Memoir - page one

My sweet sisters gave me a gift - The Book of Me. There is space on every page to share a memory, a fact, or a story about my life. About me.

I thought I'd share my answers here - and perhaps you want to answer the questions for yourself, too.

AKA

What is your full name? Rebecca Jean T

How was that name chosen? For many years, I thought my middle name, Jean, was after my Grandma Jean who wasn't really my grandma. And, God rest her soul, she wasn't the happiest of souls. Finally, one day, I asked my mom and it turns out I'm named after my aunt - it's her middle name. As for my first name ... it wasn't what my mom originally had in mind. She liked Catherine and Suzanne and, I think, Janelle. But, she went with Rebecca once she saw me and because it was from the bible. I might have to ask her again, though. Just to be sure!

What are all the other names you have used? Oh man ... Becky, Bex, Speck, Beacky, Jeannie, Beckster, T, Lil Turkey, T-ster, Ms T, FP, Seester, MT, Gurl, B*Bomb, T-Time, Sweet T, T-Top, Puddin' Head, Angel Baby ...

How did you get those names? Well, most of them are variations from my given name, obviously. Puddin' Head and Angel Baby are from my Dad and Mom. I probably have a million from my 10 letter intimidating last name.

Have you ever been called by a name that was distasteful or hurtful? Not really. At least none that have really mattered. My last name can be somewhat like "Turds" but, in hindsight, it's humorous.

If you could choose a different name, what would it be? Perhaps something less common but I love my name - after 29 years, it helps define me. I love my last name because it's so different and quite the conversation piece. And, I like the idea that my middle name is after someone important to my Mom. As for Rebecca ... there are few people who call me by my given name - it's mostly Becky. Sometimes that seems silly just to say - a little young, silly but I suppose that can help always keep me youthful.

a post

Dear friend,

I realize if I actually promise something, I may follow through. Perhaps that's the key to my last blog post ... so, because I promised that you'd have something to read on my blog by six this evening (though it's really going to be more like seven!), here is my entry.
By the way, I am lucky to have you for a friend.

Dear sis (and blogless little sis),

Thank you for my 29th birthday gift ... a do-it-yourself memoir. Lord knows I needed the help to get going ...

nothing for my thoughts ...

This morning when I walked to my car, I began thinking about blogging.

You know, I thought I'd be so, so good at it. I thought it could make some new friends. I thought it would make me feel better having such an outlet. Shoot, I thought it would help make me famous (well, not really - but I wouldn't have minded). I thought I could bring a smile to others faces.

But, I am lucky to average quarterly entries. Which is strange because, in my head, there are a million ideas just waiting to be shared. Today, I wrote on a student's paper: Great ideas. Poor execution. Apparently, we suffer from the same ailment.

Truth be told ... all I ever do is think.

I am a great thinker. Perhaps the best. I think about losing weight. I think about writing. I think about cleaning. I think about singing. I think about sending letters. I think about ways to create world peace. I think about getting my desk organized.

I rarely follow through. There's no doing. There's no chasing. There are only half-assed attempts at trying.

Strange. I thought I was someone different than that.

At least I know the problem: Great ideas. Poor execution.

A draft to post.

I wrote this back in August and just re-read the draft. Things have definitely changed in a matter of months ...
___________________


Do you ever have a line from a song that runs through your head? Over and over and over?



Lately, it's been ... "something something big green tractor", mixed with a little of "when the one you're looking for has been here the whole time" No real significance - just country songs that are overplayed yet still enjoyable.



Then there's this one more ... it's one line on constant repeat in my mind. Since the end of my summer, the start of work. The beginning of many changes.



"I'm feeling a little lonely"



It's strange though because things are really so good. I'm running the whole theatre program, my friends are phenomenal, my family rocks, the boy's wonderful ...



But, somehow I'm so lonely.



And empty.



And unhappy.

Almost ...

"He loved her for

almost everything she was

& she decided that was enough

to let him stay

for a very long time."

