Wally and The Beav

Growing up I heard many stories about the adventures my Dad and his younger brother had as boys growing up in Des Moines, Iowa, such as the time they were playing on a trestle train bridge that spanned the river. They were in the middle of the bridge when they realized a train was coming and that the only thing they could do was to climb down and hang on to the trestles as the train rumbled over them. Once they caught a giant snapping turtle at Brooksie’s Lake and brought it home in the basket of my Dad’s bike. Grandma made them get rid of it. They would torment their older sister with garter snakes, once releasing a dozen of them near where she had to hang up the laundry. More than once Dad told the story about how they’d threw rocks at the bums by the river and once one of the men came after them with a knife. I’m not sure how embellished these tales were regardless they were full of mischief and one wonders how those two ever survived to adulthood.

My Uncle’s health hasn’t been good for many years but he always seemed to bounce back from whatever recent setback he had. I do not exaggerate when I say that it seemed like he had nine lives. We were relieved every time he bounced back.

The last two years were incredibly crappy for our clan. We lost my Dad to complications arising from his PSP and Lewy Body Dementia in March. My Uncle had made a miraculous recovery from his most recent health scare and was able to visit my Dad before the end, however shortly after my Dad’s funeral my Uncle health worsened and he could not recover from this most recent bout. He passed away this Friday.

I am sure that there are many, many stories of the adventures of “Wally and The Beav” that we will never know, but it is a comfort knowing that they are together now and probably up to no good.

Back in Time

I’m rewarding myself this upcoming weekend with a road trip with my oldest friend back to the place we went to college. It’s been a trying last couple of years and I deserve this time away to focus on my own happiness. Selfish maybe?

We’ve made some tentative plans with a friend who still live in the area. Other plans may develop, or not. I plan on an early morning walk around campus and see what’s changed. I haven’t been back on campus since the year after I graduated 20 odd years ago and I’d like to see if I can find my old dorm. I think it’d be a trip to visit the painting lab. Maybe we’ll have breakfast at Mike’s Cafe or some late night cheese balls at Perkins. I’d even drive out to Trailways if it was still open.

Also, the agenda is some Chicken Connection. I don’t know how long this place has been around and if I had to guess I’d say its near forever. Its a simple place that serves basic fried chicken with a side of broasted potatoes with the most delicious sour cream/onion dip. I’m drooling just thinking about it. Simple, inexpensive but tasty college fare. I still dream about those broasted potatoes.

Later on our way back we’re planning to stop and visit other college friends (one of my closest friends and her husband) at their home for dinner. It’s been too long since I’ve seen those two beloved people. I hope to stay better connected with them and all the others who mean so much to me.

It will be a good weekend, no matter what’s accomplished.

Return to Sender

I’ve been away for the past couple weeks, finishing up school business and taking a much needed getaway to my niece’s high school graduation. With all that happened with my Dad’s illness and eventual passing in March my family needed something to celebrate. It was a busy time planning and getting ready for her Grad Party, East Coast style. No garage parties out there, that’s for sure! I’ve lived in the Midwest my whole life and I still cannot grasp why people through parties in dirty garages. I digress, my fancy party planning ideas aren’t what I want to talk about.

It was good to get away, be around family and partake in life’s fun like shop and take my daughter the highlights of the various Smithsonian museums on the Mall in D.C. The weather was so un-Virginia in June. Next to no humidity and cool. Even things like airplanes and airports went completely smooth and unexciting. As good as it was I was looking forward to my home, my own bed and my own space.

I arrive home, shuffle through the mail that arrived while I was away. Mostly junk mail and bills, a few thank you notes from my students and other graduates. Two red envelopes with Return to Sender stamped on them caught my eye. “Odd”, I think, I don’t remember sending out any envelopes of that color recently. I mean, Christmas, yeah. I picked them up to inspect them. They were addressed to the nursing home my Dad was living in, sent by me and my daughter. His Christmas cards, that apparently never arrived. I felt like I just got punched in the gut and overwhelmingly sad that he never got the stupid cards or the drawing my daughter made for him.

