When I was 14 years old I taught VBS on an Indian reservation in Oklahoma for one week. I met this beautiful, olive-skinned, brown-eyed girl named Keelie. She was maybe five. I'm sure I havent crossed her mind since I left. Just as she didn't cross mine until today. I cried for a good hour or two when we left the reservation that day. I remember it quite clearly. I wrote letters and emailed some of them for awhile. Of course those things fade out. It took maybe three weeks to "forget" Keelie.
Today I told Wendy bye. You know, "bug in a bag girl." My girl. I know she's just a five-year-old spunky, chip on that left front tooth, chubby cheeked girl, but she was what I looked forward to every Saturday morning. Luckily for me, she never missed a class. Maybe today that's unlucky for me cause that was one more day to fall for her ridiculously adorableness. Wendy will grow up, as they all do, and as we all do, and she'll probably forget me, too. I'll never forget her, though. While I taught her for 18 months, as well as 200 or so other students, she was teaching me. Of course they all did, but Wendy sparked it. Fueled it really.
From the moment I sat down to observe her class while the teacher I was replacing still taught, I was infatuated. She was fascinated with my nose ring and just tapped it for a solid minute saying, "shenmae?" Then she had that damn bug in the bag, y'all. I thought she was the coolest kid in the world. Mostly because I saw my younger self there. I used to spend hours collecting rolly pollys, worms, caterpillars or whatever. I once cried for an hour when this girl in preschool squished my ladybug. (Yeah, I hold grudges.)
Anyway, when I found out Wendy's class was mine I was so pumped! In the beginning she gave me that Hello Kitty bracelet and it was like a pact to me. This girl was mine. No doubts. When you get that mentality a myriad of other emotions and connections associate with that.
Here's what I've learned in 18 months teaching children thanks, in large, to Wendy.
After Wendy, I was connecting with all my students. I knew their favorite colors, parents occupations, dislikes, emotional triggers, quirks, bathroom routines, hometowns and so on. The students became mine. This meant they were my responsibility!
"Wait! What? I don't even remember if I turned off the coffee pot this morning. Ah, your nose is bleeding? Put your head back. No, don't! Just put this tissue there. Are you choking? Please don't be choking! Drink this water. Why are you crying? Don't hit him! Sure you can have some of my snacks! Wait! Are you allergic to peanuts? Shit, you don't know what allergic even means. Where's your mom?"
These are just a fraction of the thoughts that have crossed my mind in the last 547 days.
I don't have kids and maybe I never will but I've got about 150 I claim. 150 I'd give my last ¥5 to for a snack. 150 I'd take a bullet for if some ass hat came in my school (which wouldn't happen here). 150 ....... You get the idea.
It's been 18 months I've been teaching and some students have come and gone, but for the most part many I've taught the entirety of my time here. And they are mine. When we talk about students in the office we say things like, 'your Lizy' or 'your Will' since many of the names are shared it helps distinguish.
Their parents send them in with a tiny backpack of hope and leave them in our hands. Point is, for one or two hours a week, they're my responsibility.
In training we're taught to be patient. Use our inside voices. Be stern, but never harsh. Don't scream. Some days, however, we've just reached our limit. We don't mean to yell or speak so loudly, we just want to be heard and quickly. We want to make our point ASAP so yelling just becomes inevitable.
It startles the children, no doubt. When they grab their ears, often followed by, "you scared me, teacher," I know I've been acknowledged.
It's been 18 months I've been teaching and some students have come and gone, but for the most part many I've taught the entirety of my time here. And they are mine. When we talk about students in the office we say things like, 'your Lizy' or 'your Will' since many of the names are shared it helps distinguish.
Their parents send them in with a tiny backpack of hope and leave them in our hands. Point is, for one or two hours a week, they're my responsibility.
In training we're taught to be patient. Use our inside voices. Be stern, but never harsh. Don't scream. Some days, however, we've just reached our limit. We don't mean to yell or speak so loudly, we just want to be heard and quickly. We want to make our point ASAP so yelling just becomes inevitable.
It startles the children, no doubt. When they grab their ears, often followed by, "you scared me, teacher," I know I've been acknowledged.
Aside from learning a bit of patience, what it is to love and what responsibility and passion are, this job has taught me why my mom and dad used to yell so damn much instead of simply saying, "please don't do that sweet daughter that we love so much."
The reason, nothing else to it, hands down, is PANIC. Like holy crap WTF is happening kind of panic!!! The sweatin' bullets kind.
Here is a somewhat translation of the actual meaning behind all the screamed and shouted commands, if you will. Mostly, because aside from the commonly used ones, I can't remember all the things I've ever shouted in panic mode. The bold is the emphasized word, here's what can or should follow but isn't always voiced.
"STOP! DONT! QUIT!"
... Running in the hallway before you collide full impact with another adult-sized human!
... Lifting the desk up and down before you smash your fingers!
... rocking back and forth in the chair before you fall off/out/over!
... Playing with scissors or you'll cut yourself or someone else.
... Swinging your backpack around like a lunatic before you hit someone else or yourself.
... Running in the halls because someone could be carrying a coffee or tea.
... Pulling on my legs cause if I fall down there is a possibility I'll lose balance and fall on you.
............
... Running in the hallway before you collide full impact with another adult-sized human!
... Lifting the desk up and down before you smash your fingers!
... rocking back and forth in the chair before you fall off/out/over!
... Playing with scissors or you'll cut yourself or someone else.
... Swinging your backpack around like a lunatic before you hit someone else or yourself.
... Running in the halls because someone could be carrying a coffee or tea.
... Pulling on my legs cause if I fall down there is a possibility I'll lose balance and fall on you.
............
I know I need to move on and that this job was not meant to be forever. Today, my boss told me, "keep making changes." I know that I'm supposed to do some majorly awesome things. What they are is beyond me, though. I just know I'm supposed to float around, touch down, make appearances here and there and move along.
I hope that if only one of my students remembers me 10 years from now then I did something here. I made an impact somehow. I know for any former teacher of mine that was their greatest hope.
Personally, I don't know how you public school teachers do it. You spend every day of an entire school year with a class of students. Then start all over the next year. I remember being in school and always going back to say hello to old teachers, I only now realize how special that feels. So, even at 25, 35, 45, whatever age, tell an old teacher thanks. There really isn't anything we want more in this life. Oh, except to see you do really amazing things like be a doctor, engineer or a lawyer. And even more so, do what you're good at, passionate about and what you want. There are never too many starving artists, struggling musicians playing in bars or writers writing hotel reviews until they get there. Because while the rest of the world around you may say, "What are you doing with your life?" The teachers will say, "I always knew you had it in you."
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| Crazy 1, 2 & 3 :) |
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| Clay |
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