*

I used to love this quote. I remember when I first saw it. As I stood in the basement of a friend's home, the quote motioned me over, enticing me with its whimsical, yet mass produced painting, and made me read it.

*

I believed it like it was straight from the lips of God. I suppose I needed that quote. Whether it was in that moment or the months to come, that quote reminded me that being almost loved would be okay. I even proudly placed it in my "favorite quote" section on facebook. Proudly. As if one day, my daughter could come home and tell me "mama, there's this boy that almost loves me. isn't that wonderful?" And then I should beam happiness back at her sweet face.

*

Things have changed.

*

Maybe I read those words differently but I don't think that almost is enough anymore. Perhaps it's because I am close to finally believing that someone loves me for everything I am - angry, crazy, fat, beautiful, frustrating, emotional, baggage filled, money owed self.

*

I hope that one day I can fully believe him, too. Either way, the quote's no longer a favorite. I deserve better. So does my daughter.

...

I'm still here.

That's all ... for now.

I'll be back.

I always am ...

Oh, time how you fly.

Hm. So, it's no secret things have been a little rough. Self-discovery and that whole journey is a pain in the ass. But, that's okay because it's an absolute necessity.

I'm 28 now. Not old, but yet, difficult. Hard to explain.

I've finished 5 years of teaching the madness that is high school. I will even begin my 6th year in a different role - getting back in touch with neglected loves - theatre, plays, musicals, and drama ... well, I've always been in touch with drama!

I am still with Boy. He drives me crazy and annoys the hell out of me at times. I'm sure he finds me beyond difficult in way too many moments. I very wrongly thought this whole relationship stuff would be easy ... But, he loves me ... a lot. And, I love him.

When I allow it (and stop acting stupidly scared and undeserving), it's nearly too good to be true.

For the first time in a long time, I'm not really working this summer. Well, I'm working on me. Getting healthy. Writing. Doing music-related things. Oddly enough, the area that's going quite well is the getting healthy.

Oh, irony. You are so silly.

But, life is alright. Especially because of getaway weekends like this:

What a girl gotta do? Accept some joy.

what's a girl got to do?

I have no idea ...

I have been reading and thinking and writing and reading and thinking and writing. All I know is that I feel like my life is good. Really, really good but I have not fully appreciated it.

And why? Because I'm too caught up in hanging onto something I probably need to be without. I've put a lot of faith and hope into it. Faith and hope I should have been putting into me.

And all this time is going by and here I am sort of sitting on the sidelines. Of my own life.

If you really knew me ...

My students completed a project not long ago as we began a new unit. They had to answer the following question:

If you really knew me, you'd know ...

They couldn't write about the simple things - like, "my favorite color is blue. I like hockey" It had to give insight to them as a person. I thought I'd answer it today.

If you really knew me, you'd know that I try to be optimistic but lately I've been failing miserably. I live way too much on the what if's, to the point that they consume me. The biggest question of all being, "what if I was thinner?"

You'd know that there are moments I think I should just move back to the one place I said I'd never return. "Home." Sometimes, I don't think I deserve to be where I am. I came to chase a dream but somehow, though once strong and unstoppable, I have become one that sits on the sidelines, watching everyone else.

I love, love teaching but I'm pretty sure I need a break for awhile. I don't want to lose what it is that sets me apart from what I fear I'm becoming. I am passionate about what I do - and I want to continue being so - even if I have to step away for bit.

*********************

I planned to write more but it's 1:30am. Time for bed for this girl that you'll know even more about soon ...

The Art of Being Happy

I wish I was 5 years old again, holding on to my dad's pinky finger. We'd go across the big main street a block away and visit the amazing, beautiful, peaceful place we simply called, "The Trees."

It was magical. Weeping willows fell low enough to grab on, hold tight and swing - without a care in the world. Weeping ... willow. At 5, why would I bother pondering the name this lovely tree was given? The tree that still holds some of my favorite childhood memories. She couldn't be sad ... she made me so happy.