They are still sitting on my kitchen table. Unopened. I don’t know what to do with them. I can’t bring myself to open them. I certainly don’t want to keep them, I think, but it seems almost sacrilegious or somehow betraying my Dad if I throw them away. I really don’t know what to do with them. I could save them and hide them away, but then, I’ll come across them again someday and feel like complete shit again.

Ugh. Why couldn’t you have failed completely on this particular mission United States Postal Service? Then at least I’d never have to think about Christmas greetings that missed the mark.

Home

Home /hōm/ noun

the place where one lives permanently, especially as a member of a family or household.

I lived in six different places growing up. My family would relocate because of my Dad’s work. As a result the word “home” doesn’t represent a specific wooden or brick building filled with artifacts and memories of my growing up. Instead, home to me is simply the place where my family is at.

This past March my Dad passed away from a long illness. We had talked about burying him in the town my parent’s currently resided in. Even though my folks had lived there for 30 years the connections and ties to the town are few. It is possible that my Mom and youngest sister, who lived with my parents, will eventually move from town to places undecided. Burying Dad there, just didn’t seem right.

My Great-Grandfather Dr. George Allen “Dec Bebe” take around the time he graduated from the University of Iowa

For years we’ve known that there was an extra plot at the cemetery where my Grandparents and Great-Grandparents are buried. Decades ago my Great-Grandfather, “Doc Bebe”, had purchased a family plot at the local cemetery. I never knew my Great-Grandfather as he died while my mother was quite young herself, but I had heard many stories about him and I had already been a beneficiary of his foresight and generosity. Doc was a general practitioner of medicine in this small town in Iowa. He delivered babies, saved lives and even helped those less fortunate through the Great Depression. He and his wife built a lovely home there, in which my own grandparents moved into later in life. I have so many memories of the house and a connection to the town.

My Grandma, my great-grandparent’s only child, married my Grandpa who she met at the hospital where she was a nurse and he the patient. For reasons I won’t get into here, my Grandpa was an alcoholic with an abusive mean streak. (I have no memories of my Grandpa like this as he stopped drinking when I was 2). I think my Great-Grandfather always felt like he had to look out for my Grandma, my mom and uncles. After my Grandma passed away we were discovered previously unknown bank accounts in my Grandma’s name. With the money from the inheritance, Mom was able to pay for my two sisters and my college educations.

We thought that extra plot was the final gift from my Great-Grandfather, one last way of taking care of his family. We did some research and discovered that when Mom’s time came, she too could be buried in the same plot as my Dad, if they were both cremated. It seemed perfect. Then, after my Dad passed my Uncle was speaking with the cemetery caretaker about the burial we had some unexpected but not unwelcome news. Not only was there an extra plot, but there were 8 more plots! This man, my Great-Grandfather, who I never met, was still looking out for his family. It wasn’t long before my other sister and her husband announced that they too would be buried in these extra plots.

The day of my Dad’s burial arrived we drove down to that small little town in Iowa that I hadn’t been to for such a long time, yet it still was familiar. There is a new Casey’s gas station, but the same grocery store, no longer named Ernie’s, was still there, looking much the same. The stately Victorian houses that lined the streets for as long as I can remember still stood proud and beckoning of another time. I’m pretty sure that the drug store with the authentic soda fountain from the 50’s that my sisters and I would frequent when we stayed at Grandma and Grandpa’s house. I half expected some stranger to come up to me and ask if I were Ned’s granddaughter, as they used to. We even saw the old house, looking very blue and a bit worse for wear, but it still was there.

The cemetery was oddly welcoming. It was a sunny, but very chilly day. From the memory of my grandparents’ funerals, the cemetery was surrounded by corn fields, lonely and desolate. Generally I find cemeteries creepy, but today, though it was surrounded by new homes, peaceful. But this, surrounded by my family that have always loved me, both living and those who had gone before I felt at home. I felt a connection to a this place. While I don’t often think of my death or what will come after, I did, at that moment feel that this was where I should be when my it is my time. It felt like home.

