Obviously I’m quite talented with the grammar, ending a sentence with a preposition in the title here and all. *and a stunned hush falls over the crowd* Despite this particular gaffe, somebody thought enough of me to purchase this card with a beautiful message of thanks inscribed within, and a fab swag bag to thank me for being her mentor this year.I was having a conversation with my friends, the Ladies ladies, not long ago. Periodically we throw out a random question of the week just to see how the others respond. We are all friends, but we don’t get to spend much time together in the real world, so sometimes these questions illuminate and help us get to know one another better. I was bragging on my killer vodka pasta, which I’d made a few days earlier. I wrote that since I’m not really good at anything (crabbing again about my Grand Canyon-scale negative space vacuum of artistic skills) I was happy to have some creative outlet in the kitchen.
Now because they are my friends, the girls responded by telling me I was a talented writer, a good mom, and a good friend. See, they are my friends. Of course they’re going to say that. And how I love them for their mendacity. But the reality is my weak visual motor integration frustrates me, and this is not news to anyone who has read this blog before. I asked the girls: So, what are you good at?
I thought for a while myself, and came up with a short list of things I considered myself good at. I’m a good friend. I really am. I’m a good program support teacher. Thank goodness, ’cause they pay me for it and I’ve got 183 people who directly or indirectly rely on me to be good in my role. I’m a decent cook–tasty food, but not beautiful plates because, hello?? And I’m a good mentor.
Fortunately, my mentees agree. So it must be true! For fourteen of the last 16 years, I have had the good fortune to have mentored brand-new speech-language pathologists. They’ve taught me so much, more than I could ever hope to return to them. As a group and individually, they’re exceptionally driven, high-achieving young women. Like they have never gotten a ‘B’ in grad school types of high-achieving young women. They’re bright, buoyant though generally seem to believe themselves as underperforming in their roles as school speech-language pathologists. They are not underperforming.
The miracle is that they do facilitate progress with the district’s (city’s, state’s) most academically and communicatively challenged students. They improve the lives of kids in most desperate need. They do it with woefully inadequate resources and with too often inhospitable working conditions. These young women work their butts off while feeling they’re not doing a good enough job, deflecting compliments and assigning credit to everyone around them but themselves.
I do kick ass at work. I fail way more often than I succeed in getting what I believe our SLPs deserve and need though. If I kick ass, it’s because I’m surrounded by equally (no, more) kick ass SLPs. I don’t do status quo well, and I’m certain that my boss wants to throat punch me at least thrice weekly. But my boss is a lovely human who understands that my wanting the best for our SLPs and students underlies that tenacity. Yes, tenacity. Because “pain in the ass” sounds just slightly less professional.
So thank you, Lenaya, for the gift. The stuff, yes, (the happy notes are SO me!) but the gift of time with you this year. It was I who received the gift this year. Watching you grow in skill and confidence, and measuring the progress you made happen in those small people was my distinct pleasure. Thank you for reminding me that I still have a few tricks up my sleeve. Thanks for telling me you considered me a rock star. YOU kick ass.
Best. Card. Ever.
What are you good at?