It was so easy then. That was before my ears knew that mouths could spur loud and hateful words. It was before I knew what hurt was and what pain felt like. I lived and breathed happy. Little did I know the weeping that was occuring and the weeping that would come.

Happiness came with such ease. And even more so, with such acceptance. I didn't fight happy. It was there. We were one. Little girl ... with blue eyes and only innocent tears, dreams yet to be dreamt, long brown hair left untouched, a creative mind only beginning its journey.

I can't be her anymore. Being happy has become an art form. At least right now. It seems unnatural but surely not unwanted. No, I don't spend my days moping around. Life is okay. But, I've hit another brick wall. No, I didn't hit it. I ran, top speed staring straight into it and decided not to stop. Happy is sitting beside me, holding me tightly and I just want to push it away. Give me the weeping. Not the willow.

I didn't think this would be so difficult, but it is. If I'm really honest with myself, which I'd definitely rather not be, I'd know it's not about any one, it's not about any thing, it's me. 100% me.

Sometimes ...

just sometimes ...


I'm really stupid.


But, I don't regret it.


Except that it hurts. A lot.

Education

What education is for me ...

School was always a safe haven. Other than being in my sister's presence, it was the only place I could go and know that I would be okay. School for me was an escape. It doesn't matter what I was escaping from - maybe it was just into creativity, away from ignorance and into a world of knowledge and endless possibilities. Not everyone feels that way, I know, but I was the kid crossing my fingers and praying unceasingly that school would not be closed on those snowy days. Yeah, that was me. A total freak. But I loved it, everything about it. We were a family not connected by blood but by something that was nearly just as unbreakable - education and all that goes into it.

I'm not too far from that very same little girl ... I still value education. I am a teacher. It is not a job. It is my livelihood.

But, it may be time to take a break before I lose the very passion and faith that I had in teaching and in education as a whole when I was sitting in front of the TV crossing my fingers.

I'm just pretty angry right now because for as much as I'm far from perfect, love gossip and have way less than 100% days, I see someone else in this same building who doesn't seem to give a shit about the students, about the idea of a school family, about being cohesive, about communicating effectively, about much of anything except for image. How can one thrive in such an environment?

Education is not and should not be treated like a business. Because it isn't. It's a service profession. We serve. We aren't to be served. Not our pockets, not our egos ... It's not about us. It's about them. How is that so easily forgotten?

Why I'm not a Godmother ...

I have this friend. I use that term loosely. You see, once upon a time, I considered her a BEST friend - that kind of friend who you would trust with every secret, every promise, every sin ... everything.

You know how life is ... people change. Sometimes you firmly believe that there are bonds so strong that nothing will get in the way. That's what I thought about me and her. I figured our bond was unbreakable. But, apparently, it wasn't.

We've had a roller coaster of a friendship and there are so many things that I could share to explain it but in one of our many ups and downs, we had a conversation where she told me why I wasn't her son's Godmother. See, I was supposed to be. I knew that. But when she told me who would be, I didn't flinch when it wasn't me. It wasn't a surprise because we weren't currently super tight - this happened three years ago with her first child, too.

For whatever reason, during a 5 hour conversation, she told me why I wasn't. Okay. Thanks. Here it is ...

I voted for someone she didn't. Who you vote for, according to her, shapes and tells everything about you. And she was disgusted by my choice. I wasn't the same person anymore, she said. I was different. The way she emphasized that word I knew she thought it was all horrific. Apparently I was less of a Christian now, too. And I have gay friends. God forbid I socialize with such repulsive sinners. And I make poor choices and my morals and values are just different (again, read "bad") than hers. She doesn't want her child to be like me.

She went on. And on. I said nothing. Finally, after what seemed like eternity, though it couldn't have been more than ten minutes. She just stopped. She said, "well, can you say something?"

I cannot tell you how much this hurt. When someone you think loves you unconditionally has the capacity to say such things, it doesn't matter how ludicrous it might seem, it tears you apart.

What gets me most is she failed to focus on things that have changed that are good ... it's been several weeks and we have not spoken. I can't bring myself to do it. No matter what I say, I will be wrong. Because I'm different. Because I've changed. Apparently for the worse.