My Great-Grandparents, Grandparents, Mom and her brothers

The Misadventures of a Dyslexic

“You shouldn’t worry about college for your daughter,” Mrs. Fullmer, my first grade teacher commented to my Mom. “She’s probably not going to graduate from high school because she’s never going to learn to read.” Mrs. Fullmer didn’t say what she said to be mean or cruel, but it was what she perceived to be the truth. She was concerned about me and my future, and students with the issues I was presenting didn’t succeed in her experience. Mom didn’t tell me what my teacher said about me until many years later, yet even back then I knew I was struggling to keep up with my peers. I couldn’t read, the letters kept flipping around, b’s were d’s and what direction did “L” go again? I was frickin’ stupid, I thought.

I’ve decided to write about my experience with learning disabilities because my journey is worth sharing. Despite all the set backs and road blocks I’ve become a fairly successful adult. I can read, I graduated from high school AND college (4 times to be exact). As I teacher I have not shied away from sharing my story with students and parents who’ve needed to hear it, and while I’ve never made a secret of it, I don’t think I’ve actually shared with very many people. Probably because there are so many misconceptions about learning disabilities and I didn’t want to deal with them.

As a student that was struggling in school I was tested by the school to see if I would qualify for special ed. It can be a long process. Eventually I qualified in 3rd grade. I was diagnosed with dyslexia, obviously, dysgraphia and dyscalculia. All types of specific learning disabilities. So what are specific learning disabilities? It is a condition where the brain has difficulties comprehending or processing information. In short, the the does not “learn” in a typical manner, just differently. There are many more kinds of learning disabilities than the ones that I was diagnosed. Most people are aware of what dyslexia is as it is quite common. Letters, words and even numbers can be reversed, flipped or jumbled. Dyscalculia concerns math and the difficulties learning and/or comprehending mathematical concepts. Less well known is dysgraphia which affects a person’s writing. It can cause difficulties with poor handwriting, spelling and trouble putting thoughts to paper. For me, it was spelling and poor handwriting, which to this day is awful, but is much improved from what it used to be.

I received services through 9th grade. Usually the the subjects that I struggled in where replaced, meaning I would go to the special ed room and have lessons separate from my classmates. I worked with students who were at my academic level, not grade level. It was comfortable and I didn’t feel as stupid as felt in the general classroom. Testing would happen every couple years or so to see if I still qualified. I was tested at the beginning on 7th grade and my reading level was at a 4th grade level. There was an issue where my IEP (Individualized Educational Plan) was not complied, so I had to be retested again, 6 months later. My reading level had jumped up to college level. This was amazing! What happened?

It could have been any number of things. Or maybe all of them. My mom has always said that I’m one of the most resilient and courageous people she has ever known. Not much keeps me down. Also, I wanted to read. Badly. My life’s goal at the age of 9 was to read all of the Black Stallion books by Walter Farley. (Which I did achieve 4 years later). Mom took us to the public library weekly. She talked to the Children’s Liberian, who spent countless hours helping me find books. I had some wonderful teachers who believed in me and taught me that I could do anything I wanted. Mrs. Knoll, Mrs. Hennessey and Mrs. Brown taught me the skills and tools I needed to work around my non-typical brain. I had weekly therapy appointments at Easter Seals. There was a theory that my learning difficulties were connected to my inner ear. You see, I never, ever got dizzy, until one day during my therapy I got so dizzy I felt like I was going to puke.

I was phased out of special ed at the end of 9th grade. I probably didn’t need it anymore, but the particular school district we lived in at the time did not do me any favors by pushing me out of the program at that time. In 9th grade my classmates had all learned Algebra. I had not. The high school (10th-12th grades) did not offer Algebra, so I there I was with no way to advance in math. I did well enough in high school, took some college prep classes despite school counselors thinking I wasn’t capable. However, the lack of math would come back to haunt me.

