can come and go as we please… I even have a lock on the door…”
I winked at her, but the implication was somehow lost.
“I’m just kidding with you. Get excited! It’s finally coming together!”
“I’d just feel more comfortable at your place.”
“…”
Anticipation must be like dying in reverse. Instead of your life flashing before your eyes, it’s possibilities in the form of what-ifs. Multiple what-ifs flooding the head; it’s suffocating. It’s an unexpected nothing until the curtain is pulled back. No one knows why we try and predict it, but it’s the paranoid that know the benefits of expecting the worst. So we keep trying.
My what-ifs sprouted practical scenarios. Maybe her cat died. She might have been torn up about a speeding ticket. It was possible that there was drama with some co-workers. I started getting angry. Anything can upset a female! I started assuming there must be a loss of life in the family. She needed me to go with her to a funeral. That must be it; she would be worried about whether I could get time off so soon. Now I was worried about whether I could get time off so soon for a funeral! I wish it were as easy as someone dying. Instead, Melanie really wanted to know:
“Is our relationship going anywhere?”
Like the sweet grasp of death, every man knows this conversation inevitable, but nothing can quite prepare us. I might have even stopped breathing at that moment. Life paused. A list of top ten things worrying me thirty minutes ago began to manifest:
10. I’m responsible for all my finances now.
9. I have college debts that need to be paid (yes, that does include bar tabs).
8. I have to learn a new curriculum…
7. …and make lesson plans.
6. I have to create a Creative Writing syllabus!
5. I have to make nice with co-workers (who are probably more qualified than me).
4. Holy s***! I’m not qualified or confident enough to teach Grammar!
3. My parents are struggling because of my dad’s new career choice.
2. I haven’t had any ME time lately.
Finally, the number one thing on my mind among everything else was of course…
1. I hope Melanie doesn’t bring up whether “this relationship is going anywhere” right as my career was starting.
We talked, or rather, she talked and I froze. Needless to say, I wasn’t prepared for this conversation. No one is considering the circumstances. I was freaked and angry. This was supposed to be my day. Instead, a girlfriend wanted to know where she fit. She was crying. I was going to once she looked away. So I sat on my couch with my dog and looked up at her and said the only rationale thing that came to mind:
“I think you should leave.”
And after shedding many tears and venting many frustrations, that’s exactly what she did.
“I really need to talk to you.”
“We are talking! Look at this huge blank wall! I need posters from Universities across the country to cover it! Maybe pennant flags?”
“I really need to ask you something…”
“What? What’s the matter? Are you hungry? There’s an awesome Chinese place down the street. I’m gonna eat there every pay day! Look, I already picked up a menu and everything to keep in my desk, MY desk!”
“No. I just need to talk and don’t want to here.”
“Well, this is my classroom now. We can come and go as we please… I even have a lock on the door…”
I winked at her, but the implication was somehow lost.
“I’m just kidding with you. Get excited! It’s finally coming together!”
“I’d just feel more comfortable at your place.”
“…”
Anticipation must be like dying in reverse. Instead of your life flashing before your eyes, it’s possibilities in the form of what-ifs. Multiple what-ifs flooding the head; it’s suffocating. It’s an unexpected nothing until the curtain is pulled back. No one knows why we try and predict it, but it’s the paranoid that know the benefits of expecting the worst. So we keep trying.
My what-ifs sprouted practical scenarios. Maybe her cat died. She might have been torn up about a speeding ticket. It was possible that there was drama with some co-workers. I started getting angry. Anything can upset a female! I started assuming there must be a loss of life in the family. She needed me to go with her to a funeral. That must be it; she would be worried about whether I could get time off so soon. Now I was worried about whether I could get time off so soon for a funeral! I wish it were as easy as someone dying. Instead, Melanie really wanted to know:
“Is our relationship going anywhere?”
Like the sweet grasp of death, every man knows this conversation inevitable, but nothing can quite prepare us. I might have even stopped breathing at that moment. Life paused. A list of top ten things worrying me thirty minutes ago began to manifest:
10. I’m responsible for all my finances now.
9. I have college debts that need to be paid (yes, that does include bar tabs).
8. I have to learn a new curriculum…
7. …and make lesson plans.
6. I have to create a Creative Writing syllabus!
5. I have to make nice with co-workers (who are probably more qualified than me).
4. Holy s***! I’m not qualified or confident enough to teach Grammar!
3. My parents are struggling because of my dad’s new career choice.
2. I haven’t had any ME time lately.
Finally, the number one thing on my mind among everything else was of course…
1. I hope Melanie doesn’t bring up whether “this relationship is going anywhere” right as my career was starting.
We talked, or rather, she talked and I froze. Needless to say, I wasn’t prepared for this conversation. No one is considering the circumstances. I was freaked and angry. This was supposed to be my day. Instead, a girlfriend wanted to know where she fit. She was crying. I was going to once she looked away. So I sat on my couch with my dog and looked up at her and said the only rationale thing that came to mind:
“I think you should leave.”