I know it isn't true. But it just kind of sucks.

Damn that Cinderella.

Before the boy ... well, well over a year ago ... where the text came from ...

It was a ticket I never paid. Back in Chicago. I had forgotten about it. I packed up my boxes - ticket enclosed in some box, somewhere ... I figured I'd get to it at some point.


He beat me to it. I got a call from some bill collector. I had moved to Nashville three days before and was driving around getting a feel for my new, wonderful surroundings. My new life.


My ticket was turned into some collection agency and some guy, MM, just happened to have my name cross his desk. He called. My world was changed.


He was a total jerk within the first few moments. I suppose it's a tactic that works - but I am fiesty. I told him off, then realized I was lost. Wouldn't you just know it that this man used to live in Nashville. So, from his chair in the south suburbs of Chicago (mere minutes from where I just moved from), he told me how to unlose myself. I got back on the right track. Little did I know that some form of the word lost would come up again. And again. And again.

Now, it would only be me who'd start talking to some random person, quickly strike up a friendship and fall fast and hard. But, it happened. There is very little I'd change about the situation ... I take that back. I'd never get as lost in the idea like I did. Though it was lovely, ridiculous, perfect. It made me feel good.

Or, rather simply, it made me feel.

We started to find reasons to call. Like, you know, I wouldn't pay when I said I would. (stupid, I know). And then, it turned into talking just because. Then it was every day. It was about the little things, the big things. It was about life, fears, hopes, the future. Oh, and we flirted. A LOT. Some people thought I was silly. Other friends would ask every day what the newest MM news was and couldn't wait to hear. I had a smile on my face that couldn't be changed. He had that kind of voice that with the start of a "hello" could send chills to every part of my skin. He was smooth, funny, intelligent and the kind of smart that you get when you choose to learn from what life offers. I was entirely lost in this man and whatever hope he stood for. He seemed to "get me" like no one else could. I knew that it may not turn out the way I wanted, but in those moment, I wanted to become the very best version of myself. Not for him. Just because.

He wanted to visit but I was too scared. Because of my "secret." Here I was on the journey of a better me - I was done hiding behind the weight of difficult years, sadness and the inability to cope with a difficult past. The last thing I wanted was for someone to meet me, take one look and despite whatever relationship was created, walk away and pretend I didn't even exist. I wanted someone - him - to accept me for who I was at that moment, who I had been before, and for the person I had yet to become.

I never even got to that point.

One fateful day (that I think I always knew was coming) he stopped calling. Stopped texting. Stopped communicating. He, apparently, got lost.

Damn Cinderella stories. I wanted a happy ending.

And, boy, did it hurt. I guess the signs were there. He was just getting out of a 2 year relationship with a woman he was still living with. I still don't have his reasoning. I'm assuming it has something to do with that. That I was some fill-in fun. Some random, faceless girl who meant not enough to matter.

Yeah, sometimes I'm that stupid. But, I was coming off a rough year where there was way too much self-realization. Too much loneliness and emptiness. A few broken relationships - I was ready for my big change. And how perfect it would be that amidst my life overhaul, I'd find someone good. What I thought was really good.

So, that's where the text came from. We stopped talking just before Chrismtas '07 and then, nearly a year later, I get a text in the middle of the night. It said he was in town. He did it because he thought I'd "get a kick out of that."

No, not so much.

The same girls that had listened to every last story of MM with earnest ears, took me out for a milkshake that day. Thank God, yet again, for friends.

Oh, and in case you're wondering. Yeah, I responded. But I guess he just wanted to say enough to resurrect the dead. It's just taking a while to put it back to rest.

And yeah, I do have a great guy. The best. It just sucks when old ones decide to find their way back ...

a text

Really??

After all this time?

You're gonna send me a message now?

Not fair. Not fair at all.

Here's to another stupid boy.

Thank God I have a good one.

Tuesday Letter #2

A letter to a former student ...