While I knew from a young age that I was going to be an artist, the idea of being a teacher did not occur to me until I was a senior in high school. Even then, I didn’t pursue a teaching degree until my 2nd BA degree. In my state in order to become a teacher you had to pass a test called the PPST. The PPST had thee sections: writing, reading and math. I wasn’t worried about the reading or writing aspects of the test, but the math portion included Algebra, which as you recall I didn’t have any knowledge of. So back to the community college I went for a quarter, took a watercolor class for fun and audited an introductory Algebra class. Initially I was a bit afraid of the class, hence the audit instead of taking it for a grade, but I shouldn’t have been worried. I actually loved it. It was like solving little logic puzzles. Who knew algebra would be fun? My professor did keep track of my grade and I would have received an A. I passed the PPST the first time. Yay me! I still wonder though, if my old school district had given me the chance to continue on in math, what else might I have achieved?

Throughout my years as a teacher I have run across students who have had similar academic struggles. I’ve shared and encouraged when appropriate with my students and their parents. I feel that I have a very unique perspective that can help them. Many have also gone on and achieved their goals in becoming successful, happy people. I can only hope I helped.

Random Silliness: 25 Things About Me

Remember how on Facebook how your friends would post Notes (remember that feature?) and make lists on topics such as 50 concerts you’ve been too, how many states you’ve been too or my personal favorite If You’ve Read More Than 6 Books, You’re Like So Super Smart! I wrote my fair share back in the day but I ran across one I never finished in an old journal. So I thought, eh, why not finish it? So here are 25 Random Facts About Me. (I have a bad feeling that this might get all long and wordy and probably not all that exciting. Apologies, I guess.)

1 . I love filling out forms. Like seriously, filling in the blanks is so satisfying.

2. My first album was Sonny and Cher Live! that I got for my 3rd birthday from my family. The first album I bought for myself was Olivia Newton John’s Greatest Hits, though my first 45rpm was Rick Springfield’s Don’t Talk to Strangers. In 6th grade I bought my first rock album, Quiet Riot’s Mental Health. I guess it was all uphill (or downhill) from there.

3. I have swinophobia. Yes, I am terrified of pigs. My heart races, and I panic if I come face to face with one. I think it’s such a stupidly weird phobia to have and I laugh about it, but the fear is real.

4. I never went to my High School Prom or any of the reunions.

5. I have 12,445 songs in my music library, but this does not include anything on vinyl. My taste in music is pretty eclectic but most of my music is from various rock genres, the blues and folk music.

6. The smell of olives makes me nauseous.

7. I have dyslexia (and a few other specific learning disabilities). It’s not something that bothers me any longer but when I was younger it was very bad. So bad in fact that my 1st grade teacher told my Mom not to worry about college for me because it was likely I’d never learn to read well enough to even graduate high school. (Nice, huh?) Well I did graduate high school, and I have two BA degrees as well as a Master’s degree. I can read just fine, probably better than most people. Maybe I sound like an egotistical jerk-face right now, but you know what? I worked very hard to overcome my obstacles so a little bragging isn’t amiss. I do feel that my struggles has given me an unique perspective that benefit my students.

8. I absolutely hate being told that I can’t do something. Example: My high school counselor said that I wouldn’t do well in a certain class that I wanted to take, because “you know, that’s a college prep class”. Oh really lady? “And where to you think I’m going?” I replied full of indigent anger. I took the class anyway and I got a great grade.

9. I absolutely hate a dirty bathroom. The rest of the house might be a total wreck but my potty room is squeaky clean.

10. I once sat front row center for a Weird Al Yankovic concert. I purchased the ticket the day of the show too. Also, I could have met Al just before the show. It’s actually an amusing story.

11. I go to a lot of events alone. Movies, concerts, etc. It didn’t used to be that way and I’m not really sure why its that way now but it really doesn’t bother me all that much. I guess I don’t have to share my popcorn.

12. The song Wildfire still makes me cry.

13. I remember making the decision to be an artist when I was in 3rd grade. However I really got into computer programing in high school and I almost went in that direction.

14. Pain medication doesn’t work on me like normal people. (Think Novocain, epidurals). Found that out when I went in for the c-section I needed when my daughter was born. That was so much fun! Yay me!

15. I love the smell of vinegar.

16. The first time I saw Star Wars I was 6. My folks took us girls to see it in the drive-in theater. I thought it was the greatest thing ever and I’ve been a fan ever since. I have just about every action figure released from the 90’s through the early 2000’s, though none of my vintage figures survived childhood.