And after shedding many tears and venting many frustrations, that’s exactly what she did.
Chapter I: On Your Mark...(Unabridged)
In the seventh grade my English teacher, Mrs. Wallace, suggested I be enrolled in a lower level English class. I had difficulty writing book reports on par with her expectations. After multiple revisions, my papers still returned covered in the scarlet of efficient grading. The content and creativity was acceptable, but when it came to grammar, I was a disaster. Furthermore, nothing compared to the embarrassment I felt about my handicap because my mother was an English teacher too.
In eighth grade, there wasn’t much improvement, but there was more support. My new English teacher, Mrs. Behrens, stayed after school and tutored me. She bought me a grammar flow chart that could be tucked into any three-ring binder. My essays didn’t come back bleeding from red pen stabs. There was a distinct difference between their teaching styles. Driven by resentment for my seventh grade English teacher, or inspired by my eighth grade English teacher, I resolved during this time to become an English teacher.
It was an epic struggle through high school, college, and an internship or two to prepare myself for August 13th, two weeks before the high school fall semester. The accumulation of blood, sweat, tears, coffee, patience, and most of all tears had rendered my first job as a high school English teacher. I was anxious, frightened, and prone to hyperventilating with the thought: standing in front of twenty-five plus teens as their teacher and expecting them to listen to me. Years of dreaming, theorizing, and training, yet I’ve never felt less prepared.
I was hopeful to find veteran guidance at the upcoming new-hire orientations.
All rookies attend mandatory conferences with the local school’s board of directors. The meetings are important if you’re interested in job related information such as payroll, taxes and insurance, vacation, and retirement benefits. The new-hires yawn through the information and sign on the dotted line. Everyone looks forward to the catered lunch and time for mingling. The remainder of the week is spent attending retreats with senior staff members and getting to know each other. The retreat coordinator decided to forgo formal introductions and opted to organizing the faculty in a circle.
“Everyone in the circle has to introduce themselves by using an adjective that starts with the same letter as the first letter in your name! I’ll start! My name is Daring Diane! Now the person to my left has to remember everybody’s name to their right and recite it from memory!”
The senior faculty members groan with enthusiasm. I’m certain they look forward to this activity each year. Personally, I appreciate this part of the week the most because you can always get interesting advice from veteran peers as you don’t pay attention to the events taking place around you. Sometimes, it’s advice to live by:
Some of it is less encouraging than others:
At least we always look forward to enjoying lunch together. Rookies usually congregate around senior teachers unofficially designated as cool. It is a lot like high school, but shouldn’t that make sense? For example, I’m a pariah. It’s nice to have a group to go out with again, but I can‘t always relate to them because most are recent newlyweds. I wanted to start my career then look into this marriage thing. Until then, I faked interest in the conversations surrounding me.
God, please keep my eyes from rolling. Two reasons people shouldn’t get into education are money and vacation. The ratio of engaged to single students in the college of education made matters worse. Well, as far as dating prospects went anyways. Worrying about the dating scene didn’t apply to me. I’ve been in love with the same girl for the past five years. She was younger than me and graduated from the college of business.
Her name was Melanie. She had already started her career in sales working for a large and popular computer company. Someday, she was going to be my sugar mama, but not anytime soon. I’d have to be crazy to get married so soon after college and on the cusp of my career. Half-way through the second week of new-hire retreats, she came to meet me for lunch. No more conversations about marriage! What a relief!
I was especially excited to see Melanie today because after introductions and paperwork, the new-hires finally received the keys to our classrooms! This wasn’t the smoothest process when the assistant principal had all the school keys corralled loosely in a plastic box.
After four trips, I was able to unlock my classroom. It was one of the larger rooms but lacked the windows of the smaller rooms. Antique chalk boards took the place of the white boards I was accustomed to from training. I was too eager to care. I’d go home with chalk dust covering me each day. The desks were stacked and shoved against one wall waiting to be meticulously situated. It was in dire need of dusting. I stood in the center thinking about the previous decade. In a movie, this would be my big “I-made-it” moment.
Then my phone rang into the holy silence of my moment.
It was my, Melanie.
“HEY BABY GIRL! Guess where I am?”
“Hey… We really need to talk.”
Perfect timing! She needed to talk and there wasn’t a better place for us to meet than in my new classroom.
[End Chapter 1]
[Continued in Chapter 2: When it Rains…]
In eighth grade, there wasn’t much improvement, but there was more support. My new English teacher, Mrs. Behrens, stayed after school and tutored me. She bought me a grammar flow chart that could be tucked into any three-ring binder. My essays didn’t come back bleeding from red pen stabs. There was a distinct difference between their teaching styles. Driven by resentment for my seventh grade English teacher, or inspired by my eighth grade English teacher, I resolved during this time to become an English teacher.
