I iz old and nostalgic
Tonight I was invited to a celebration of the "Quarter Century Club" - those who have taught at my school for 25 years or more. I have been here 27 years. 27 years. Not many people can say they've been employed in the same place for 27 years. 27 years.
It seems like just the blink of an eye
It seems like forever.
When I took the job, I thought, hey, I'll do it for a year or two, then move on to something more lucrative, more challenging, more interesting.
Then that two year window passed. And nothing looked more lucrative, more challenging, more interesting.
Suddenly, the ten year window passed. And nothing looked more lucrative, more challenging, more interesting.
At the twenty year anniversary, something popped up that looked more lucrative, more challenging, more interesting. But they didn't want me.
So, now, at 27 years. Where do I stand? Where do I go?
At the celebration tonight, I sat next to a young man from the class of 1988. He had hung out in the library for all his high school years. He talked about how much I had mattered to him. How I had allowed him to display his Hank Aaron autographed baseball during Black History Month. How he'd gone on to graduate from Yale, has a great job, a wonderful wife who is an OB-GYN. He showed me pictures of his three beautiful children, the oldest of whom is almost old enough to come to our school. Now, he's on the Board of Trustees. And he promises me that they'll make sure we have the salaries we deserve, how they want us to have a great life in retirement. How they want to give back to us all that we gave them.
We look at the bricks and mortar every day. I look at how much more I could offer my students in a state of the art facility, with all the accompanying technological assets.
But it all comes down to the difference we make every day. When I introduce a boy to some fun fiction book, when I help that 9th grader find the perfect source for his world history paper, when I point out that burping in the library isn't quote appropriate - those are all building blocks in a boy's history, in a boy's development.
I hope I never lose sight of that huge responsibility. In the day to day busy-ness, of trying to maintain order and quiet, I hope I don't forget that one small remark can make such a difference.
It seems like just the blink of an eye
It seems like forever.
When I took the job, I thought, hey, I'll do it for a year or two, then move on to something more lucrative, more challenging, more interesting.
Then that two year window passed. And nothing looked more lucrative, more challenging, more interesting.
Suddenly, the ten year window passed. And nothing looked more lucrative, more challenging, more interesting.
At the twenty year anniversary, something popped up that looked more lucrative, more challenging, more interesting. But they didn't want me.
So, now, at 27 years. Where do I stand? Where do I go?
At the celebration tonight, I sat next to a young man from the class of 1988. He had hung out in the library for all his high school years. He talked about how much I had mattered to him. How I had allowed him to display his Hank Aaron autographed baseball during Black History Month. How he'd gone on to graduate from Yale, has a great job, a wonderful wife who is an OB-GYN. He showed me pictures of his three beautiful children, the oldest of whom is almost old enough to come to our school. Now, he's on the Board of Trustees. And he promises me that they'll make sure we have the salaries we deserve, how they want us to have a great life in retirement. How they want to give back to us all that we gave them.
We look at the bricks and mortar every day. I look at how much more I could offer my students in a state of the art facility, with all the accompanying technological assets.
But it all comes down to the difference we make every day. When I introduce a boy to some fun fiction book, when I help that 9th grader find the perfect source for his world history paper, when I point out that burping in the library isn't quote appropriate - those are all building blocks in a boy's history, in a boy's development.
I hope I never lose sight of that huge responsibility. In the day to day busy-ness, of trying to maintain order and quiet, I hope I don't forget that one small remark can make such a difference.
posted by Beth at 8:53 PM
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