Teacher Appreciation

 It would be ridiculous for me to suggest that my job is a thankless one. I get plenty of thanks. Not always from the folks that I work for, but I kind of insist that first graders whose shoes I tie give me a "Thank you, Mister Caven," once I have stood back up and sent them on their way with properly fastened footwear. 

This might seem a little trite, but on certain days it is precisely what keeps my motor running for the next shoelace or runny nose or ball stuck on the roof or computer that "won't work." It's those moments of appreciation that keep me coming back, and perhaps why I tend to shy away from those big award assemblies with plaques and testimonies. 

That is why the dinner I attended last Thursday was such a unique exception. My principal, who works much harder than I ever do and has to endure all the backlash that comes with being the one sitting in "that chair," nominated me for a tribute sponsored by the nearly local basketball franchise. I was named a Golden Icon. I was never fully clear on exactly what made me outstanding, though I figured it probably had something to do with the shoelaces, balls and broken computers. 

And my dedication. My education dedication. 

The evening marked the first time in more than a calendar year since I had worn a suit, since the invitation insisted on "formal wear." This pleased my date, my wife, who relishes opportunities to look nice. Parking was paid for, as was the dinner, so we toddled off across the bay and drove to our reserved spot underneath the Chase Center. After we checked in, and name tags were dispersed, we were ushered down to the floor. The same floor where the night before the Golden State Warriors had battled the Brooklyn Nets. The hoops were still standing, but the rest of the floor had been transformed into a festive dining arrangement for a hundred or so teachers and their plus ones to enjoy an evening for being lauded. And fed. And lauded some more. 

There was even some dancing, which for which I received special recognition from the MC for "trying so hard."

Then it was all over. On the drive back across the bridge, I asked my wife, my date, how she enjoyed the evening. She said that she really enjoyed getting all gussied up. And then she paused before sharing her misgivings. "Do you feel like they were just trying to make themselves feel better?"

I said that I could certainly understand that feeling, the one where corporations with money to burn toss out a chunk of their disposable income to appreciate educators. Educators who had to paw through their closets to find "formal wear" because they don't spend a lot of time in formal wear. Or going out to catered dinners. Their time and money is almost always ploughed back into their job: buying supplies and treats for the kids they serve. Did I feel patronized?

Not after all these years. I was pleased and happy to take the "free dinner" and was grateful that I did not have to sit through a sales pitch for educational software or a timeshare offer. I got to hang out on the floor where Steph Curry plays, where I will soon be seeing Bruce Springsteen perform. 

I appreciate that.