From kindergarten through the fifth grade, I always gave my teachers apples on the first day of school. It was my desperate attempt as a first generation American to fit in. But the waxy, hormone laden Frankenfruits I gifted condemned me as the perennial classroom "L"oser. I was forever cursed to be uncool. True to my social outcast legacy, I couldn't cut it as a high powered attorney rubbing elbows with the corporate elite, and I couldn't cut it as a genius pastry chef tantalizing high brow palates. I always fell short. People just didn't get me, and wrote me off as a non-entity. To them, I was this odd square peg that could not be squished into a round hole. Dogs, however, do get me and fully embrace my quirks and rough edges. I'm enjoying a career comeback of sorts as a Canine College volunteer at the local Humane Society. I work with a select group of shelter dogs, helping them acquire the basic life skills and rudimentary language proficiency they need to successfully acculturate with humans. "Canine Life Coach" or "ESL for Canines Instructor." Whatever you call it, I am simply a teacher. Instead of bringing me apples, my students leave me fresh kill as a small token of their appreciation. There is no higher compliment.
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