Every year, for the past five years, I have taught Health at my school. That means that every year, for the past five years, I have taught sex ed. Now, this has provided some of the funniest moments of my teaching career - questions like "What is the average speed/velocity of ejaculation?" (45 km/h by the way - that's speeding in a school zone!), and "Does 'blue balls' refer to the colour of the balls or their emotional state?" - it has also led to one of the most perplexing questions of all: what to use as an "analogue" for the condom demo. I know that bananas are pretty standard, but they can be excessively curved, and the squared end just doesn't work. Eggplants have the right texture, but are never the right shape. Then, out of the blue, it hit me - cucumber!
My first year teaching the class, I used the standard garden cucumber. Turns out, they're a bit too big. The girls in the class looked positively frightened at the prospect of something that size, and the boys were scared that that's what they had to live up to. The next year I decided to use English cucumbers. Although significantly longer, they are a more appropriate girth. Still not a good idea, though. One student almost fell out of his chair when I pulled those out.
The following year I did my research. I spent a good amount of time in the produce department, looking over all the options and trying to determine the most appropriate choice. And then, I saw them - the zucchinis. They were perfect! Just the right size! So, I grabbed half a dozen of them, a box of condoms, and just because, a tub of whipped cream. Now, Safeway had those self checkout lanes, and I could have used them, but that would have taken all the fun out of it. I chose my cashier carefully - a young guy, no older than 16, clearly someone who would be easily embarrassed - and went to make my purchase. He took one look at my items and went beet red.
This past year I bought the zucchini and condoms again, bypassing the whipped cream as there were no young cashiers to embarrass that day, and taught sex ed as I had for the three years previous. When all was said and done, I was left with 7 perfectly good zucchinis. So, I made muffins. Lots and lots of muffins. Surveying the mountain of baked goods I had on my counter, I knew I would never be able to get through them all - really, there is only so much zucchini one person can eat - so I decided to take some (4 dozen) to dance with me. They were a hit. Everyone who tried them loved them. The night was going great, right up until someone asked me why I had made zucchini muffins. I turned to them and said "I taught sex ed this week and didn't want the zucchinis to go to waste" and left it at that. I watched, amused, as their expression changed, first questioning, then realization, and finally "OMG what did I just put in my mouth!"
Life Lesson: When life gives you lemons, make lemonade. When life gives you zucchinis, bake, but don't tell anyone what you did with them first.
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Monday, October 17, 2011
The Face-Palm Reaction
Face-Palm: An action where one places one's hand over one's face so that the face rests in the palm. Usually accompanied by a head shake and/or a groan. This action is generally a result of someone doing something foolish.
Being a Jr/Sr high teacher, I have had my fair share of Face-Palm-worthy moments, most of which involved my male students. One student in particular has caused more face-palms than anybody else. I've been teaching Sean for a little over a year now, and in that time I have face-palmed so many times, I'm surprised I haven't knocked something loose.
Last spring, I lead a trip to Europe, and Sean and one other student - Rachel - were on it. It was a nine day trip, and in that time, I face-palmed approximately 400 times (and I'm pretty sure I'm UNDERestimating that number). Most of the incidents are blurring together, but there are a few memorable ones that will always stand out.
One of Sean's biggest issues was not paying attention while we were walking around. It was bad enough the first couple of days in London, but by the time we made it to Paris, Sean was so distracted, I was threatening to put a child leash on him. If no one stopped him when we got to a red light, he would walk right out into traffic. If there wasn't someone behind him to keep him moving, he would stop in the middle of the street while we were crossing. Now, I understand that he was tired - we all were - but I face-palmed big time when he started sitting down everywhere. On every bench we passed, on the ground when we were waiting in line, and even on the curb when we stopped at a red light. That was a big face-palm moment. For the entire trip, Sean had his backpack with him, and that backpack had a handy little strap on it that I could grab. This came in handy to stop him at red lights, drag him across streets, and hoist him up whenever he sat down.
The mother of all face-palm moments came when we were in the Musee D'Orsay. There was a large sculpture exhibit that we stopped by, and while Rachel and I were looking around, Sean decided to sit down. On a sculpture. Next to the English sign that said "Do Not Sit on the Sculpture". (Double Face-Palm!)
