Life is Sweet

My apologies to the Maximum Leader for my paucity of perspicacious posts in recent months.

I’ve got victory disease.

No, it’s not that I’ve conquered the Pacific and overrun my initial Greater East Asian objectives and acquired an arrogance that will only be cured by atomic fire.

I teach AP US History. I’m pretty good at it.

Teaching AP is a chore; most teachers are too sane to volunteer for duty. When I started teaching here in Harrisonburg I had 22 kids. Four years later, I have 45.

When I started teaching AP, I had an extra planning period for grading and preparation. Since there are now two AP classes (45 kids won’t fit into my room and I wouldn’t want them to), they had to take the plannine period away. So I have twice the essays to grade and half the time.

Not that I’m complaining, mind you: it is the reality of the job. Well, perhaps I’m complaining a bit.

The numbers have jumped because I am drawing in the science and math and arts kids who heard that the class is fun and that they are likely to do very well on the high stakes exam.

Many of these new kids do not take AP European in their sophomore year. So I have to cover more material to get them up to speed. But how can I complain when I arrange to have extra class sessions after school and 75% of the class voluntarily shows up for another hour and a half of history?

So my level of energy is shot - I haven’t had much left to wander over and be a good little minion of the Maximum Leader.

Otherwise, life is sweet. Emilie just turned five and is starting to read. Jack is now three, and the wee Ben is nine months.

I have a great wife who is giving my kids a fun childhood and even takes care of the farm animals when I am late at school for an AP activity. It would be nice to have some more couple time, but we’ve made choices (kids, jobs, and the farm) that make that hard. In a few years when the kids are more independent we’ll have regular date nights. In the meantime, we can still have rousing intellectual rows over politics (I’ve got a doozy to report).

As an added bonus, my wife, like Ben Franklin’s wife, doesn’t mind that I’ve fathered a child with another woman.

Oops. Did I say that out loud?

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