I am a K....I am a K-A....I am a K-A-T-I-E, oh yes I am...

I couldn’t decide whether I was amused, touched, or slightly insulted by something one of my creative writing students brought into class today. I’d assigned my kids to write a poem on somebody they admired—we’ve been studying “Twelfth Night” lately and talking about the various forms of admiration and ducky love held by its characters. I wanted them to get in on the act to provide some version of modernity and applicability. The results were fairly typical. One student wrote on her grandmother, another his youth pastor.

Gracie decided to…you guessed it…write about me.

Gracie is an interesting child. And when I say interesting, I mean that she’s hysterical, but I’m also quite glad that I’m not her mother. I imagine, though, that she’s very similar to how I was at that age, if in a slightly darker form. She has a sarcastic sense of humor which never fails to crack me up, but she delights in writing her stories with as many grotesque moments as possible. Bring on the blood is her motto. This is the child that, at the wizened age of eight, announced quite seriously that she was going through an Edgar Allan Poe stage.

I kid you not.

But like I said before, I really wasn’t all that different. Gracie and I both have overactive imaginations that tend to get us into trouble. I just liked the, um, more positive side of fantasy. However, it must be conceded all true fantasy has a darker side. If Gracie could just add a few princesses or flowers to her beheadings, she’ll be on the right track. No, I don’t think that she’s disturbed, she’s just…unique. Once I forbade her from mentioning killings or body limbs rolling dramatically downhill, she's been fine.

You can understand my justifiable trepidation, though, when I found that she had written a poem about me. I offer the following gem of American literature for your perusal. It has been reproduced exactly, spelling errors and all. I’ll give you my commentary at the end.

Miss Katy
By Gracie

Ms. Katy is a good writer
She also is very sweat
She’s a very good teacher
But that’s only one of her features

Her reading skills excel
And that can only mean
That soon one day she’ll become a dean
Of the best college you’ve ever seen

Her ideas are brilliant
No one can mach them
She’s got a great talent
That is very gallant

She is very smart
Her thoughts are like fine art

First off, while this was extraordinarily sweet…I mean, sweat…of her to say, I find it difficult to believe in Gracie’s sincerity. Knowing her, she just wrote it because she knew I would lap it up and she’s snickering in her hand back home. I don’t mean to put down her work, necessarily; I just take it with a grain of salt as big as my head. She’s just evil enough (a trait in her that I often admire) to do the occasional part time job of brownnosing.

Secondly….

*throat swells dramatically*

MY FREAKING NAME IS KATIE! KATIE! Not Kaitie, not Katy, most CERTAINLY not Kate, and not even Kaitlyn! My name is Kaitlin Grace, but I will answer to, and ONLY to, KATIE!!!!! Get it right people! It’s a simple, five letter name! Don’t make me doubt your intelligence! I might add that this is not directed at Gracie…it’s just a pet peeve that’s built alarmingly over the years. After nearly twenty-one years of mistakes, I’ve become the opposite of desensitized. KATIE!

There. I feel better now. You may collect your eardrums at the door.

I also couldn't decide how I felt about the whole college dean business. Part of me would love it—nice cushy job, being a dean. I can just see it—my name on a big, imposing, Beauty and the Beast-esque wooden door, bookshelves overflowing with goodness, and some poor grad student to run the legs off of as he/she gets my no water vanilla chai. However, it also means several things which I positively abhor, namely, 1.) Schmoozing with people I don’t like, 2.) Fundraising, which I loathe, and 3.) Organization, a trait I most definitely do not possess.

I’m glad Gracie’s not telepathic—some of my fine artistic thoughts are probably the only kind of art one finds down some godforsaken dark alley with dollar store spray paint being the medium of choice.

Anyway, make of it what you will. Gracie took the time to write about me, and I’m touched by the time she put into it…even if she is laughing at home over the whole thing. It still made me go all warm and fuzzy.

A little.

After I got over the Ms. Katy bit.