17. I find abandoned buildings interesting. In particular urban spaces, like malls. There are some really good people who explore these “dead” malls and post them on YouTube: Retail Archeology and This is Dan Bell being my favorites. I kind of doubt that I would go exploring any of these abandoned malls myself but I could watch these guys for hours.

18. I once broke my hand in a mosh pit. Ok, so it was only a hairline fracture near the palm of my hand, but still!

19. I’ve only had two speeding tickets in my life, and one of them was a warning (so that doesn’t count, right?). I’ve only been in one accident. My Caravelle was totaled.

20. As a kid my Mom took us to meet Darth Vader at a local store (from my understanding it was David Prowse dressed up in costume). He was escorted into area by 4 stormtroopers and lots of security of the human sort. I remember being scared, thinking he was going to force choke me. I was 6.

21. I’ve lived in a lot of places. My folks moved us 4 times growing up. (It wasn’t any fun because being the new kid sucks). (Waukee, IA to Sioux City, Iowa to Worthington, MN to St. Joesph, MO to Austin, MN.) I’ve moved several times on my own as an adult for jobs (Henderson, MN, Caledonia, MN, and Mankato, MN). If we include the times I moved away for college we’d add two more towns for that. That makes 10 places I’ve lived. Sometimes I wonder if I’d not have been so insecure and shy if we hadn’t have moved so much growing up.

22. I’m superstitious, as in I believe in ghosts, spirits or whatever you want to call them. I’ve seen and experienced too many things in my grandparents house that really have no realistic explanation.

23. Can’t watch horror movies. Why? See #22.

24. I like video games, but I’m not very good at them. The exception being MMORPGs (Massive Multiplayer Online Role Playing Games), such as Everquest and WOW. On Everquest I played a high level wood elf druid and a dark elf necromancer. I feel like the best days for these kind of games is over and its been many years since I played one, however I miss playing them.

25. My favorite painting is Large Blue Horses by Franz Marc. My favorite artist is probably Vincent Van Gogh. He achieved so much in so little time and while he received almost zero recognition when he was alive he kept pushing on.

So there are 25 possibly random things about me. Kudos for you to making it to the end of this silly list.

Heaven?

I was watching an episode of Supernatural where Sam and Dean were killed and were sent to Heaven. In this episode Heaven was a place where everyone had their own personal “universe” were they relived their happiest moments. So this got me to thinking about what my Heaven would be like, if Heaven were as Sam and Dean experienced. **Disclaimer: This post really isn’t about what the Afterlife is or isn’t, whether it exists or not.

