Junk Mail

I get an e-mail almost every day in my spam folder admonishing me to be a teacher.

"be a teacher, Ann" it says.

I laugh a little every day.

I was a teacher.

I am a teacher.

Duh!

Silly spam.

A couple of weeks ago, after attending 2 days of staff meetings a coworker helped me carry some stuff to the car and we had a conversation about how we had to leave the classroom to become better teachers.

Pretty regularly these days I have flashbacks. Good ones, to when I was in the classroom every day, teaching to my hearts content. Using up more energy than I thought I had (at the time) and drinking more cokes and eating more ritz crackers than one should consume in a day. I remember counting my steps walking to and from the office and always looking down in the halls, because that's what I did when I was in school. I think about parent teacher conferences, kids I liked, kids I didn't, my wall of quotes, the year my entire room was decorated with American flags, and loving history. Loving every minute of teaching my curriculum - of teaching kids to think for themselves, and be able to back up their opinions with evidence and thought.

The other day, I was even thinking about if I could have been pregnant and teach at the same time. I don't think that I could have. It may have killed me, or, like with everything else, I probably would have just done it. Showed up every day and done my thing.

There is a new high school being built by my house. The thought of teaching in a new school is so appealing to me. I would be so good now. I left the classroom five years ago this coming March, and in the last five years I have learned so much about theory, and technology, and how to engage kids, that a prospective classroom of mine could absolutely come alive with energy and enthusiasm and a love of learning.

But, alas.

There is a lot holding back that thought as well. The time necessary to dedicate to good teaching. The low pay, the crowded classrooms, the goober kids. My intense desire to be home with my kids, and not send them to a sitter all day long.

And then I had another though. I still am a teacher. Always have been and always will be. It's the only thing I really know how to do. The only thing I've ever really been good at. Whether it's teaching a class in church, or teaching my boys how to shoot free throws or read books, or answering that blasted, "Why, mom?" every ten seconds, or helping my dad with his computer homework, I'm still a teacher. Every single day.

As I was approaching my last year of college, ages ago, my mom's advice to "graduate with a marketable skill" was hovering over my head. I'd been ignoring her for years and then in a gut-wrenching panic - I realized she was right. I needed a skill.

Then 5 semesters at 19-21 hours a piece later, plus two jobs, plus student teaching I had that marketable skill and credentials and I've never looked back. A teacher in my department once asked me after a class change day where my line was longer than everyone elses, why kids wanted to be in my class so bad. My snarky reply, "Because I wear tight sweaters", was meant as a joke. I figured it was pretty obvious why kids wanted to be in my class. Because we had fun learning. But, maybe it was because of the tight sweaters. I'll never know.

One day, I see myself getting back into a classroom somewhere. If I'm that lucky. And I hope that the kids "stuck" in the desks in my room will feel lucky too.