My Love Affair With Teaching.

I have come to learn in my life that during times like these, times of strife and conflict and tension; when you stand on the edge of something and realize that there is a very real possibility that things may not work out the way you envisioned that you begin to evaluate how badly you want that thing/place/job in the first place. 

You know those times:  you get into a bidding war on a house you fell in love with after no one else had wanted it forever.  You apply for a job which will require you to make a number of changes to your life (location/skills/lifestyle) and someone else could potentially get that job.  You are staring down the barrel of a breakup – the relationship is disintegrating fast and it wasn’t even your idea.

During these times you evaluate the value of that person/job/place and check in to see if, indeed, this is really what you want for yourself. 

In the face of current battles between teachers and the government, I have done just that.  I have evaluated the value of my role in this profession and have done some soul searching around whether or not I have the guts to stick it out or if I should just pack it in and find something else to do that is neither so stressful nor so undervalued. 

Reflection on this issue has brought up many memories for me – memories of my love affair with teaching.

When I was a little girl, I wanted to do two things when I grew up:  acting and teaching.

I would practice speeches in front of my mirror (any mirror, really) thanking the academy for giving me this most prestigious award (yes, I really did talk like that…have you met Dante?)  I would say words just to hear the sound of them and pretended that I was going to make brilliant speeches because my speaking voice was so amazing…yes, I was a humble child.

I used hair brushes for microphones and I would sing and make speeches and was determined that I was going to be an unstoppable force in the entertainment industry. I played dress up, I listened to and learned several dialects so that I could “pull voices” when ever I wanted to. 

I was six years old when I performed in my first play and I loved it.  I hated memorizing the lines but I loved the stage stuff.  I got laughs (not inappropriately…laughs in the right spots) and I received many accolades.  I felt pretty darn good about my little self.

Then, somewhere along the line, my dad picked up an old desk or something that was very like a desk and my sister began to play school in the basement of our house.  She got a chalk board from Santa that year so we had a chalk board, chalk, and a desk.   We had left over scribblers from the year before, we had some old readers that had found their way into our house.  We had big red pencils, pencil crayons, and the ever important red pen for the person who got to play the teacher. 

I always wanted to be the teacher.  I’m not sure if it was the power of the red pen which I found so seductive or the fact that I would get to stand before my “class” (which usually consisted of my sister, our life sized doll Lucy, a big pink dog named Cinnamon, and an assortment of ratty-tatty stuffed animals) and teach…that was almost like acting.  You had an audience and you got to say stuff in front of them.  You even got to use different voices while reading stories…at least if you were a really good teacher you did.  Not only that, you also got to determine which answers were right and which ones were wrong. And, you got to note all of that “rightness” and “wrongness” with the beautiful red pen.

In my class, all of the students were perfectly behaved, except my sister…I think that was fortuitous, really…she was a little shit disturber in school.  My sister would always act up and want to be sent to the office so she could get out of spelling tests – again, fortuitous.

In my class, all of the students were perfect.  Cinnamon’s parents were still together, Lucy’s mom wasn’t addicted to drugs, and even those ratty-tatty stuffed animals came from great homes.  No one went hungry.  No one had parents die before they graduated.  No one had to decide whether to quit school and have a baby or not.

                        …all of this miles away from the reality I face every day with my real students.

My school was perfect.

In a few years I would be in high school and taking a drama class, auditioning for Grease, and becoming the only grade 10 (junior in my senior high) to get a role as one of the Pink Ladies, Jan.

That was all it took.  I was a theatre rat from that point on.  I went on to get a BFA in Theatre, major in acting and…

                                                            ….met someone in my Astronomy class in the second semester of my first year and ended up staring down the barrel of one of those life changing decisions.  I had already moved from Regina to Victoria and now the whole acting thing seemed rather silly…that’s what everyone around me said…so I needed a “back up plan” … a “real job.” The guy I followed out here was going to be a teacher.

Hey!  I could totally do that!  I could have a whole drawer full of red pens if I wanted! 

Then I volunteered for my first high school class to get the hours needed as a pre-requ. to get into the teaching program at UVic.

I volunteered and fell head over heels in love with it.  The kids were great. The other teachers were great.  And I got to go in that most sacred of all holy places…the staff room (I didn’t at first, though because I really felt that was only for “real” teachers).

Immediately the “troubled” kids found me.  Immediately we were going for coffee, talking about life, and I was making suggestions for them to seek out counseling help.  Immediately I knew that I wanted to do this forever.  I wanted to be a somebody to kids who had nobody.

Much later I came to realize that in my own life, teachers were the ones who saved me, who made me feel like I was part of a community – which was HUGE for me because of my family’s transience as a result of following construction work.  I was rarely in the same place for more than a couple of years…one year I changed schools three times.

Teachers hooked me up with all of the best kids to play with, the best places to hang out, and the best books.  They took me under their wings, were compassionate, caring, and gave me hugs when I really needed it.

One memory stands out for me and has for 40 years or more.  I was in grade one.  We had just moved to Calgary from Regina.  I had, as all little girls do, fallen in love with my wonderful Kindergarten teacher Mrs. McMorris.  She was an angel, as far as I was concerned.  She was kind, she was gentle, and she read with many voices (as all good teachers do).  She was the best.

I was crushed when I learned that we had to move…oh, no!  Mrs. McMorris would be lost to me forever!  I cried all the way to Calgary.  I played sad records on my portable record player and I cried and cried…my little heart was completely broken.

As I got older I grew to absolutely loathe the first day at the new school.  Even if it was September, I hated it.  I hated being the new kid, I hated not knowing anyone, I hated having to make new friends.

So, first day of new school in Calgary – January just after Xmas break – and I am walking down the hall to my new classroom.  I just wanted to cry or throw up.  I did neither.  At one point I was sure that someone called my name.  I kept walking.  I knew it was my name being called…but who here knew it?

When I turned around I looked upon the beautiful face of my beloved Kindergarten teacher…my beloved Mrs. McMorris.  I still get tears in my eyes thinking about that day.  I knew that the world was going to be ok because my angel found me…followed me.  She would protect me and make sure that everything was going to be fine.

We were only in that part of Calgary for a couple of months before we moved again.  I think I was only there until the end of the year.  Then I had to move away from her again.

Thinking back on the times when I felt most hopeless and disconnected, I see that there was always a teacher or professor who made me feel like I had a voice, that I was talented in something, and that I had a great deal to offer the world.

Thinking back on those times I realize that my life has been saved by teachers. 

The most significant people in my life, while I was growing up, were teachers.

I guess it’s not much of a coincidence that I found my way here.  I guess it was inevitable, really.

All of this strife and arguing and fighting with the government, the hate from sections of the public who have no idea what I do, and the misrepresentation in the media have all played a part in forcing me to reconsider my career. 

Do I *really* want to keep doing this?

Then I think about that little girl, all those years ago, running down the hall to hug her teacher and I realize that all I want to do is be *that* teacher for kids like me;  I realize that ignorance will always be there; and I realize that, for me, there is nothing else.

I really love this job. 

I gotta stick with it.