The beauty of memories is how the bad things hurt less and the good things are sweeter.
That’s how I’ve been feeling the past few days. My two best friends since I was 12 came to see us, and for those few days, I was my young self again with the two people I had gone to school with, been with at slumber parties, occasionally had an argument with, and even worked with at a bank. We went out separate ways as adults but remained in touch, and the blessing of cell phones and social media reunited us in a bond that is indestructible.
While we spent some of our time talking about things like painting with water colors, our families, and the usual girl/woman talk, we also reflected on our working years and experiences we had.
There is no doubt my first year of teaching was the worst year of my professional life. I say that all the tine, and it holds true. I’d been working at a bank where I was a vice-president, loan officer, and assistant secretary to the board of directors. A local high school needed a French teacher, and with a three-year-old son, I thought it would be a more Mom-friendly career. That way I could be off when he was off after he started school. And I loved French. I had majored in Spanish and minored in French, so it seemed like the perfect fit.
The problem was I had never taken an education class nor done student teaching. I had no idea how to teach high school students. So I taught each day (badly), took classes at night (meaning I was away from my son even more for a while), and struggled to learn classroom management as well as how to teach well. I cried almost every night because I felt so inept, and I was counting the weeks until Christmas break by Oct. 1.
Thanks to the encouragement of some other teachers, I stuck with it, and I did learn. Sure, some years were worse than others, and I continued to feel inept at times. But after a few years, I felt confident in what I was doing and eventually became burned-out being in the classroom, so I took courses to become an administrator. I loved working as a principal, but I returned to the classroom after just seven years of it because of responsibilities to my elderly mother who was having one health crisis after another. Being a principal is a twelve-month job, and I needed time off with her.
Having said all that, the purpose of this blog today is…well, just read on.
To you reading this who were my students, I apologize for any mistakes I made. I’m sorry if I didn’t show you enough grace and mercy. I’m sorry if I said something you took the wrong way. I didn’t mean to say the wrong things. I truly cared about each one of you and wanted to teach you to be responsible as well as the subject matter to prepare you for foreign language classes in college. At that time, our state required two years of a foreign language to enter college, and I knew some majors would require you to take a foreign language in the college setting, so I wanted you to be prepared. But if you misunderstood my intentions or if I caused you hurt in any way, I apologize. I did not mean to do so.
To the teachers I oversaw when I was a principal, I apologize for my blunders and mistakes. I’m sorry if I ever put you on the spot with a parent or if I interfered in something I should have stayed out of. My goal was always to make your lives easier so you could be the best teachers you could be. I made mistakes, I know, with some parents, and I learned from those mistakes and tried not to repeat them. I know I was a rule-follower no matter what because that was the only way I knew to be consistent. Maybe I should have relaxed those rules a bit.
But for the most part, the memories I now have are good ones. I loved working with high school and middle school students. Sure, there were high school students in my classes who created problems and that sort of thing, but most of you were great. You made me laugh, you made my days enjoyable, and I learned from you. I learned what was going on in pop culture, I learned how you viewed the world, and I learned to care about the student as much as the subject.
And thank goodness our district switched to Spanish for the primary foreign language to study because believe me, it is much easier than French and obviously more useful.
I don’t miss getting up at 5:30 every day, and I don’t miss teaching the same subject six classes a day. I don’t miss dealing with the occasional discipline issues that arose. I definitely don’t miss grading papers.
But I would have to say that when looking back, those working years in education were the most fulfilling years of my life. I was right about the teacher schedule being great for Mom-friendly hours. I loved using the languages I had studied in college (although my intent in college was to work in international business and get to travel to other countries, not teach students the languages), and I loved making friends with my fellow teachers, our common bond being the rewarding but often frustrating career of education.
I have probably blogged about something like this before, but I am hoping this blog will reach more of you. I hope parents reading this will understand that teachers truly care about your child, so when you do not support them or try to make excuses for your child instead of enforcing consequences, you make their job harder as well as do a disservice to your child. To teachers reading this, I’ve heard that ever since the Covid shutdown, students have changed and there is no accountability anymore. Maybe you can’t change that, but you can focus on each student and realize he/she needs to learn even if they don’t want to put forth the the effort. I taught students, too, who didn’t try. I hear the numbers are even greater now because of the numbers game the state is playing and the district. Of course, that’s a topic for another blog.
But to former students, I hope you know how much I enjoyed being around you. I have often said I have a love/hate relationship with teaching, and to be honest, banking was my favorite career. But I’m grateful I became an educator for many reasons. It’s the most rewarding, sometimes frustrating and discouraging, and sometimes fun career you can imagine.
Maybe the years have pushed the bad memories aside and made the good ones sweeter, but that’s okay. C’est la vie, n’est-ce pas? Or maybe you would understand Así es la vida better. If you don’t remember either one, you understand what I told you years ago–if you don’t use it, you lose it!
Thanks for the memories, Dresden, Westview, and Henry County. You each hold a special place in my heart.
Life As I know it 