Just Call Me Grandma

As an elementary music teacher, who sees almost 500 students a year, I've been compared to several cartoon characters and celebrities. 

 

But the 2024-25 school year was the first time I was ever compared to a grandma.

 

To be fair, I probably am older than some of these kids' grandparents, and I do have a few children of former students that I call my "grand-students." 

 

One day, my first grade class kept saying things like, “You look good today, Mrs. Duggan.” 

 

"I really like your shirt." 

 

"Me too." 

 

"That's a nice shirt." 

 

When this particular class was over, they lined up at my door, and one of the students said, “My grandma has that shirt.” 

 

Another student chimed in, “Yeah, I think my grandma does too.” 

 

 

That evening, I was at a rehearsal, and one of my (adult) friends commented that he liked my blouse.

 

"Thanks for not saying your grandma has one too," I said.

 

A couple of days later, I was running my air purifier because it was spring, and kids track in all kinds of allergens from recess. 

 

Also, they bring me dandelions All. Day. Long. 

 

“My grandmother has one of those,” one of my second graders said, pointing to my air purifier, and then he placed a bunch of dandelions on my desk.

 

My students don't always compare me to their grandmothers. Sometimes they sound like the grandparents.

 

When I jog with the kids’ running club, they complain constantly. 

 

It’s like, "I’m 48 years old, and I’m kicking your ass right now." (I don't phrase it that way exactly.)

"My back hurts," a third grader whined in class one afternoon.
 

"You sound like you're 65," I told him.

 

"You’re not 65," another boy said, winning me over completely. "You’re like 35."

 
"Well, thank you."

"You’re not tall enough to be 65." 
 

At one point during the school year, we had posted childhood pictures on a bulletin board, and the students were supposed to match the teacher to the picture.

 

One of my sixth graders saw my picture and guessed who I was right away. Apparently, I'm still somewhat recognizable in my old age.

 

"You still have the same hair," he said. 

In all honesty, I have aged quite a bit since COVID. 

 

But, man, I've earned these wrinkles!

 

And nobody, not even Botox, is going to take that away from me.

 

 

For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" Rebecca Turner-Duggan.

Yet Another Birthday Goes By

I had a birthday a couple of weeks ago. It seems like I have one every year now, and it seems like my birthdays are closer together than they used to be.

 

 

This year, I turned forty-eight, which means I can't get away with calling myself mid-forties anymore. That ship sailed at forty-seven. 

 

I spent my actual birthday at the theater (of course), running projections for MTI's production of The Prince of Egypt.

 

 

 

That morning, I went on my first summer break trail run. 

 

On a side note, a woman in her sixties was running (not walking) the trails, and I thought, "Oh good! I have a few years left in me."

 

Then I stopped at Starbucks for a free birthday drink. 

  

 

 

After I returned from the theater that evening, my husband, Dan, surprised me with a strawberry cake. 

 

I had been telling him for several years about my Aunt Alice's strawberry cake recipe, and how my mother would often make it, at my request, for my birthday. 

 

Dan's version was a from a box. Honestly, if I baked one for myself it would be from a box too. 

 

As far as gifts go, I received a mini greenhouse for my house plants. Now I don't have to use the kitchen table for all of my plants. (I can't guarantee that the kitchen table is completely cleared though. I have A LOT of house plants.)

 

 

 

I also got a new Weezer shirt. For those of you who don't know me at all, I'm a ride-or-die Weezer fan! 

 

 

Another fun fact, I have been working on my Sally O'Malley impression since I turned forty.

 

"Are you going to do this for the next ten years?" Dan asked, as I "kicked and stretched" through the first year of my forties. 

 

"Um, yeah. It's the reason I'm looking forward to my fifties!"

 

Guess what? Only two more years . . .  

 

 

For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" Rebecca Turner-Duggan.

Can I Get a Booster?

I can’t see over the piano in my classroom. It's a studio upright. The fact that I can't see over the piano also means I can't see kids messing around. Until last year, I solved this issue by sitting on textbooks. 

(Don't tell anyone, but I have also been known to stand on these textbooks, on a chair, to reach my top shelves. I should probably just ask for a ladder.)

 

 

 

By my calculations, my school piano is around forty years old, but it's in pretty good shape, considering it's only eight years younger than I am. 

 

The piano tuner did tell me once that he had found dried up liquid dumped inside the top. 

 

"It looked like blood," he said. "It could have been coffee." 

 

"Weird. That must have been before my time," I said. 

 

I have no recollection of spilling blood or coffee inside the piano. 

 

This year, with ten years left until retirement, I decided to forgo the textbooks and buy a booster seat. 

 

My booster seat is similar to those cushions they have available at Broadway touring performances since auditorium seats are not made the five-foot-two and under crowd.

 

 

 

After using my cushion for a couple of days, realizing the kids couldn't fully see my death glare, I decided I could use a higher booster, and I bought a second one. 

 

"You bought a second booster seat?" my husband, Dan, asked.

 

"Shut up." 

 

When the kids figured out I sat on cushions, they asked to see what I look like behind piano without them.

 

I showed them.

 

"WHOA!" they exclaimed in unison.

 

Mrs. Duggan, sitting on two booster seats, looking over her classroom piano

One afternoon, my supervisor told me they are looking into replacing the school district pianos. It's a five-year plan, so it may be a while. 

 

"Will I be able to see over it?" 

 

I sat on the booster-less piano bench to demonstrate what I meant. He laughed as my head disappeared behind the upper panel.

 

"That sounds like a you problem!"

 

I guess the answer is "no."  

 

For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" Rebecca Turner-Duggan.