the book

On another one of those earlier days when I was shadowing my boss, he told me that everyone has their own book. In this book the officers would record the things offenders say. He made it sound like his might be a worn, small, notepad that could be kept in his pocket much like the one he wanted me to carry around all the time to take notes. He went on to share some of his stories with me. The two I remember are:

1. He was teaching a class when one of his students grumbled agrily, “Why do teachers always have to teach us stuff we don’t already know?”

2. Another time, he was administering an IQ test to help with identifying a student’s needs. The question was, “What is a neighbor?” The student hemmed and hawwed and finally said, “I got it! Your neighbor is the one who lives on your right because your next-door-neighbor lives to your left.”

I don’t have enough to fill a book, but I’m sure I’ll come across my share as I unpack my story here.


About hey miss

A teacher. A prison guard. I used to think that was like oil and water. Like lightening and metal. Some days it is. Some days it's magic.
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