One of my first thoughts was of Big Pine Lake. My family and I first started going up there when I was in 3rd grade. We continued to go up there well into my 20s. Nothing on this earth has ever been as relaxing as fishing for walleye out in my Dad’s boat. The sun warming my head and the gentle rocking of the boat always brought me true peace. My Dad was never a man of many words, but this, this was our thing. As a kid I used to walk the trails with the resort’s dog, Buster, spend my quarters on video games that I was never any good at and see how high I could swing. When I was older a childhood friend and I would often take off in the row boat for hours fishing for sunnies and bass in “the corner”. I’d spend my quarters on video games I still wasn’t any good at and I would see how high I could swing.
Then there are the moments I had with my sisters. My sisters and I have always been extremely close. I think that had a lot to do with how often we moved as kids. We were like each other’s built-in friends, because being the new kid sucks. Some of my happy memories surrounding my sisters involve that big hill at our house in Sioux City. We used to tear down that hill on our sleds each winter, like supersonic maniacs. There were the times we would ride up to Big Pine in the back of Dad’s truck. Man, that thing was decked out! Dad had built two large benches that served as beds and there was a table. For hours we would play Mad Libs or read Choose Your Own Adventure books. We’d sing obnoxiously loud. Looking back it was totally unsafe, but it was totally fun.
I pretty much hated the entirety of High School. It seemed like my own personal Hell with the kind of bullying that you see on After School Specials. Being introverted and shy like I was back then certainly didn’t help matters. I did have some close friends and we would spend Friday nights cruising down Oxford and around the lake talking about boys and listening to 80s Hair Metal. Those were good times.
While I would never want to revisit high school, my college years were much different. I could probably choose any number of places and events during those years, but one place stands out above all. There was this little house out in the country that a friend owned. While I was almost always exhausted from a lack of sleep my time there was one of the most memorable and happiest times of my life. Some of my most profound friendships “live” in my memory there. Playing pool, watching movies, playing video games I wasn’t always so good at, sitting on the hood of a car holding hands, secret confessions, lessons learned and late night (or was it early morning?) runs to for food. While we’ve all gone different directions in life, I am forever grateful I had these people in my life.
The night at Happy Chef a dear friend sang the lines “She don’t got a lot to say, but there’s something about her” from The Little Mermaid’s Kiss the Girl to me. This moment was nothing of the romantic sort, but it’s one I never want to forget. He was feeling down due to a girl and needed cheering up. Much fun and hilarity was had that night and I think I laughed so hard that my stomach muscles ached the next day.
Wrigley Field. Because baseball.
There was this one Halloween were two of my girl friends and I dressed up and went out dancing while the guys we were with hung out at the bar. After we decided to go back and build a bonfire in the cow pasture which was empty except for the cow leavings. We spent our time singing songs, speaking Lakota, talking of owls, the aurora borealis and I dreamt of possibilities that I had never thought of before. I remember wishing this night would never end.
One memorable place would have to be a Caroline’s Spine (Mad Verb, MWK, Phil Marshall…) show. Besides my days out at the little house in my college days following around this band was another one of those happy times of my life. I made great friends, from all walks of life, saw places I’d never thought to visit and all in all it was a wonderful crazy adventure. I could not pin point an exact show as there are just to many and they are all jumbled in my head. Perhaps one would be my 31st birthday weekend? A surprise birthday cake backstage and everyone singing to me has to be one of my favorite birthday memories ever. Oh, and the plaid pants. Introverting in my hotel room and a certain drummer talking books with me? Or maybe it would be all of us walking State Street looking for pizza and a place to hang out? Possibly the night that Seven and I met for the first time? That was a fun night.
While this next one is not entirely a happy moment in my life as I was being let go from my teaching position due to budgetary reasons, it is a defining moment of my life. I had just told one of my 4th grade sections that I would not be returning as their art teacher the following year. I was sad, they were sad and there were lots of sniffles. One boy raised his hand so I called on him. “Ms. __, can I have a hug?” he asked. I only managed a nod. In seconds I was mobbed by 25 4th graders in a group hug. I’m not going to lie. I cried, but never have I ever felt so loved. I knew that I’d made a difference in these kids lives and though teaching isn’t easy, it was what I was meant to do.
Sitting with my new friend under the stars, feeding the fire, long after everyone else went indoors. He and I sat talking of everything. Our dreams, of where we wanted to go and what we had to do yet. Our place in the great cosmos. Our art. Very rarely do we make that kind of personal connection with another human being and yet here was one of those moments, unexpected.
Lastly and by no means least, there is my daughter. My feisty little love. Her first steps. Her first words. Making her giggle. The pure joy in her face when she was little and I handed her that yellow blanket with butterflies. I knew it must be something special to her because she just wiggled with delight. Somedays the pre-teen drama gets to me, but never in a million, trillion years will she cease to be my little peanut and my favorite person on this earth.

It’s Who I Am

Last night I found an old article from my high school newspaper where I was interviewed for being Artist of the Month and it got me thinking a bit about my path to becoming an art teacher. It’s more than a job to me. Being an art teacher is a part of my identity

The decision to be an artist was easy. I have a clear memory of myself, age 8, writing a letter to my Grandma that I was going to be an artist when I grew up. While school on the whole was difficult for me I excelled at drawing and all things art related. It was the one thing I was better at than nearly everyone else. More importantly, I loved it. Without question I was going to do something with art, but the “what” didn’t become clear until much later.

Sometime during my senior year in high school the yearbook handed out these questionnaires concerning post graduation plans. I was sitting in Ms. Goddard’s class, my absolute favorite place to be in high school, trying to fill it out. I was drawing a blank about what to put as my major for college. I looked up at Ms. Goddard and thought, “Huh, I wouldn’t mind doing that.” Art Education it was.

