2006-04-05

Harry Little Legs

Like most people, I do not like strange noises in my room at night. Usually it is a cat who has snuck in and slept under the bed while I worked and now wants attention/to exit the room. Two nights ago I heard the tell-tale sign - the movement of a crumpled up plastic bag. But it was too light, too delicate to be Monty, who has an insufferable fascination with these hardy souls. Upon investigation, I found this friendly creature, traipsing all over Safeway's crinkled up logo:

they quite simply just have too many legs, don't they?

I know not what species this is, save that it was large and had fangs and did not like being inside a glass. And, I daresay, I liked it even less - due to my inability to purposely kill most living things (mosquitoes, and bugs who eat my garden, two notable exceptions), this meant of course, live capture. He was fast, and scary, and uncannily seemed to know the score. Perhaps this has happened to you before.

I named him Harry, in honour of my father, who is neither dead nor named Harry, but who, in 1987 perhaps, allowed a large orb weaver spider to set up shop in the cab of his truck, whereupon travelling in it one night, I stuck my hand out to remove the little puff of cottonwood tree that had somehow come to float directly in front of my face, only to find that this little bit of fluff had many legs, and grapply ones that clung to my little fat fingers, which made me scream and jump and evenutally kill Harry, while my Mom frantically tried to keep the truck on the road. Upon his return, I related my arachnophobia-producing experience, to which he replied, incredulously, You killed Harry? Oh no!

Harry reincarnated, trapped in pint glass

Anyway, none of our neighbours particularly like us, so I set Harry loose beyond an arbitrary boundary - in other words, a fence - as I had learned the true definition of from my father not two weeks ago.

you son of a bitch, Harry's coming out of the booth!

I'm a little light today on the philosophical examinings of the world I usually go on about, so I'll just share this bit of good news: I'm a much better teacher than I ever would have guessed. One of my tutoring clients called to cancel an upcoming session for her daughter - in math. The mother was apologetic of course, citing that her daughter would be at a dance recital and would not be finished in time. Of course, I said, dance is her passion - this is understandable. I know, she said, but what I could not believe was how upset she was to have to miss a session. Her grades are up and she finally feels like she has a handle on this stuff. She hates math and she's struggled for years, you know? I did know, and I thanked her for the implied compliment that my tutoring had turned things around for her daughter in math.

Honestly, I started this job because I was sick of doing nights at the bakery. That was probably my only motivation at the time (that, and the pay was better). I had never taught anything professionally in my life and never intended to. Maybe I can do this for a year, I thought, until something better comes along. And where once I saw only escape and better pay I now see a way forward.

There is, it seems, such natural reward in reducing the struggle of others. When I can see from the look on each face that the gears are suddenly turning upstairs, it's quite a flooring feeling. I get it now! one will say, and I will say, that's good, but let's keep working. But I brush it off; it is my job, I think, and that is all. But to hear relief from a parent who knows their child's stress, well, somehow that has just put things in a different light. Maybe there is something here, I think, maybe there is a future for me.

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