Driving in to the parking lot of my possible new place of employment, I felt a peace and belonging that’s been missing from my life for five years. Like an old cow going back to the barn after a long day at pasture, my car found a respectable parking spot in the middle of the lot in front of the low brick building. This could be my routine until June 2023. Or not.
Teaching interviews are always interesting. At least that’s been my experience. My first interview was in the summer of 1996. The farm was failing and VST and I were flailing. With the responsibilities of raising five children, farming 40 acres, and managing all aspects of a multi-million dollar John Deere dealership while earning his Master’s degree, VST hadn’t a minute left to spare. His bag of tricks was almost empty.
“Darlin’, we need to find some extra cash. Could you substitute for awhile?”
Substitute? I was pretty busy helping with the care of the five children and 16,000 ancient Thompson Seedless vines sitting on forty acres. Sure, I’ll just strap an eraser on one foot, a skateboard on the other, throw a whistle around my neck and do the hustle. After all, substituting would only take away six hours of my life five days a week. Sure. Why not?
My spring was spent falling in love with a class of children with severe challenges. Their teacher had no one she could count on because her students had “special needs”. They did have a “special need”. It turned out to be me. We fell in love and I was hooked. Their teacher was getting married to an English gent and was gone many weeks that spring. That April, I got the inspiration to got back to school and get my teaching credential. Whipped on by the shrinking checking account and growing debt, I went back to work at a real job. Ahh, to be a rich California farmer. If people only knew the truth.
I’d been enrolled for one month at National University. Already having a Bachelor’s degree in Science, the registrar had assured me that in a few short months, my credential would be finished. Night school. A couple of Saturdays. It would be simple to start a new career. She had bubbled over with enthusiasm and I signed on the dotted line while thinking of the amazing days I enjoyed with my special kids. That’s how it all started.
The most amazing thing happened shortly after I had enrolled in the program. For once, California did something great. “Class Size Reduction”. It would begin the fall semester of 1996. Every K-3 class in the state would be limited to no more than 20 students. There was an immediate teacher shortage of the worst kind, and I’d spend the next 20 years reaping the benefits of this wonderful program.
Once enrolled, driving 45 minutes one way to attend night school four times a week and Saturdays was intense, but it was a sacrifice that would open new doors. Dreams would come true in exchange for 18 months of hard work. It was the best $10,500 I’ve ever spent, hands down.
One the second night of the second month in the second class, my heart skipped a beat for more than a second. Two very tired gentlemen came to talk to our class. Would we? Could we? Maybe? Pretty Please? Consider teaching with their district. A list of promises were made. Enticements to earn a salary while going to school. We could start immediately with their district on provisionary credentials approved by the State. Eagerly, I took the bait and applied on the spot.
Three weeks later, I found myself interviewing in a mop closet at a tiny little schoolhouse in Sanger, California. Mop closets are not pleasant places. The air held the scent of pine sol and mold, with the slightest hint of vomit and urine. Damp mop heads stood at attention behind the exhausted principal as he asked me question after question while taking copious notes about this wanna-be whistle blower. It was a day that changed the course of my life forever bringing me face to face with my calling in life. Teaching Littles.
I don’t remember his name, and can’t say that I ever saw him again. Through the years, I would interview three more times, receiving all three offers for wonderful positions teaching the greatest people I’ve ever met in my life. The essence of a person is found in a 3rd grader. Challenges. Perfections. Personality. Pure thoughts. There is a window when a person is absolutely perfect. That happens about the same time as 3rd grade.
Yesterday’s interview was different. In an office with three highly skilled and very professional educators, I knew the answers to each question they asked. With 22 years of experience to draw from, great memories and examples flooded my thoughts. Once a teacher, a teacher forever. The essence doesn’t change.
At peace with whatever the decision of the interview panel may be, I await their answer. I’m a 1900’s version of a teacher. Not a shiny new model ready to try out the latest theories in teaching, I’m vintage “Good Teacher”. Their school will benefit from hiring me. I’ll groom 20 new writers, sharing a love for learning in a way that a newbie can’t. My students will behave and learn without knowing they are. I’d cherish the chance to be that tired again at the end of the day.
God may have other plans and reasoning behind presenting this opportunity. Perhaps it’s to show me that retirement is appropriate and wonderful at this golden stage of life. As my dad told me once when talking about getting a replacement for his farm dog, “I’m no puppy anymore, better look for an older one.”
Yup, Dad, I’m no puppy anymore, either. But, maybe just for one more year.
I’ll know by Friday. My principal said so.
More tomorrow.