Robert Frost

 

(The Road Not Taken is frequently misunderstood.)

Yesterday, I read the The Road Not Taken with my middle school class. I explained that Frost’s work is frequently used in American Christmas Cards. However, the businessmen and the housewives often misinterpret the poem. They think it’s about being special and strong, but nothing could be further from the truth.

A girl raised her hand. “So what’s the writer trying to say?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “I’m no expert. Yet since you’re holding a gun against my head, let me put in my two cents. Fatalism and the futility of regret seem to be the true message.”

“That’s not correct. I’ve studied this poem in another school, and my teacher said that the path you take makes all the difference in the world.”

“Well, I’m afraid that she was full of crap.”

She looked at me with surprise. “You really shouldn’t use a word like crap. You’re being unprofessional.”

I nodded. “You’re probably right. Let me change it to garbage.” I paused for dramatic effect. “Frost paints a picture of both the roads at the beginning of his poem. They are exactly the same. There’s not a bit of difference between each path.”

“Well, that’s not the way it was explained to me.”

I suddenly had a huge coughing fit. “Ugh! Ugh! Ugh! Ugh! Ugh! Ugh! Ugh! Ugh!”

“Are you OK?”

I shook my head. “No. In fact, I think I’m dying. Will you come to my funeral even though I’m unprofessional?”

Everybody laughed.

In all honesty, I have a doozy of a cold. Yet I’m afraid to check myself for Covid. If I pop positive, then I’ll be forced to take a few days off for bedrest. This might sound like a nice break, but a stack of missed work will be awaiting me upon my return. No thank you. It’s better just to grin and bear it.

And let me tell you assholes something else. When I first started teaching, I was a real douchebag. I used to send kids to the office at the drop of a hat. Discipline was a huge thing to me. However, I’ve since changed my evil ways now that I’m a geezer. I’ve been transformed into a needy grandfather who is desperate for human kindness. Consequently, I haven’t written an office referral or given a detention in years. I’m all about the love.

I got home at 6 p.m. and sat on the sofa. I took some medicine, but it didn’t seem to have any effect. So I got up and made dinner. I prepared fried rice and eggs. The meal tasted pretty damn good. I’d rather feast on steak and lobster. Yet the life of luxury doesn’t appear to be in the cards. I guess it’s not my destiny.

Later that night, I watched a documentary on Netflix about Murdaugh murders in South Carolina. The show has six parts, and it’s quite excellent. Nobody beats Netflix when it comes to true crime.

I eventually walked to my room at 9 p.m. and enjoyed a quick wank. After getting my jollies, I slept like a baby. Unfortunately, the alarm sounded at 5 a.m., and I had another huge coughing fit. I blew my nose about five hundred times and spit some snot into the toilet. I started thinking that I might have pneumonia, but I don’t have a fever. So I guess I’ll live. Good for me.

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