Supposed to be breaking out my sandals by now

I can't truly complain, but dang, it's cold for this time of year. The wind has me thinking I'm going to wake up in Oz any day now.

Nothing to compare to what's happening out East or around my Canadian buddies, but still.

On the bright side, it's easier to teach when the kids aren't staring out the window and pining for the beach. Teaching when it's beautiful outside is torture, for both them and me. So, the cold weather is a good thing.

(If I keep saying that, maybe I'll believe it).

On Center of Gravitas, gayprof talked about how he became the prof part of "gayprof." As a student he thought he might become a teacher. I teased him a bit about this.

See, he got it right. Too many folks do well in school, feel safe in that known world, and think, "hey, I'll be a teacher!" They don't realize that teaching isn't the same as being a student. I see student teachers and pre-professionals (to become a student teacher in California, one must log at least 120 hours of volunteer work in classrooms or other situations with children and teenagers), all the time. They are overwhelmed by what it truly means to do this job.

I never wanted to be a teacher. Not me. No way. Too much work, not enough pay, and no respect at all. Nope, I was going to work for a publishing company. Or as a technical writer (hah!) or write the great American novel. No teaching for me.

And here I am.

After graduating with an English degree, in 1986, there was a recession going on. No one wanted to hire me. I ended up at Seven-11 and a Hallmark store, riding my bike to both, because I couldn't afford a car. I shared a tiny 1-bedroom apartment with a girl I knew from school. When she was mad at me, she wouldn't tell me, just eat my food and then vomit it up.

Not a good situation.

So, teaching? How did I get here?

Little by little, I got better jobs. I had several working with developmentally disabled children, and then adults. It was teaching, but not really.

Then a friend who was teaching in Japan told me to apply, and I did, and boom. I was a teacher.

Three years in Nishinomya, teaching 400-450 students a day. I was a teacher already, but still, didn't want to face it. I was "on an adventure," not prepping myself for my career.

Back home, I got a job as an instructor for adults with mental illnesses... yes, a teacher again.

Finally I got it. Whether I fought it or not, a teacher was who I was. Ten years after leaving school, I was back, getting my credential.

Even that wasn't easy. The first time I applied to grad school, I was turned down. Yeah, okay, I was on the "waiting list" and they only accepted 10 people, but still. I called and asked what I needed to do to be better qualified (seeing that I'd taught for three years in Japan, taught as a teacher's aide in several special ed classrooms, and had volunteered in several more). I asked where I was on this "waiting list."

After some awkward hemming and hawing on the other end of the phone, I was told that they wanted to maintain a certain level of "diversity" and that they were trying to keep a "balance" of teachers in the program. That the "waiting list" wasn't a numbered list, but rather a list of "matches." She went on to explain what this meant; "you see, you white, middle-class female, you are a dime a dozen in the teaching profession, and don't even get me started about English teachers specifically. You don't have a snowball's chance in Hell in getting into this program this year."

I may have paraphrased somewhat, but you get it.


Reverse discrimination? I wouldn't call it that. I believe that students need to have teachers with whom they can identify. Does that mean I have to be the same gender, color, ethnicity and from the same socio-economic background? Of that, I'm not so sure. Could I have made a stink about it? Maybe, but even though I was hurt and disappointed, it made me think. I still think about it. We do need more diversity in the teaching field, and I'm not adding any (except of course, my sparkling wit and charm...), but should I be punished for that?

Another post.

I actually got an emergency credential, was paid for teaching, applied the next year, and got into the credential program.

Ten years later, here I am. I've never gotten tired of this job, this profession I've chosen. I get paid to care about other people's futures. Could I get into research? Sure. Do I still want to write that novel? Of course.

But day to day? I'm a teacher. And I'm happy.