It was an epic struggle through high school, college, and an internship or two to prepare myself for August 13th, two weeks before the high school fall semester. The accumulation of blood, sweat, tears, coffee, patience, and most of all tears had rendered my first job as a high school English teacher. I was anxious, frightened, and prone to hyperventilating with the thought: standing in front of twenty-five plus teens as their teacher and expecting them to listen to me. Years of dreaming, theorizing, and training, yet I’ve never felt less prepared.
I was hopeful to find veteran guidance at the upcoming new-hire orientations.
All rookies attend mandatory conferences with the local school’s board of directors. The meetings are important if you’re interested in job related information such as payroll, taxes and insurance, vacation, and retirement benefits. The new-hires yawn through the information and sign on the dotted line. Everyone looks forward to the catered lunch and time for mingling. The remainder of the week is spent attending retreats with senior staff members and getting to know each other. The retreat coordinator decided to forgo formal introductions and opted to organizing the faculty in a circle.
“Everyone in the circle has to introduce themselves by using an adjective that starts with the same letter as the first letter in your name! I’ll start! My name is Daring Diane! Now the person to my left has to remember everybody’s name to their right and recite it from memory!”
The senior faculty members groan with enthusiasm. I’m certain they look forward to this activity each year. Personally, I appreciate this part of the week the most because you can always get interesting advice from veteran peers as you don’t pay attention to the events taking place around you. Sometimes, it’s advice to live by:
“My teaching philosophy has always been the person, doing all the work is
the person doing all the learning.”
“Always walk your students through the material so they find the
answers. Don’t spoon feed ‘em! Give ‘em a chance to work it out.”
Some of it is less encouraging than others:
“Don’t turn your back on those little bastards for a second! They’ll
do anything to slip something in your drink. So, invest in a coffee cup
with a secure cover!”
“Sign-up for a teacher’s union, because someone will sue you for
something you probably didn’t do!”
“Run.”
At least we always look forward to enjoying lunch together. Rookies usually congregate around senior teachers unofficially designated as cool. It is a lot like high school, but shouldn’t that make sense? For example, I’m a pariah. It’s nice to have a group to go out with again, but I can‘t always relate to them because most are recent newlyweds. I wanted to start my career then look into this marriage thing. Until then, I faked interest in the conversations surrounding me.
“I had to decide whether I want to be a teacher or a wife, and honestly, my
new husband comes first.”
“I just want to be in education so I can take three months off to
travel and raise a family with my new husband.”
“I just love being a dad.”
God, please keep my eyes from rolling. Two reasons people shouldn’t get into education are money and vacation. The ratio of engaged to single students in the college of education made matters worse. Well, as far as dating prospects went anyways. Worrying about the dating scene didn’t apply to me. I’ve been in love with the same girl for the past five years. She was younger than me and graduated from the college of business.
Her name was Melanie. She had already started her career in sales working for a large and popular computer company. Someday, she was going to be my sugar mama, but not anytime soon. I’d have to be crazy to get married so soon after college and on the cusp of my career. Half-way through the second week of new-hire retreats, she came to meet me for lunch. No more conversations about marriage! What a relief!
I was especially excited to see Melanie today because after introductions and paperwork, the new-hires finally received the keys to our classrooms! This wasn’t the smoothest process when the assistant principal had all the school keys corralled loosely in a plastic box.
“I think this is the key to the school’s main door. Hmmm… this looks like a
room key. No… wait… room keys are more of a brown color. This is like a rusty
gold. I tell ya’ what, Jason…”
“Actually, I’m Josh…”
“Come again?” the assistant principal was surprised at this
revelation.
“Josh, my name… it’s Josh”, I explained, slightly insecure about
correcting an administrator.
“Right, right, right… take this key and if it doesn’t work, come back
and I’ll look again, John.” He hands the key to me. I actually always like
the name John, anyway.
After four trips, I was able to unlock my classroom. It was one of the larger rooms but lacked the windows of the smaller rooms. Antique chalk boards took the place of the white boards I was accustomed to from training. I was too eager to care. I’d go home with chalk dust covering me each day. The desks were stacked and shoved against one wall waiting to be meticulously situated. It was in dire need of dusting. I stood in the center thinking about the previous decade. In a movie, this would be my big “I-made-it” moment.
Then my phone rang into the holy silence of my moment.
It was my, Melanie.
“HEY BABY GIRL! Guess where I am?”
“Hey… We really need to talk.”
Perfect timing! She needed to talk and there wasn’t a better place for us to meet than in my new classroom.
[End Chapter 1]
[Continued in Chapter 2: When it Rains…]
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