My Suburban Village

Thursday was one of those days that lasted eighty-seven hours. I had a Common Core meeting before school, a gifted meeting after school, and then I trudged my way to graduate school. I can’t remember Tuesday. I don’t know what I ate for breakfast, or if I even ate breakfast. My contacts began to blur, because they had been in for more than twelve hours. I thought of the Fred Flintstone episode where he used toothpicks to keep his eyes open.

This is my LAST SEMESTER in graduate school. Thursday, was my first night of my research capstone class. The professor asked us to introduce ourselves. This is the first-day-of-school custom that makes me twitchy.

My professor said, “I admire each one of you for coming here to school, after working at a job that drains the energy out of you. But, if the job didn’t enchant you, you wouldn’t do it. Right? So, why are you here?”

I perked up a bit. He was saying profound things. Did he use the word enchanted to describe teaching? I had never heard that word used in that context. Enchanted was one of my vocabulary words for my gifted first graders when we did our mythology/fairy tale unit last year. It denotes a magic element.

I wondered why I was there. I was so exhausted, I think I dozed off sitting upright. My fancy pens didn’t even lift my mood.

My professor told us that he drives from St. Simons Island to teach our class. He visits his mom and brother, then goes back home for the week. He told us he knows what struggles we face as educators, and he is honored to teach us. Although I was emotionally drained, my eyes teared up, because someone validated the ten bedraggled souls sitting in that classroom.

I wondered what this degree will do for me? Will it really make me a better teacher? Am I just a tiny spec attempting to push a boulder?

I had that moment where I thought that nothing I could do would change anything in the world of education. It has been a while since I felt that my efforts were futile. I keep planning , learning, and trying, but some days my brain is filled to capacity.

I thought about my day. I thought about the writing workshop in the two first grade classes that left me and the other teachers in a sweat, but we were all so enchanted afterward. The kids wrote words! They stretched the sounds of words they didn’t know how to spell! Yah, that was kind of magical. In another class, students were vying to get into the guided reading group. Okay, that plastered a smile on my face for a while. Maybe a sprinkle of magic worked its way in.

After my research class, the torrential rain prevented everyone from leaving. I sat on the bench near the doors of the education building. Disgruntled students filtered in from every direction of dismissal. They contemplated how they were to get to their cars. They stared at the rain as if they could make it stop with their magic powers. A few exhausted ones just walked out of the door, letting the rain soak them to the core. I watched them. They didn’t run. They walked through the torrents, and conceded to the weather . Apparently, getting home was more important than driving and shivering in wet clothes.

My odd professor emerged from our classroom. He put a trash bag over his head, poked eye and mouth holes in it, and proceeded to leave.

Before he left, he turned to us and said,  “You will learn something from this old guy.”

Those few words stayed with me. Did he mean that I’ll routinely keep trash bags in my purse, or that I’ll figure something out in this stage of my teaching career? It didn’t matter. I believed him.

One of my classmates sat across from me, and gave me a huge smile.

She said, “I’ve been in class with you for a year now. Every time I hear you talk about teaching, I always think how much you could do for our school.”

“Really?”

I couldn’t believe that anything I rambled about in school would have any impact on anyone. I’m not having a pity party, really, I’m not. It is just that some days, we are all pushing against the current. This week, the current took me with it.

Isn’t it true that circumstances put us in places to re-evaluate our skewed perspectives? The rain Thursday night made it so that we had to acknowledge one another. We had to slow down. We had to stop the incessant treadmill of the day. We weren’t teachers. We weren’t students. We weren’t parents. We were exactly the same in that moment. We were waiting for the rain to let up, to get closer to home, to our cozy beds-to sleep.

When the rain did dissipate, during the drive home, I realized that I wouldn’t be in school if it weren’t for my village. Four of my friends helped me work through a complicated schedule to make sure that my ten-year old was taken care of. I was so grateful for my suburban village, that no more appreciation could be compacted into that tiny moment. Thank you Katey, Jennifer, Kate, and Jay.

Friday rustled me awake with its steely gaze and 5:30 alarm screech.

Car duty. Get up. You get to wear jeans. Get up. Coffee. Car duty.

When I got to school, I saw a mass of tired teachers. They smiled. They hugged small people. They read books to their classes. They planned for the next week.

There is nothing more inspiring than to see the school village at work, after your personal village has saved you.

Here is to a little awareness to awaken a tired spirit.

K

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