The irony of it is, Sean had his very own face-palm moment when we visited the Eiffel Tower. We took the elevator all the way up and were on the top viewing platform when Rachel (a ballet dancer) decided she wanted an arabesque picture (we had been taking those for her all over London and Paris). We found the least crowded spot and Rachel assumed her pose for the picture. Now, ever since we landed in Europe, men had been checking her out. That evening was no exception. Rachel was wearing a cute little dress (with shorts underneath) and when she went into an arabesque, one guy tried to get a look up her dress. The guy then looked at Sean, smiled and gave him a thumbs-up, as if to say "Way to go Buddy!" This was the first time I saw Sean face-palm.
We all made it back from the trip unharmed, and, thanks to Sean, we have some hilarious stories to share with everyone.
Life Lesson: People are capable of incredibly foolish things, and you can't do anything to stop them. Face-palm in the moment, but you're guaranteed to get a good story out of it.
Being a Jr/Sr high teacher, I have had my fair share of Face-Palm-worthy moments, most of which involved my male students. One student in particular has caused more face-palms than anybody else. I've been teaching Sean for a little over a year now, and in that time I have face-palmed so many times, I'm surprised I haven't knocked something loose.
Last spring, I lead a trip to Europe, and Sean and one other student - Rachel - were on it. It was a nine day trip, and in that time, I face-palmed approximately 400 times (and I'm pretty sure I'm UNDERestimating that number). Most of the incidents are blurring together, but there are a few memorable ones that will always stand out.
One of Sean's biggest issues was not paying attention while we were walking around. It was bad enough the first couple of days in London, but by the time we made it to Paris, Sean was so distracted, I was threatening to put a child leash on him. If no one stopped him when we got to a red light, he would walk right out into traffic. If there wasn't someone behind him to keep him moving, he would stop in the middle of the street while we were crossing. Now, I understand that he was tired - we all were - but I face-palmed big time when he started sitting down everywhere. On every bench we passed, on the ground when we were waiting in line, and even on the curb when we stopped at a red light. That was a big face-palm moment. For the entire trip, Sean had his backpack with him, and that backpack had a handy little strap on it that I could grab. This came in handy to stop him at red lights, drag him across streets, and hoist him up whenever he sat down.
The mother of all face-palm moments came when we were in the Musee D'Orsay. There was a large sculpture exhibit that we stopped by, and while Rachel and I were looking around, Sean decided to sit down. On a sculpture. Next to the English sign that said "Do Not Sit on the Sculpture". (Double Face-Palm!)
The irony of it is, Sean had his very own face-palm moment when we visited the Eiffel Tower. We took the elevator all the way up and were on the top viewing platform when Rachel (a ballet dancer) decided she wanted an arabesque picture (we had been taking those for her all over London and Paris). We found the least crowded spot and Rachel assumed her pose for the picture. Now, ever since we landed in Europe, men had been checking her out. That evening was no exception. Rachel was wearing a cute little dress (with shorts underneath) and when she went into an arabesque, one guy tried to get a look up her dress. The guy then looked at Sean, smiled and gave him a thumbs-up, as if to say "Way to go Buddy!" This was the first time I saw Sean face-palm.
We all made it back from the trip unharmed, and, thanks to Sean, we have some hilarious stories to share with everyone.
Life Lesson: People are capable of incredibly foolish things, and you can't do anything to stop them. Face-palm in the moment, but you're guaranteed to get a good story out of it.
Friday, October 14, 2011
The Valium Approximation
A while ago, I was in a dance class where we rotated partners, and at one point I ended up dancing with a gentleman who I knew from previous classes. Now, when I dance, I am happy, that is the plain truth of it. And when I'm happy, I smile. So, by the time this gentleman was my partner, I was feeling good, smiling away. We danced the section we were working on and, just before he moved onto his next partner, he looks at me and says "You're always so happy. It makes me happy. You're better than Valium!"
A few days later I was back in the classroom and related this story to one of my fellow teachers. One of my students, Anne, heard, and came to me a little while later with a sign that read "Tara - Better than Valium". The sign has been posted on my desk ever since, and makes everyone who sees it smile.
Life Lesson: Smile. It makes you feel better, and it makes the people around you feel better. Guaranteed!
A few days later I was back in the classroom and related this story to one of my fellow teachers. One of my students, Anne, heard, and came to me a little while later with a sign that read "Tara - Better than Valium". The sign has been posted on my desk ever since, and makes everyone who sees it smile.
Life Lesson: Smile. It makes you feel better, and it makes the people around you feel better. Guaranteed!
