"Mamacita! Who are you today?"
A student stops, turns, and asks, "Wait. She's your mom?"
And so begins,
My Favorite Lie
Libby and I shared a classroom for several years. She went half time after the birth of her oldest daughter and I split my time between junior high and high school. It made sense for us to share a room.
We are both early-to-school teachers and mornings could be crazy with students dropping in for one reason or another. We'd laugh and cry over bagels and coffee (or orange juice for Libby) many, many mornings. We'd joke about the youngest teacher and the oldest teacher sharing a room, she called me "old but fun", we'd share stories about her daughter and my grandkids.
At some point, she began calling my mom.
Of course, a student heard that.
I got an email during class one day telling me what she'd done. "Go along with it", she said. And I did. But I never thought it would go on as long as it has. I mean, kids would figure it out, right?
Most didn't though. Or maybe they chose to believe us. But we always stuck to our story.
There would be the smart one who asked why we didn't have the same last name.
Duh. She got married.
Or the really smart one who noticed that Libby's maiden name wasn't Day.
Well, Mrs. Day doesn't really like to talk about her past.
Last year was the best, though, when we pulled another person into our story -- Libby's oldest daughter.
I was doing a long term sub for Libby's team teacher and was in her room every day for freshmen English. This class also included a few gifted and talented 8th graders. They returned to the junior high one day and asked Libby's daughter if I was really her grandma.
"Well, yea," she told them.
"Story confirmed" they came back and told the class the next day.
Another group of believers.
Wait! She's your grandma?
And so it continues.