I have this old-school hard-shell briefcase, defaced with bumper stickers and ill-treatment, in which I keep my classroom artifacts -- smarty pants, certain pictures, student work samples, balls and bells and skill quiz binders -- that I use when I make the rounds doing workshops. When I saw the smashed car window and the contents of my central console strewn about the car for the second time in six weeks
I was bummed, but it wasn't until I realized that dude hadn't just made off with $0.78 from the change collection area, dude had also taken my briefcase o' student work samples.
And now I don't have any.
And I can't go back to work on Monday and make the kids produce more.
And this isn't just about my effectiveness as a workshop presenter.
No one, no one single person
, has experienced a more painful or disastrous exit from the classroom as I. The ties that bind me to that place and that time keep getting cut in unpleasant and unpredictable ways.