My Kids

Not the ones who live in my house

Facebook, February 14, 2011

One of my kids brought me a souvenir turtle from her vacation. No, I did not burst into tears right in front of her.

My identification with “teacher” probably began in Kindergarten. Apparently, my Kinder teacher was fairly furious that my parents sent me to school already knowing how to read: “Well, what am I supposed to do with her?” Consequently, I spent a lot of time as a teacher’s aide, of sorts, helping to correct my classmates’ work. While I’m sure this made me the extremely popular kid I continued to be throughout my public school career (smell the sarcasm?), I loved it. I loved extra responsibility, and feeling singled out and special.

I played Teacher a lot as a kid. A lot of kids did (and do, I assume), because it is one adult job we actually observed every day. Additionally, their job directly affected our daily lives! Have pity on certain elementary school friends of mine — as well as my brother, though he was rarely a willing participant — who patiently put up with the assignments of extra worksheets I procured from school, handwriting practice, and my insistence on being addressed as, “Mrs. Saxhaug.” I even had an Old Timey™ desk in the garage — I mean, it had a hole for an inkwell — for my students to occupy. Alas, not everyone loved school as much as I did… at least, not enough to want to do it during playtime.

Despite all of this, I didn’t want to be a teacher when I grew up. No, I wanted to be an actor. I decided that in 2nd grade, and though my parents hid it well behind nothing but outward support for my dreams, I’m sure they thought I would eventually come around to something practical. They never said it, however — none of my family members did. It took well-meaning family friends to speak the tried-and-true, “Shouldn’t you get a teaching degree as a back-up plan?” advice that effectively poisoned the idea of teaching for me for a long time. Who wants to have a career that they “fell back on?” It took years for me to shake that stigma, even after I started to suspect that I didn’t have it in me to be a professional actor.

Then one day, a fellow server at The Green Mill invited me into her classroom to give a stage makeup tutorial. (Yes, I know you’re shocked to hear that some teachers have to take a side job in order to pay the bills.) I spent a delightful day with groups of 7th and 8th graders, teaching them to shade and highlight, and sending them out into the hallways with old-age wrinkles, cat noses, and leprosy sores. (I had a limited range of stage makeup skills.) It occurred to me that being in front of a class of students had more than a little in common with being in front of an audience, and that maybe I had a calling after all. So I signed up for a grad school program and dreamed a new dream.

My mother hid most of her surprise when I announced I was planning to teach high school English. I thought she was nonplussed that I was going to teach in general, but in actuality it was just that she had always thought I would teach on the elementary level. “Oh no!” said I, “I want to introduce teenagers to the joys and depth of diverse literature! I want to guide them through the process of writing papers and make them connect their thinking in ways they never thought possible!” Yes, I had seen Dead Poets Society a few times. The problem was, every time I daydreamed about welcoming a class of students… they were little. After a year, I transferred programs (and colleges) and entered the world of Elementary Education. It felt like slipping into the proverbial glove.

I did my student teaching time in 2nd grade and Kindergarten. 2nd was my least favorite grade when I was growing up, so I felt the urge to redeem the year for my young self. It was also the ideal setting for my capstone project: Theater in the Elementary Classroom. I revamped the spelling unit to include dance and pantomime, and was overjoyed at the success. Elementary-aged students get excited when their teachers are excited, and that’s quite a departure from the 7th grade girl who made me cry when I subbed in her English class!

When I eventually (but not finally!) was hired for a classroom of my own, I felt great trepidation over it being 5th graders. They had looked so huge and old when I was in my 2nd grade and Kindergarten classrooms! What if they were like middle schoolers, and attacked all of my weaknesses?! But what I found was a group of sassy, funny, sneaky, clever kids who at heart wanted to please me. They were devastated when I read them Old Yeller, and couldn’t wait to show me their dance routine for the spring talent show (set to Katy Perry’s Firework, obviously). They also mourned when we all found out that I didn’t get to keep the position beyond that year. That is the group I wonder about the most — all graduated and grown now. I wish I could tell that girl that I still have the turtle she brought me from her vacation, and that it was the first of dozens with which I’ve been gifted by students over the years.

I am now in my 9th year of 4th grade, and I really feel that this is the secret sweet spot of teaching. 4th graders can tie their own shoes, zip their own jackets, and rarely smell of pee. They still sing back at me when I ask them too, only roll their eyes when my jokes are particularly terrible, and don’t yet smell of Axe Body Spray. They bring me flowers and Kit Kats and drawings and turtles, but also have lengthy class discussions about what happened on CNN10. They need my help to remind them to look at the schedule to find out when recess is (even though it is the same every day), but they ask astoundingly detailed questions about what makes the “sh” sound in “martian.” They thrill when they see me in public, which gives me the feeling of being a celebrity, and think it is The Coolest Thing Ever if I show up at their Pony League Basketball game on the weekend.

The honest truth is, those darn kids make this weird, under-appreciated, undervalued job totally worth it.

Could someone just get them to stop asking me, “WHAT DO I DO WHEN I’M DONE?” Because I swear to all that is holy, I already told them eight times.

Thanks for reading.

Love, Susie