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
The Pole Dancing Hypothesis
At the beginning of September, I decided to take a pole dancing class. Now, those who know me know that this is pretty much the last thing I would normally do. So why do it? A couple of reasons. One: I've been struggling with the Latin side of ballroom dance - I can't seem to move my hips enough and I've never really felt sexy while doing it. So, primary objective was to move my hips more and be comfortable being sexy. Two: Every year I do something new that I have never considered doing before (last year was belly dancing - epic failure - and the year before that was ballroom dancing - which I would consider successful).
Anyway, I approached the first class with optimism tempered with just a little bit of fear. I was pretty sure that being sexy would not come naturally to me, and given how clumsy I can be, I wasn't so sure the whole leaving the ground thing was going to work out for me. I arrived at the studio on that fateful first day, met the other women in the class and was immediately struck with the sense that this was not going to go well. You see, I am not what you would call petite, or delicate, which are exactly the words that would be used to describe these other women. They all maxed out at 5'4" and about a size 3. I, on the other hand, am 5'10" and, while by no means fat, I am fairly densely packed (which, as I would soon find out, works against me when trying to get off the ground).
Class started with a basic warm-up - walking in a circle, stretching out various muscles as we did so - which was great, right up until we had to start doing a "sexy walk". The walk itself wasn't too hard (really just time to practice my rumba walks). The hard part came when the instructor told us to let our hands "wander". Everyone else in the class - no problem, the movements look natural, alluring, like they are supposed to. Me - not so much. From there we moved to the floor routine which went pretty much as you would expect. It started when we were told to grab a mat and leave it folded in half. I looked at how much room everyone else was working with, I looked at how much I was working with, and lets just say I could have used another mat. Being somewhat of a giant compared to everyone else, my movements were ever so much less graceful and sensuous - more like a wrestler training for a match than a woman trying to seduce a man. Throughout the floor routine, we were supposed to flirt, toss our hair, all those girly things that women are instinctively supposed to know how to do. Now, I've had time to reflect on this, and my theory is that a) I don't have the "Sexy Gene" or b) if I do have it, it is completely overridden by my "Geek Gene".
After struggling through the flirting, booty shaking and hip rolling, we moved to the pole, or, as I like to think of it, that friggin' brass instrument of torture. We started with a sexy walk around the pole (naturally, I failed) and then moved onto pole turns (which did not involve trying to be sexy or leaving the ground, so I wasn't too bad at them) and then came the pole hold. That was when things really went South. For the pole hold, you are supposed to grip the pole with both hands, at eye level, lean into it so your chest and upper stomach are on the pole, lift one foot, then the other, and slide gracefully down the pole. Well, I managed up to getting both feet off the floor. After that, well, I was anything but graceful. I didn't slide down the pole, I plummeted. (To quote Sheldon from The Big Bang Theory "Ah Gravity, thou art a heartless bitch!"). THUNK! I landed with an audible bang, causing everyone to look in my direction. Determined not to let it get me down (so to speak), I got back up to try it again. Before I did, I watched some of the other women try it. No THUNK, from any of them. I gave it another shot. THUNK! OW! This time I had landed on my already bruised knees. The class continued for another 15 minutes, me trying desperately to land without noise (something I never did get). I related this story to my family and they dubbed me "Thumpalina".
At home that night, I surveyed the damage - both knees covered in bruises - and hoped that the class would get better in the weeks to come. Needless to say, it didn't. In the weeks that followed, I "learned" the Fireman's Spin (both ankles bruised, plus a spectacular one approximately 6" by 2" on my right calf), the Showgirl-Pole over-Stripper kick combination (almost whacked my head on the pole), the Reverse spin (bruises on both ankles, my left calf, and a series of them on my left bicep that looked like track marks), the kick-squat-body wave combination (almost took out the woman on the pole next to me) and the pole slide (bruised back). Keep in mind that the bruises from previous weeks never had any real chance to heal - they were just compounded week after week. So, at the end of the 6 week session, I am like a walking over-ripe banana. My friend Claudina, after starting to refer to the class as "The Torture Chamber", commented that its a good thing I'm not in a relationship or people would be reporting my boyfriend for abuse.
At the last class, the other women were discussing how they had installed poles in their homes, and how excited their boyfriends were. They talked about doing "shows" for their fellas and I thought about some time in the future, what would happen if I tried to do a show for whoever I end up with. The image that came to mind was one of a pole in a bedroom and me, in a helmet, elbow pads, knee pads and shin guards (ummm, lusty, lusty!). That was what was going through my mind when one of the other ladies asked me if I was going on to the next level. What I wanted to say was "HELL NO! What do you think I am, a masochist?" but I was slightly more tactful than that, simply saying that I don't think pole dancing is for me, but its been an interesting experience.
