Being The Son Of A Teacher Is Hard

Decent Essays

Being the son of a teacher is hard. There are a lot of things that come with it that makes life more challenging. From the start, having my Mom be a teacher was strange. Imagine going to school and calling your teacher “Mom” and going home and calling your mom, “Mrs. Naber”. Yes, that was me, one very confused kindergartener.

The other tough thing about having my Mom work so closely with all of my current teachers was they talked. They talked about everything. I could not get in trouble, there was no hiding the notes, she already knew. I was a good kid in school; I never seriously got into trouble in fear of this.

I’ll never forget the story my sister told me when I was in 8th grade. She came home one day raving about what had happened …show more content…

Senior Year

It was beautiful. I had a few weeks left of school, then I was off to summer before leaving home to go to college at the University of Wisconsin-Eau Claire. I rolled into school at 7:45 rocking out to “Club Mix ‘96” cassette tape in my 1999 Nissan Sentra. I was instructed to park my car behind the school near the track and football field. This was a customary event once a year during the rummage sale days, the students cleared out and crated a maze of cars from the windows of the cafeteria. Walking into school, I had no idea about what events would eventually transpire. I went through classes, talked to friends, and enjoyed being a senior in a school that all the seniors thought they “ran”. After school, I was out on the baseball field playing a rival team. It was a fantastic game and more importantly a win. A celebration and shower brought my best two friends and I out to our cars with nobody else around. Then it hit me.

I turned to my friends Sam and Jacob and I told them that I felt good. I felt like celebrating, we all played well, we all got a win, and we were in a unique position. It was perfect and it was so simple. I’ll never forget what I said.

“We should take a victory lap, I mean there is nobody here and they are building a new track anyways. Plus, this thing is literally concrete.” I said.

“What? A victory lap, like in our cars?” They responded.

In a few short moments, the parade of old crappy high school cars began

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