Yelling, I do a lot of it and unfortunately I am
pretty damn good at it by now. Usually I yell when I find clothes that I was
told were put away, crammed behind a bed or hidden in the bottom of a closet or
when I find names or little pictures carved into the sink top in our upstairs
bathroom. You know, the totally random, utterly bizarre everyday things that
make us crazy not to mention, loud. Being at home is one thing; I am not
usually prepared to yell at church but it has happened.
My
sons went to Sunday school every Sunday like the good little boys that I forced
them to be. They hated it, so I was told, and I assumed it was because they
could’ve been home for that extra hour before church actually started. I am a
paranoid mother though so I decided to wander over to the church early to see
what I could learn about the Sunday school class and why it was so unpopular
with my little boys. It didn’t take me long to see exactly what the problem
was. The teacher was a bitch.
She
was an older woman and I had a strong dislike for her from day one. I hadn’t
realized that she was the one teaching my boys. I did what I have done many
times at the elementary school; I stood outside the door and listened to how my
kids were treated when the teacher thought no one was around. That is a really
good way to cut through the crap, be invisible. She was not teaching as much as
she was putting down my children. In short, she was playing with her life and
not smart enough to know that. I heard her tell Andrew that he was a little
slob. He was five years-old. She told Alex that the way he had colored things
looked stupid. Alex is sensitive and very artistic. That was all it took for me
to walk right through that door and tear her a new one. Slob? Stupid? Bitch. I told
her that she was obviously not capable of being a decent person, to children and
adults alike, and that being around children didn’t agree with her condescending
disposition. I began to clean up the things that my children had used in the
duration of their last ever Sunday school class, all the while this woman was
talking and laughing like we were friends. She was uncomfortable that she had
been caught and she knew enough about me to know that I was going to tell
everyone I knew about her and how she had spoken to my kids. My kids were very
popular at this church because they were the only children among so many
elderly. Part of me thinks that this ridiculous, pain-in-the-ass of a woman
simply has no social skills whatsoever but it is not the job of me or my sons
to teach her that which has escaped her for her entire life.
As I
was walking out the door with my boys Andrew picked up something of Alex’s and
held it out to him, she ripped it out of Andrew’s little hand and tossed it on
the table saying that Alex would get it when he was ready. Wow, so, so stupid. I
picked it up off the table, handed it to Andrew and stepped so close to her
that I was practically standing on her toes and told her to never, ever come
within arm’s length of my children or myself again because she would likely
land on her ass if she ever tried to put down or discipline my kids ever again.
The look on her stupid face was unmistakable; fear. Just the way I like it.
I am
never afraid to burn a bridge, I have plenty of friends but even if I didn’t I’d
be alone rather than be around someone who is not worth my time or my effort. I
am not someone who will pretend to get along with someone that I absolutely can’t
stand just for the sake of getting along. That is pretentious and does no good.
Better to let people know where they stand with you; you have a better chance
at avoiding the crap if you avoid the idiots that are out there roaming the streets
and the hallways at church.
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