Well, my original thoughts - that I am not naturally sexy, or very adept at leaving the ground without hurting myself - turned out to be true. With that, I have told my friends that if I ever, ever, get the bright idea to do something like this again, they are to stop me, IMMEDIATELY!
Life Lesson: Challenge yourself to do things you think you can't do. Worst case scenario, your original hypothesis was correct, and don't we all love being right?
Anyway, I approached the first class with optimism tempered with just a little bit of fear. I was pretty sure that being sexy would not come naturally to me, and given how clumsy I can be, I wasn't so sure the whole leaving the ground thing was going to work out for me. I arrived at the studio on that fateful first day, met the other women in the class and was immediately struck with the sense that this was not going to go well. You see, I am not what you would call petite, or delicate, which are exactly the words that would be used to describe these other women. They all maxed out at 5'4" and about a size 3. I, on the other hand, am 5'10" and, while by no means fat, I am fairly densely packed (which, as I would soon find out, works against me when trying to get off the ground).
Class started with a basic warm-up - walking in a circle, stretching out various muscles as we did so - which was great, right up until we had to start doing a "sexy walk". The walk itself wasn't too hard (really just time to practice my rumba walks). The hard part came when the instructor told us to let our hands "wander". Everyone else in the class - no problem, the movements look natural, alluring, like they are supposed to. Me - not so much. From there we moved to the floor routine which went pretty much as you would expect. It started when we were told to grab a mat and leave it folded in half. I looked at how much room everyone else was working with, I looked at how much I was working with, and lets just say I could have used another mat. Being somewhat of a giant compared to everyone else, my movements were ever so much less graceful and sensuous - more like a wrestler training for a match than a woman trying to seduce a man. Throughout the floor routine, we were supposed to flirt, toss our hair, all those girly things that women are instinctively supposed to know how to do. Now, I've had time to reflect on this, and my theory is that a) I don't have the "Sexy Gene" or b) if I do have it, it is completely overridden by my "Geek Gene".
After struggling through the flirting, booty shaking and hip rolling, we moved to the pole, or, as I like to think of it, that friggin' brass instrument of torture. We started with a sexy walk around the pole (naturally, I failed) and then moved onto pole turns (which did not involve trying to be sexy or leaving the ground, so I wasn't too bad at them) and then came the pole hold. That was when things really went South. For the pole hold, you are supposed to grip the pole with both hands, at eye level, lean into it so your chest and upper stomach are on the pole, lift one foot, then the other, and slide gracefully down the pole. Well, I managed up to getting both feet off the floor. After that, well, I was anything but graceful. I didn't slide down the pole, I plummeted. (To quote Sheldon from The Big Bang Theory "Ah Gravity, thou art a heartless bitch!"). THUNK! I landed with an audible bang, causing everyone to look in my direction. Determined not to let it get me down (so to speak), I got back up to try it again. Before I did, I watched some of the other women try it. No THUNK, from any of them. I gave it another shot. THUNK! OW! This time I had landed on my already bruised knees. The class continued for another 15 minutes, me trying desperately to land without noise (something I never did get). I related this story to my family and they dubbed me "Thumpalina".
At home that night, I surveyed the damage - both knees covered in bruises - and hoped that the class would get better in the weeks to come. Needless to say, it didn't. In the weeks that followed, I "learned" the Fireman's Spin (both ankles bruised, plus a spectacular one approximately 6" by 2" on my right calf), the Showgirl-Pole over-Stripper kick combination (almost whacked my head on the pole), the Reverse spin (bruises on both ankles, my left calf, and a series of them on my left bicep that looked like track marks), the kick-squat-body wave combination (almost took out the woman on the pole next to me) and the pole slide (bruised back). Keep in mind that the bruises from previous weeks never had any real chance to heal - they were just compounded week after week. So, at the end of the 6 week session, I am like a walking over-ripe banana. My friend Claudina, after starting to refer to the class as "The Torture Chamber", commented that its a good thing I'm not in a relationship or people would be reporting my boyfriend for abuse.
At the last class, the other women were discussing how they had installed poles in their homes, and how excited their boyfriends were. They talked about doing "shows" for their fellas and I thought about some time in the future, what would happen if I tried to do a show for whoever I end up with. The image that came to mind was one of a pole in a bedroom and me, in a helmet, elbow pads, knee pads and shin guards (ummm, lusty, lusty!). That was what was going through my mind when one of the other ladies asked me if I was going on to the next level. What I wanted to say was "HELL NO! What do you think I am, a masochist?" but I was slightly more tactful than that, simply saying that I don't think pole dancing is for me, but its been an interesting experience.
