So, it looks like I’ve made it to my twenty-fifth post for the month of March.
For me, that’s nothing to sneeze at. Twenty-five takes commitment.
Twenty-five is the number of years I will have been married this May. And oh, has THAT taken discipline, and commitment, and WORK. And love, to be sure, but discipline, commitment, and WORK.
Twenty-five is also the number of years I have been a teacher. And this one – this commitment – is especially sweet, given its dubious beginnings.
You see, when I was a student teacher, my cooperating teacher didn’t think I was all that or a bag of chips. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust me, but – well, OK. It was that she didn’t trust me: to handle concerns with the students, parent phone calls or the like. Still, I thought I was making my way pretty well along.
Until my final evaluation meeting.
There, in front of my yearlong mentor teacher and my cooperating teacher supervisor; there, in the meeting that mattered the most; there, in that key time of my student teaching experience –
There, my cooperating teacher questioned my commitment to teaching.
Sitting there, dumbstruck, near tears, I had no defense. I had no response.
My only defense, my only response, has been to commit myself heart and soul to the craft of teaching. To double down on the bets I’ve placed on public education and the people I serve. To teach as hard as I can and as compassionately as I can for as long as I can.
Twenty-five, and counting. I’ll take it.