Oh, yeah. I keep these blogs weekly. Even when I’m busy. Even when I’m going through big things. Even when I’m going through small things. Some might call me disciplined. Others might use the phrase OCD. Call me what you will, I’m remembering to keep this blog weekly.
I didn’t have much time for writing this week, so I’m going to share a telling of a dream I had a few weeks ago. It’s sitting in a document on my computer. A draft of whatever book (or books) are coming next. There’s lots of words in that draft. I don’t know what to make of them yet. Anything could happen with those words.
Here’s that telling of a dream:
***
It is 2025 and I am dreaming.
I am sitting in the theatre at Roseville. I am no longer a high school teacher. I am no longer a high school drama director. Still, I feel honored by others in the auditorium. Students, teachers, parents, even administrators.
A show is being produced. It is being adjudicated for the International Thespian Festival. It is student written. It is a musical. The lights go down and the performance begins.
I am sitting in the front row. The auditorium is crowded. Assistant Principals are sitting next to me. One of my former Assistant Principals gets to his feet and begins dancing. I think about how strange it is that he is dancing. I always thought of him as a strict marine. He is so uninhibited as he dances.
The principal – I don’t know her – sits in the chair next to me. She is too close. This woman celebrates what is happening on stage. She turns and tells the audience how proud she is of the performance. I am surprised by her support. I tell her she is the kind of educational leader I always wanted.
And then I am on stage. I am improvising. The audience is taken aback at first. Then they begin to laugh. They enjoy the show. They start calling out suggestions. I am laughing with them. I feel alive as I perform.
And then I am walking to my old classroom that isn’t really my old classroom. And a slideshow begins. It is pictures of all the high school classes I taught. Images of my students. Images of classrooms. There is chaos in these classrooms as students come and go. Some are doing what I want. Some aren’t. I am not bothered by the commotion. The students and the classrooms blur across time and space.
The principal enters my room as I am watching this slideshow. She resembles my first principal at Cooper, but she is not her. She is strict, but in a kind way. I know she supports me. I know she loves me.
I tell the principal that I want to return to my job as a high school teacher. I want to work in her school.
The principal tells me that I am prepared to do anything now. She tells me that my colleagues and my students told her I am ready. Parents told her I am ready. The principal turns and leaves.
And then I wake up.
Anything might happen next.
***
Samuel Jaye Tanner 