Dear Bella,

I know it’s been a while since you’ve heard from me but after what I saw, I knew I had to write. I don’t know what I even need or want to say. I just know I have to do something.

I’ve known you for 5 years now. Ever since you were a freshman in high school. 14 years old with the whole world ahead of you. I remember hearing all about you from your big brother. He was in the first class I ever taught. He talked about you all the time. He told me how proud he was of you and he made it clear just how protective he was of his little sister. Then, I remember the day I met you … you came in with your big brown eyes, bright smile and you glowed with the kind of innocence so many of us wish we could have once again.

Over time, I came to know you well. You were so incredibly talented. You could act. You could dance. You could sing. You had the voice of an angel, the face of a child, and the heart of a saint.
I knew about where you lived – the same place I worked. I knew what life could potentially be like for you. Yet, I remained hopeful. That you would magically find a way to rise above all that was laid out before you.

But, sometimes, life just happens. No matter how we plan, how we hope, how we dream.
I knew about the first abortion. And then the second. I knew about the abusive boyfriend. And what happened at home … behind closed doors. I watched you perform monologues based on your life. I heard you sing about your pain in the lyrics that you wrote. I read the journal you turned in. I saw your story play out right before my very eyes.

I was your teacher, first and foremost. I did what I had to do to fulfill that duty. But, my heart was breaking for you. As a teacher, you want to save souls. But the job is to teach minds. You want children to embrace lessons about life. But the job is to share lessons about subjects. I’d listen when I needed to and even when I didn’t want to – overhearing your conversations with friends about things so unbelievable. Sometimes we can’t just shut it out. It’s like a train wreck for our ears.

I offered advice, hoping you would do what was best for you. Not for him. Not for them. But for you. And then I prayed. And prayed. And prayed.

Then, one day, everything changed for you. It was as if you woke up and put your innocence right back on. You came into my classroom with the same smile on your face from the first days I met you. You had a college application in one hand and homework in the other. Life was looking different. Life was looking good. For you.

Time went on. You went to college and I moved away. Keeping in touch was infrequent though I did receive updates. You were happy and life was carrying on well.

Then, one day I came across it. It was through a “People You May Know” tool on Facebook. I didn’t know that person though I knew it was you. It was not the same young woman that stood in front of me with pure excitement about the days, months, years ahead of her. You had next to nothing on. You were suggestively standing next to someone. My eyes perused the words on your page … I knew what I felt deep inside was right.

Now I am all about sewing your wild oats, having fun and being crazy. But, I know that whatever you are getting yourself into can’t be good … then, I heard from one of your former classmates. He told me you’re stripping these days. Now, sure I know that sometimes a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do but it isn’t that. It’s what I heard along with that. It wasn’t just about your clothes coming off … You are selling your body. You are giving away your pieces of innocence for pieces of paper. You are into even more hardcore drugs. The number of abortions is up to four. There is no way that life is good for you now. I know you better than that. What I don’t know is what happened.

Where is that smile?

Did someone stop believing in you? Did you stop believing in you? I didn’t. I haven’t. I won’t.

You are too good for this. Too beautiful. Too talented. Too smart.

Please, I beg you; start believing what I already know. And what you already know, too.

Tuesday Letter

I promise to address the below entry. Soon. I think I'm going to need to.

But, I'm trying something new and hopefully it will become a weekly post. The idea came to me because I often say, both seriously and jokingly, "I'm going to write a letter." There have been some situations lately that have me really, REALLY wanting to express a few things. I already have a list. Sometimes they'll need explanation, others won't. This one might.

It's about Joe the Plumber. It's not really about politics or parties. I'm not here to favor one or the other or to change your opinion about anything. I don't even know all that I claim to but this situation irks me.

So ... enjoy.

