It’s not a Starbucks that I regularly frequent, but I happened to be in the city and in need of a fix. In fact, it’s a bit too metropolitan and pretentious for my taste; not at all like the one in my neighborhood, but so long as they made my drink to order, it mattered not.

I walked in and there he was; young, beautiful, stylish; engrossed in conversation with an older gentleman, who wore an off-the-rack suit, opposed to the young stud sporting Armani. I walked past their table and breathed in the heady scent of his Abercrombie & Fitch cologne, then turned and stole another glance over my shoulder.

I watched them as I waited, wondering what he was trying to pitch to the old man, who sat back in his chair with his arms folded over his chest, intently listening, perhaps even coveting, but giving his full attention nonetheless.

I took my drink and slowly walked past, then moved to within inches of them while a slew from a secretarial pool filed through the door. I heard the tone of his voice and the hair on the back of my neck stood up, and then I listened to his words, “I think this is a perfect fit. I think we could both benefit from this, because I really want to be on you guyses team.”

I whipped my head around and looked at him, not believing what I’d just heard pass those beautiful lips; lips that just moments before I’d imagined myself tasting. He sensed my movement and his attention was temporarily diverted from the task at hand. Our eyes met and had there not been an empty void behind those green eyes that sparkled like gems, I could have easily lost myself in them.

He squared his shoulders and cocked his head ever-so-slightly, the pup taking notice of the cougar, and shot me a grin that said everything his words would never be able to muster. I reached in my bag and pulled out my well worn copy of Merriam-Webster’s Concise Dictionary of English Usage, handed it to him and said, “Here, you obviously need this more than I do,” then made my exit without another word.

He said he gave her the same smirk right back when she passed out the graded tests at the end of class and his was a big fat A, then proceeded to tell him that she was giving him a zero on the assignment. His question to me, “Why does a teacher who teaches advanced math treat kids like their idiots?!”

Good question…

My immediate response is to fire off an email requesting an impromptu tête-à-tête; and had this been elementary school, I would have done just that. However, we’re in middle school now and everything has changed. He asked that I please just let it go because it’s not worth her excluding him from class and taking it out on him because she’s mad at me for confronting her.

I want to respect his wishes, but the thought of that uppity witch giving my son grief for no good reason and getting away with it, is gnawing at my insides! That’s the one thing I’ve always done; make certain that his teachers know me, and know that his academic career is something I [we] take very seriously. He’s been an honor roll student since first grade, and the thought of him having to put up with nonsensical bullshit from someone whose job it is to educate and prepare him for college, for whatever reason, absolutely chaps my ass!

It’s almost as if they look at middle-school aged kids as a bunch of rowdy heathens that have no interest whatsoever in learning, and that couldn’t be farther from the truth in our case. Cole loves learning; reads anything non-fiction he can get his hands on, filling himself with all the knowledge and information he can contain. And just because he wears the same size shoe as his father doesn’t mean he has an adult sized mind! He’s still a child and while I certainly don’t expect him to be coddled and pampered, I do expect him to be treated with the respect his age and intelligence warrants.

Thought I would feel better after venting, but all I’ve managed to do is raise my blood pressure. Must meditate….