Going Out a Gladiator
I grew up in poverty. My childhood was filled with loss and uncertainty. At 11 years old I decided that, as far as it depended on me, that would change. Everything I had, I gave. But despite my best effort, it wasn’t enough.
It’s been five days. Five days since I turned the last page and closed the book of 22 years of teaching students in an elementary classroom. After years of poor health, the countless experts and test results offered no way around it, only a way out.
I ache from the hole that has been left. I can’t say I found my niche in education, but I did find a place where I was comfortable and content. Every day I went to work with anticipation of what I would learn. My students taught me. And that’s what I loved most about my job.
Growing up, I knew I wanted to be a teacher. Oh sure, my dreams bounced around from one idea to the next, but I always came back to this. Becoming an educator was my life’s goal.
Looking Back
I yearned for security. As a child my life was tumultuous, to say the least. We moved at least one time each year. This nomadic lifestyle came with its benefits. I learned how to adapt and make do. But as an adult, I wanted a place to settle in. To be safe, to be known.
Each year I would tell this story to my students. How I grew up, eating an apple for breakfast and the stale peanut butter sandwich, carrots, and white milk for lunch. Every day my teacher would ask me where my lunch was, and every day I’d say, “I forgot it at home.” She never believed me, but those words were the ticket to my next meal.
I raised myself, determined right and wrong, and twiddled the days away with grand adventures as my little brother and I ran through the untamed desert, jumping over bushes as we sang the theme song to our favorite cartoon, ThunderCats.
Playing at a friend’s house in the afternoon, smelling the food as it heated up on the stove, my stomach growled. Her mother would shoo me out the door at dinner time saying it was time to go as I desperately tried to convince her it was not.
On payday my mom would bring home an In N Out cheeseburger with all the fixings. I remember biting down on the cool, crisp lettuce, raw onions, and tomatoes. It was the only time we had a warm meal.
Our living conditions were sparse. We placed milk on the back porch, secretly hoping it would stay cold enough for breakfast. And as I laid my head down on a scrunched up t-shirt on the carpet, pulled the cover over my shoulder, and closed my eyes, I dreamed of the day when it would all change.
The Beginning of a Dream
Laundry was a luxury. We didn’t have quarters to spare at the nearby facility and never owned a washing machine. As I got older, my feet stank from days of use without a good cleaning.
My wardrobe was pieced together with anything we could find from charity, or a nearby thrift store when times were good. Holes worn in my shoes exposed both the top and bottom of my scrunched toes.
As I grew, I worked hard at school. My 6th grade teacher, Mr. Dale, talked about academic and sport scholarships. I sat, my eyes and ears glued as he spoke. That was going to be me. In my mind I saw myself playing basketball and getting money, going to college, and changing my life.
I shared my dream with Mom when she got home from work that night. “That sounds nice, Honey,” she replied, exhausted as she patted my back and offered a slight smile, “I’m sure you’ll do great.”
Each day I practiced every chance I got. Putting more hours in than the next person, I was going to make it happen. My hard work in the classroom earned me a basketball to play with at recess. Boys tried to steal my ball — I took it back.
Scholarship was the only way I could afford to go to college, and a degree would lead to a good paying job. “A car, a house, these clothes,” I would tell my students as I stepped back for them to admire my ensemble.
I remember their faces every year as I neared the end of this story, sitting on the edge of their seats, already knowing how it all ends. How I got a college scholarship and became a teacher. And it was on this note that we started the year as I constantly reminded them what they were capable of.
With hard work and determination, they could accomplish anything. They only had to decide to do it, one day at a time.
Looking Forward
My job never got boring. The start of the school year always brought in a whole new batch of tomorrow’s leaders. I observed their talents and nuances with joy and hope for a better tomorrow. Each day was a running transcript of surprise and challenge. In time we connected and grew together.
Those students of mine got older, and each year I marveled at all they’d become. Greeting them from outside my classroom door as they ventured down the hallway to their new classrooms, I offered words of encouragement, challenge, and unspoken expectation.
We had an understanding. They were going to be alright and they were going to do big things, because they were determined to do so. They had my full confidence and knew that I believed they could be the person they saw, the person they dreamed to be.
Sitting here today, at the precipice of tomorrow and all it holds, I reflect. With everything I am, and everywhere I’ve been, I am determined to move forward in hope of what’s next. But, for today, it will be with a heart broken over what I leave behind.
I will forever cherish the transformation of “my kids’” faces as they struggled and finally got a new concept. The times we worked toward and accomplished a change of heart or ability to see something from another’s point of view. The space where we learned to love and value what each had to offer, no matter how unique the contribution.
But most of all I’m going to miss the perspective they gave me. That each day provided opportunity for growth and new ideas. That failure is a necessity. That my idea only gets better with your idea. And together, we succeed.
May we always believe in a life worth living, the power we have within us, and all its possibility.
2 Comments
Claudia Pendergrass
I grew up dreaming of being a teacher, also, but I quit my paid teaching job after seven years when my first child was born. I always planned to return, but God had other idea. When our oldest of four children was beginning first grade, God let me know in unmistakable ways that He wanted me to homeschool. I have now finished 27 years of teaching our eleven kids at home. Seven of our kids were adopted internationally. All of our kids have received AA degrees from Victor Valley College and five have continued on to higher degrees. Being in a classroom isn’t the only way to teach, but I recognize your feeling of loss at that season ending.
eyeswideopenadoption
That is quite the accomplishment!