***************************************

Dear Joe,

I shouldn't even know who you are but the fact is, I do. I know that you are a plumber, though, not licensed. I was informed that with what you currently make you'd actually be receiving a tax cut under Obama's plan. I also have been told, again and again, that you owe $1200 in taxes.
I put your 'name' in yahoo search: "Joe the Plumber" and 57 million results came up. The first one was a website that posted the following:

--------------------------------

FYI
Since the debate Wednesday between John McCain and Barrack Obama, I have received: 180,207 hits on my website, over 300 phone calls, and hundreds of e-mails. I have been interviewed for several publications and appeared on Television 4 times, interviewed for the Radio 3 times, made the cover of the Local newspaper twice and met a lot of people and signed two dozen Autographs. All in a three day period.
Peace!
Joe Lara

Please be advised that I am NOT the unlicensed Plumber from Ohio who was mentioned over 20 times in Wednesdays Debate.

(http://www.joelaratheplumber.com)
---------------------------------

You've gotten so popular that people with your 'name' received a taste of your 15 minutes.

It's been several days and the media has surely calmed down. But, I wonder how your life is now. Are things different? Were you able to just laugh it off? Do you regret that day? Has anyone approached you about a reality show?

It won't matter, you may be absolutely delighted with your new found fame, but I'm sorry. I'm sorry that all you did was ask a question, utilizing your right to free speech, and then you get slammed from every direction. At first you were practically a hero, then you were the butt of jokes from Letterman to Conan. It isn't fair and it makes me mad. Your name has been mentioned everywhere - from late night to early morning news. In debates, on the radio, in the paper ...

Somehow it has become okay, a new second nature, to joke about you, to bring you up in conversation, to use you to get more votes. Yes, this happens in some form on some level all the time - but not this way. You dont get your face plastered on screens across America, your name mentioned over and over by two men vying for the presidency. Why couldn't you just ask a question, have it answered and then go home to make your decision?

But, what gets me most is no one knows who you really are. Are you married to the love of your life? Are you a fan of the Cleveland Browns? Do you tuck your child into bed at night after reading a favorite story and saying I love you? Are your parents still around? Are you even registered to vote? Are you mad that things have been brought up about you? Have you been hurt by this? We don't know. We, apparently, don't care about all that. We just wanted to chew you up, have a laugh, and spit you out.

What kind of freedom is this? What message does this send? Poke fun of, make jokes about, find flaws in everyone? Is that what it is to be American? Is this who we are?

It kind of makes me sick.

For all its worth and for whatever this may have caused you, I'm sorry. And it was a really good question.

Sincerely,
Becky

What's Keeping Me Away

My sister's on my case about writing a new blog - I started this whole venture into the bloggy world with big ideas and grand dreams of writing every day. Yeah, that didn't happen. It's a treat when I write twice in one month.

I have so, so much to say though. Lots to talk about. Silly stories, serious tales, and frightening experiences. I have thoughts in my mind that keep me awake at night as I stare at the ceiling wondering what I could have done, what I should do or where my next move might take me. I have these ideas from watching the news, reading facebook, and listening to my students chatter on.

I just don't share. Though I want to. Though I should. Though it would be good for me. Though it may be good for you.

I have no real reason I don't, either. I'n not preoccupied with toddlers using my body as a jungle gym. I'm not kept at work for yet another late night because work's piled up. I'm busy, but I have time.

I just can't share my stories. I think it's because there's this one story that looms over my head that once I write it, I have to let it go. And I'm not ready yet.

I'm about at the point where there's so much else to say that I'll find my way to writing again but I just needed these few moments. I'll share soon. I'll even share the story that's keeping me away. Soon.

No Teacher Left Behind

Right now, I am solely writing as a teacher.

And I am pissed.

I am burning with anger, frustration and irritation.
It started off with a spark and now it's blazing. I am engulfed in this.

At the same time, I am drenched with sadness. And I feel hopelessness creeping into the back of my mind.

I feel as though I was asked to compromise my integrity today.
Because I was.
But I won't.
Not today.
Not tomorrow.
So, please, don't ask.

I teach high school English. Freshmen. They are rambunctious and silly and intense and funny and NOT funny and everything you remember being when you were there ... times 10.

I love what I do. When I was just five years old I knew this was my calling. And over 20 years later, I'm nearly five years in. It's changed me, it's affected me, it's taught me and I love it.

