The Good Fight

So, I haven't been around for awhile. Mostly that's because I gave up social media for Lent, but also because I've had nothing good to write about. I mean, there are things to write about, but they're actually all horrible and depressing.

Yeah, they're all about work.

This post is also about work...kind of.

Yesterday I had to run an errand for my mom before I went over to see her, which is no big deal. She lives in a small town and I live in a slightly bigger one that has more than just a Walmart, so she needed me to pick something up.The cute little store that I went to just happened to be owned by my former second grade teacher.

I walked in feeling nervous and looking like crap (it was haircut day) and saw her immediately. Now, some of you might think this is weird, but then you obviously don't know how deep my love of learning goes.

There are so many things I loved about my elementary school teachers. Mrs. Johnston, my kindergarten teacher used to play Phil Collins during naptime. Mrs. Beckham had the sweetest voice and was never mad at me, even when I worked ahead on my paper because I thought I knew what I was doing. (I didn't.) Mrs. Reddish, my second grade teacher, always encouraged me to be my weird, little, seven-year-old self. Mrs. Holler didn't really holler. Seriously, I could go on forever. Even up to high school when Mrs. Garcia let me hide in her podium (sorry!) and Mr. Gibson helped foster my love for reading and writing.

The conversation I had with Mrs. Reddish (I will never be able to call a teacher by their first name) was very brief, but I left that store feeling a little emotional. How can you not love the teacher who let you be yourself and read you Charlotte's Web for the first time? I loved second grade so much!

And now here I am twenty-five (OMG) years later and I am in her position. This is terrifying. I sent a couple of text messages after I left the store to two of my BFFs that read like this:

I love my job. You will probably get tired of me saying that, but I will always say it. I love my job, I love my school, I love my kids. 

This job is hard. This job does not get easier. You just get better at handling it. This week I've heard my colleagues moaning and groaning over a lot of things and, trust me, I've been doing it too. We have four days left until spring break. We start testing our younger grades next week. It's so much pressure and stress that we all feel like we're about to lose it. 

I've been dealing with some behavior issues in my class that have left me feeling incredibly worn and even a little bit lost. I'm lucky enough to work in place where I can vent with my team and go to my administration for advice without judgement. 

It's after I've done those things that I realize it isn't about ME. Yeah, I want my kids to love me like I loved Mrs. Reddish, but I have to show them that I love them if that's what I want. I know there are things they are going to remember about me, but what I really, really want them to remember is that I made them feel safe and I made them feel loved. 

Things they will actually remember: 

Miss Veale loves...

coffee.

Captain America.

pizza.

Harry Potter.

running.

If they remember those things then hopefully it will trigger some memory in them of some distant conversation they had with me. I hope they remembered that I smiled at them or hugged them or we argued whether or not Captain America could beat the Hulk. (We have some weird conversations in my class, okay?)

My elementary teachers and those select few from my older years will always be remembered because they made me feel those things: I could be me, I could learn, I was loved. 

To me, that's what teaching is all about. Sometimes I fail, but sometimes I get it right. 

Every Friday I give out a Star Student poster to a kid who has had great behavior. I alternate between boys and girls, so this week I had to pick a girl and there were three left on my list that haven't had it yet. Of course, the two that probably deserved it were absent and the third choice is the kid who I've been battling with for the past two months. 

Anyway, I give her the folder. She lights up. 

She says, "How come you're giving this to me?"

I tell her, "I don't know, it's just because I love you." 

She seemed satisfied with that answer as we left to go to dismissal, but when we got back to the room she hugged me, looked up at me and said "Why do you love me?" 

Why do I love you?

Because I do.

Do I always like you?

Oh, hell no. 

Do I want you to succeed? 

More than you know. 

Will I continue to expect only the best from you?

You bet. 

Is it going to be easy?

Nope.

Can we do it?

We have to try. 

Happy Sunday.