Well, my original thoughts - that I am not naturally sexy, or very adept at leaving the ground without hurting myself - turned out to be true. With that, I have told my friends that if I ever, ever, get the bright idea to do something like this again, they are to stop me, IMMEDIATELY!
Life Lesson: Challenge yourself to do things you think you can't do. Worst case scenario, your original hypothesis was correct, and don't we all love being right?
Sunday, October 9, 2011
The Body Roll Recurrence
This spring I was at a group dance class where we were learning the bachata. The instructor - let's call him Mr. Big - was demoing with a good friend of mine. Some background on Mr. Big: he has a tendency to say things without really thinking about what he's saying. This is one of his more charming traits, and results in some absolutely hilarious moments, including "Gentlemen, pretend you hand is your lady." and "That's what happens when you go both ways." - both in ballroom dance classes.
Anyway, that particular class, we were learning a rolling dip move - body rolls. With this particular step, the lady rolls into a back-arch and back up, going down on the counts of 1-2, up on 3-4, down on 5-6, and up on 7-8. Mr. Big demoed this with my friend and then the class tried it with limited success (i.e. we all sucked). After our failed attempt, Mr. Big went back to demonstrating the proper motion of the step, repeatedly. Now, those of us in the class were spread around the room in a circle and I happened to be standing behind Mr. Big while he was doing this. I could also see my friend's face every time she was in the "down" position, which was looking increasingly scared every time she was there. With this particular movement, the man's body moves in something of an undulation, in time with the woman rolling up and down. When done for the standard 8 counts, there is nothing wrong with this. When done repeatedly, well, let's just say it was starting to move from PG to R rated. And when viewed from the back, even more so.
But this is not the end of the scene. While he was going through the motions, Mr. Big's comment was "You have to find the right rhythm". Well, needless to say, at that moment I lost it.
Fast forward to a couple of weeks ago. Early this fall, I got the bright idea to take a pole dancing class (which is a story in and of itself). During the second lesson, the instructor announced that we were going to be learning body rolls. One guess what the first thing that popped into my head was. Naturally, I burst out laughing, remembering "You have to find the right rhythm" and the petrified look on my friend's face.
Life Lesson: The past can and will come back to haunt you; its best to make sure your life is something you want to relive.
Anyway, that particular class, we were learning a rolling dip move - body rolls. With this particular step, the lady rolls into a back-arch and back up, going down on the counts of 1-2, up on 3-4, down on 5-6, and up on 7-8. Mr. Big demoed this with my friend and then the class tried it with limited success (i.e. we all sucked). After our failed attempt, Mr. Big went back to demonstrating the proper motion of the step, repeatedly. Now, those of us in the class were spread around the room in a circle and I happened to be standing behind Mr. Big while he was doing this. I could also see my friend's face every time she was in the "down" position, which was looking increasingly scared every time she was there. With this particular movement, the man's body moves in something of an undulation, in time with the woman rolling up and down. When done for the standard 8 counts, there is nothing wrong with this. When done repeatedly, well, let's just say it was starting to move from PG to R rated. And when viewed from the back, even more so.
But this is not the end of the scene. While he was going through the motions, Mr. Big's comment was "You have to find the right rhythm". Well, needless to say, at that moment I lost it.
Fast forward to a couple of weeks ago. Early this fall, I got the bright idea to take a pole dancing class (which is a story in and of itself). During the second lesson, the instructor announced that we were going to be learning body rolls. One guess what the first thing that popped into my head was. Naturally, I burst out laughing, remembering "You have to find the right rhythm" and the petrified look on my friend's face.
Life Lesson: The past can and will come back to haunt you; its best to make sure your life is something you want to relive.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
The Bat Cave Conjecture
This next story is a two-parter, involving two students, the CALM course, and parents tour the school I work at.
One day, Anne and Ryan were in the library, working on assignments for CALM. (For those who don't know, CALM is Career and Life Management. It is supposed to help high school students prepare for life beyond school and is, in fact, the most useless course on the planet.) The assignment Anne and Ryan were working on that particular day was one about their future and setting goals to help them reach that future. Now, Ryan being Ryan, he decided that it was his destiny to be Batman, and he was filling out his papers accordingly.