And I believe in it.

In November, the candidates' plans for education will have a direct impact on my vote. I don't hate No Child Left Behind because it's trying to do something to better education. An education gives you power, freedom, intelligence, confidence, hope. It can provide you with opportunities and knowledge that you couldn't get just anywhere.

And one of the most integral parts of it all: the teacher.

So, wouldn't you expect him or her to be "something special?" Or at least have a drive to educate your children, your employees, your future.

Or is it enough to just have someone who only exists in the classroom, breathes in the air around them and goes home?

I say no.

What's this all about? My student teacher (ST). He's year older than I, embarking on career #2. It's not even him directly at this point though he has caused me much greif and confusion. You see, I've rarely met a man, not only without a fire underneath him but no spark to even light a fire. His lessons have disengaged all of my students. My students have so, so much life in them but this man has drained every last drop with, not only his lack of ability, but enthusiasm, interest, desire, passion ... He claims to be a lover of English but this has yet to be seen in the slightest. Perhaps it's just lost in his mumbles (yes, he mumbles) over grammar, and as he stumbles through Of Mice and Men. I don't see it, but this I do: Teachable moments go untaught. Symbolism goes unrecognized.
Remember Ben Stein in Ferris Bueller's Day Off? Take that and add 38 cups of boredom.

Yeah, it's that bad.

You might say, "But, rjtrue, this man is just getting started on his journey ... he's just learning, cut him some slack."

And I have. I have sat down with him, pointed him in the right direction, even walked the first few steps with him. He has not improved. I don't even believe the attempt was ever made.

And then ...

I met with his university supervisor (UnSup), along with ST's other mentor who also happens to be a dear friend, and we explained our frustrations and expectations. The lack of interest, follow-through, classroom management. We discussed how lessons were mundane and continued to be. We shared with him our concern about his future in teaching.

I basically got told to pass him anyway. And, based on what we shared, he'd pass him as well. UnSup told us both that perhaps ST was just not someone we'd choose to work with but we had to remember that he's not like us. He said that maybe he'd fail once in the profession but that shouldn't hold us back from letting him get through this experience.
He went on to tell us how he himself had once passed a student worse than ST and then wouldn't recommend her when the call came in.

I lost it.

How in the hell do you put someone out into this field that you do not have faith in? I was appalled by this man and it took everything in me not to reach across the table and shake some integrity back in him. Something that he so obviously lost long ago. That he wanted me to lose.
Absolutely not.

I believe in what I do. I believe in the people that do the same thing that I do. This is NOT a fall back profession. This is NOT an easy job. This is NOT for someone who does not have some sort of love for it. This is NOT for someone who does not want to give it more than nothing.

How does someone in the field have so little respect for it? Would you put a surgeon in a hospital who repeatedly screwed up surgeries? No. Would you let a man into the police force who could barely shoot a gun? No. Would you allow a pharmacist to work if she couldn't tell the difference between medications? No.
Then why are we letting people who can't teach become teachers?

Thursday's Thirteen

I love perusing people's sites and stealing ideas from them ... such as this one!

Thank you friend!

Now, you may be wondering how the heck I'm managing TWO posts in one day when I go weeks without writing ... well, I'm a teacher and I have a student teacher. My only comment about that for now - borrowing from good 'ol southern women - bless his heart.

Now, for Thirteen Things I Don't Want to Take for Granted ...

1) My family - mom, dad, sisters, brudder, their babies
2) My friends and their willingness to listen to my endless stories
3) My youthful looks. At 27 I still have a baby face - it drives me crazy but I know I'll miss it one day
4) The way fall smells and sounds - the leaves crunching under your feet, the crisp, cool air












5) The time I have to visit with those I love
6) The time I'm given because I have a student teacher
7) Payday











8) My ability to get off a couch, to walk, to move
9) Yummy food - I shouldn't treat it like a regular item
10) Nature - every season
11) The fact that I am saved
12) The boy
13) That there's still time ...

You??