Sitting out on the curb while outside the school where I usually teach I felt very lonely. There really isn't another way to describe it except to say that being on strike can be a very lonely business. This does not mean that I haven't had my share of camaraderie and connection during this time. However, since every so often we go our separate directions and someone has to stick around to watch the table or hold down the line as we say, I sometimes feel like I get left behind. That isn't always a bad thing. Sometimes it gives me on opportunity to reflect and to watch the neighbor kid right down the street in front of me practicing his wheelies. Sometimes he falls off. Sometimes he lands precariously, but mostly it's a distraction from the rest of the day which is sitting around and waiting for someone to come and tell me what our next adventure will be. But mostly, there is this waiting. And I would love to tell you that I'm getting better at it, waiting that is, but that would not be true. Now that we have been on strike for a full week, I don't feel any more patience than I did when we started.
This is of course I mean ironic because one of the core principles for being an elementary school teacher is patience. However, one of their realities of that reality is that I am being paid to be patient, when she is most definitely not the case while I am on strike. I know if there are those who are reveling in this opportunity to be on strike and to walk the line and to do all those things that feel like like democracy. This feels a lot like waiting for me. Waiting for test results. Waiting for the phone to ring. Waiting for that popped boil. And I can't help but watch it. What will happen next? I don't know. I wish I did. That would make it much easier to talk to our parents. I don't have that crystal ball. So I wait.