In the library there is a cupboard, above a closet, that is just big enough for someone to curl up in. This is where Ryan had chosen to sit while working, dubbing it "The Batcave" (a name it retains to this day). While all this was going on, a potential parent was being given a tour of the school, and they had reached the library. Ryan heard the door to the library being opened and jumped down from the cupboard, just as the parent looked into the room.
The stunned parent looked at Ryan and asked "Were you on the ceiling?".
"No," Ryan replied, innocently, "I was in the cupboard."
Part two of this story comes a few days later when Anne was working on CALM in my classroom. Well, "working on" isn't quite right. "Ranting about the stupidity of" is probably a more apt description of what she was doing.
Anne had been ranting for the better part of 20 minutes when another potential parent touring the school came to the door.
"Um, Anne," I tried to interrupt, "There is a parent right behind you."
Not missing a beat in her rant, Anne slammed her hands on the table and yelled "Reasonable expectations here!" meaning, just because there was a potential parent looking, she wasn't going to behave any differently - they needed to see exactly what they were getting into.
Life Lesson: As Anne put it - Reasonable Expectations! Let people see you in all your crazy glory so they know exactly what they are getting into.
One day, Anne and Ryan were in the library, working on assignments for CALM. (For those who don't know, CALM is Career and Life Management. It is supposed to help high school students prepare for life beyond school and is, in fact, the most useless course on the planet.) The assignment Anne and Ryan were working on that particular day was one about their future and setting goals to help them reach that future. Now, Ryan being Ryan, he decided that it was his destiny to be Batman, and he was filling out his papers accordingly.
In the library there is a cupboard, above a closet, that is just big enough for someone to curl up in. This is where Ryan had chosen to sit while working, dubbing it "The Batcave" (a name it retains to this day). While all this was going on, a potential parent was being given a tour of the school, and they had reached the library. Ryan heard the door to the library being opened and jumped down from the cupboard, just as the parent looked into the room.
The stunned parent looked at Ryan and asked "Were you on the ceiling?".
"No," Ryan replied, innocently, "I was in the cupboard."
Part two of this story comes a few days later when Anne was working on CALM in my classroom. Well, "working on" isn't quite right. "Ranting about the stupidity of" is probably a more apt description of what she was doing.
Anne had been ranting for the better part of 20 minutes when another potential parent touring the school came to the door.
"Um, Anne," I tried to interrupt, "There is a parent right behind you."
Not missing a beat in her rant, Anne slammed her hands on the table and yelled "Reasonable expectations here!" meaning, just because there was a potential parent looking, she wasn't going to behave any differently - they needed to see exactly what they were getting into.
Life Lesson: As Anne put it - Reasonable Expectations! Let people see you in all your crazy glory so they know exactly what they are getting into.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Welcome!
Welcome one and all!
You are likely confused by the title of this blog - Propulsion is Unacceptable! It comes from an interesting occurance during my first year of teaching. It is one of many times when a comedic event has led to learning a life lesson. Which brings us back to this blog - a chance to share some of the lessons I've learned over the years and amuse all of you out there.
So where does "propulsion is unacceptable" come from? It was roughly five years ago and my students were coming back from a fieldtrip. Two girls were walking up the stairs behind one of the boys who was pontificating, as he had a tendency to do. What the girls heard was "I don't believe in propulsion, propulsion is unacceptable!". The girls, naturally, were bemused and highly entertained by the comment. How can propulsion not be acceptable? It is, to say, somewhat crucial to everyday life. What was actually said was "I don't believe in abortion, abortion is unacceptable!"
Life Lesson: Be very clear in what you are saying - you have no idea how others are going to take it.
You are likely confused by the title of this blog - Propulsion is Unacceptable! It comes from an interesting occurance during my first year of teaching. It is one of many times when a comedic event has led to learning a life lesson. Which brings us back to this blog - a chance to share some of the lessons I've learned over the years and amuse all of you out there.
So where does "propulsion is unacceptable" come from? It was roughly five years ago and my students were coming back from a fieldtrip. Two girls were walking up the stairs behind one of the boys who was pontificating, as he had a tendency to do. What the girls heard was "I don't believe in propulsion, propulsion is unacceptable!". The girls, naturally, were bemused and highly entertained by the comment. How can propulsion not be acceptable? It is, to say, somewhat crucial to everyday life. What was actually said was "I don't believe in abortion, abortion is unacceptable!"
Life Lesson: Be very clear in what you are saying - you have no idea how others are going to take it.
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