I like to think I have the best job in the world, if you take away all the political bullcrap that pollutes education. What other job do you get paid to play around with art supplies and watch kids grow to their potential? The first several years of my career was spent teaching elementary aged students. I loved their energy and unhindered creativity. However, the bulk of my career has been spent teaching Middle and High school age students. I really like this age group and I feel that its where I was meant to be. A lot of fun is to be had in my art room as well as learning (Don’t tell the kids that!). Making art happen and getting to share that newly discovered joy in one of my students is great but the best part of my job is being able to build relationships with my students. Making connections. They know that I am and that my room is a safe place. After 23 years (I think?) of doing this I feel that I’ve reached my stride and that I’m pretty awesome at what I do.

It hasn’t always been so. It is a fairly common practice, though I didn’t know it at the time, that some school districts would hire a teacher for a year or two and no matter how good of a job they did they’d lay the teacher off and hire someone else fresh out of college. It’s a way to keep the salaries low, a bit ethically questionable but it does keep the costs down. This was done to me, at least 4 times in the first 7 years of teaching. It was heartbreaking having to leave the group of students I’d grown to care for time and time again. The worst was when I was cut after teaching for 4 years in the same district. I really was contemplating finding something else to do. It was too much heartbreak and it just seemed wrong to me that a job at Walmart seemed to be more stable than a teaching career.

One night after I had been given my pink slip I went out to a little dive bar with some friends that I didn’t get to see often. It was a lighthearted night for the most part with lots of laughter and easy conversation. My friend, (I’ll call him Matt for the sake of anonymity) asked how’d I been since we last saw each other. Though my intent had been to forget work and the stress of my situation, it all came pouring out about how I really thought I couldn’t deal with it anymore. Matt, possibly the most zen person I’ve ever known, in his infinite wisdom said something to me that I will stick with me till my end of days.

“You know, J., if quitting and finding something else to do is really what you want to do, that’s cool. But you can’t quit being you, because being a teacher, a mentor, that’s what you are. No matter what what job you end up with you are always going to be that person people look too. You’ve got a gift. So if you want to keep with it, that’s cool too.”

And Matt was right. While I didn’t exactly make the decision to keep plugging away at the teaching gig that night, that little nugget of advice ear-wormed its way though my brain. I did eventually apply and I found another position easily. It lasted a year before I was recalled back the previous district. I’ve been in my current district for about 20 years now. The days I feel like giving up are few and far between, but when they do crop up I remember Matt’s advice and realize I’m right where I need to be.

Dream On

I spent this past weekend reflecting on a friend I known long ago. He left this world 22 years ago and though our time knowing each other was brief, I’ve never forgotten him or the light he brought to this world.

I ought to share a bit of personal background first. In high school I was such an introverted and shy person I rarely spoke to anyone but my friends. I suppose it came from moving a lot as a kid. I, the new kid, was always being being made fun of. My best friend, Maria, had moved out to California right after graduation with her mom and brother. I missed her something fierce, so I saved up, bought a plane ticket and went to visit her the summer after we graduated.

Upon arriving in San Diego Maria introduced me to Sam, her boyfriend. I’m not exactly how, but Sam made me feel at ease soon after meeting each other. I could see why Maria loved him. He was one of those rare people who were really truly beautiful, inside and out. Maria, Sammy and I spent two wonderfully crazy weeks running around southern California, sometimes with Carlos, Dusty or Terry. We even forayed into Mexico for a day. We waded in the ocean. Sam even taught me how to play part of Areosmith’s Dream On on his guitar. To this day, every time I hear that song, I think of him and smile.

This trip was the first step of me coming out of my shell, of not being afraid of showing the world who I was and that I really was worth knowing. Yes, this still is a struggle for me and quite possibly always will be. However, this trip out to California visiting Maria and Sam I began to allow myself to trust others. It was a start I am forever grateful.

Love and light to you Sammy. You were a light to all those who loved you and we were lucky to have had you in our lives, no matter how brief.