Meets or Exceeds Expectations

As a teacher, I've found the word "expectations" has become one of those over-used buzzwords that has lost all meaning. Instead of rules, we have "classroom expectations." Instead of marking an amazing paper with wonderfully symmetrical A, we tick off a box that says "student exceeds expectations." A run-of-the-mill student "meets expectations," while a former F student no longer fails; instead, he "does not meet expectations."

What happened to the days when expectations were secret hopes harbored deep in my heart? In my childhood, expectations weren't the sole domain of grading rubrics and posters declaring "Students will keep hands and feet to self." They were little nuggets of unexpressed desire. Expectations were magical, whether they were small dreams like getting a good grade on a math test or almost unattainable, unimaginable joys like getting a brand new pink bicycle that could take me to the moon and back.

I miss those days of magic.

Today, I don't have time to harbor secret hopes and dreams. If I want to buy a new bicycle I'll grab my Visa and head out to the bike shop. I don't have to wait for Santa Claus or my parents to make my dreams come true. I can have instant gratification any time I want.

Somehow, this instant gratification isn't quite all it's cracked up to be. When Christmas morning arrives I know there's not going to be anything under the tree that I've been breathlessly anticipating. Anything worth breathlessly anticipating will have been purchased within a week of that first spark of want. Instead of the joy that comes from an answered prayer, I'm left with a feeling of loss. I spend my Christmas days mourning the disappearance my childhood eagerness. I wish I could find the same satisfaction in life that I was able to find when I was ten years old and the proud owner of a brand new banana seat bicycle.

The mourning is intensified by that little part of my 8-year-old soul that has managed to survive all these years. Even though I can't think of anything I could possibly want or need, I somehow hold on to the hope that there's going to be something great under the tree. I can't imagine what it will be, but as I tear into each beribboned gift, I expect to find something that will thrill me with its perfection.

Of course, that never happens. The indefinable thing that will scratch my itchy soul is so indefinable that no one can possibly deliver it. I know my husband would give it to me if he could. Every year I tell him I want something "really, really cool" and every year he delves into the depths of the Internet and does his best to find that mysterious object that will return the magic to my life, but he doesn't know where to find it any more than I do.

I'm left straddling two worlds that I don't fully understand. I have everything I want, yet I feel like something is missing. As an logical realist, I tell myself that I should be happy. I'm healthy, have the best husband on the face of the planet, have financial security and am usually satisfied with my job. It seems like my life is complete, but I would really like a flying bed, a teleportation device and a magic wand. Such things can't be found at Target.

One day I'm going to discover the secret to putting the magic back into my life. When I find that secret, I'm going to be able to tick off a box that says "life exceeds expectations."