WHY A TEACHER?

Chapter 1 . . . I think.

Karen at 4th Birthday. Christmas 1946

In 2018 I jumped into NANOWRIMO (National Novel Writer’s Month). The online program presented the challenge to write a 50,000-word novel in the month of November. Every night the writers logged in and reported their word count. For three years I entered and completed three novels, usually finishing several days less than a month. (I am an incurable over-achiever.) Mind you, the editing afterward presented a greater challenge.

The fourth year, I didn’t have a novel in mind, so I broke the rules and wrote about my careers. It turned out to be more of a memoir. I delved into all my careers, hobbies, and side businesses, and ended up with 54,000 words. I’ll share the beginning and if my readers think it’s entertaining, I’ll continue it next week. Here you go with the first installment.

Chapter 1

“Not many of you should become teachers, my brothers, because you know that we who teach will be judged more strictly.” (James 3:1, King James Version)

Reading this scripture has meant a lot to me. It means we teachers are held to a higher standard because we are influencing young minds. I think being called to teach is a high calling and not to be taken lightly. If you decide to be a teacher, it needs to be for the right motives. If it’s strictly for the retirement, the vacations, the holidays, the steady pay, then be warned, teaching is so much more than that.

It’s planning every day out carefully to meet the needs of students who come with a myriad of problems, varied learning styles, differences in abilities, and many who just don’t want to be in school. It is loving the unlovable, not giving up on the resistant, challenging the gifted, dealing with demands from the parents, staff, and administration. It is knowing that what you say or do could change a life for the better or the worse. It is being buoyed by seeing students succeed, hearing them say, “Aha”, and knowing you made a difference.

If you are truly called to teach, you will spend your life teaching, in and out of the classroom. You will sincerely desire to share everything you learn with someone else. And your car will be full of junk you’ve collected to share with students or anyone who shows an interest.

***

As a kid, I wanted to be a teacher. My grades ranged from “above average” to “she talks too much.” Either I idolized the teachers or challenged them. At times, respect flew out the window and landed me in the principal’s office or banished from class for a while. Fortunately, that only happened three times in elementary school and once in high school.

I wanted to be the one up front with a pencil resting on my ear. When I got together with my cousins, Zana Fay always got to be the teacher because she was the oldest. When we had church, she got to be the preacher for the same reason.

Many teachers inspired me to teach. Some because they were so good I wanted to be like them, some just because they were so memorable, and some because they were so bad I needed to make up for them.

I didn’t get to go to kindergarten because Wheatland, California didn’t have a kindergarten. So, I was the youngest one in my first-grade class at five-years-old. The teacher, Mrs. Bowers had a stern way about her, and angrily rapped me on the knuckles with a ruler several times. I couldn’t read well and struggled when they changed from teaching sight words by rote to phonics. I actually had double vision until an eye doctor figured it out when I was a junior in high school. But I have always been a one-word-at-a time reader and still have difficulty reading if there are outside distractions.

One day, Mrs. Bowers sat on the edge of a student’s desk. The desk fell over and Mrs. Bowers ended up lying flat on her back on the floor. One of the students went to get the principal to help her up. I looked down at her and thought she got what she deserved.

In second grade, I had Mrs. Butterfield as my teacher in Livingston, California, and I loved her. The only thing I can remember about second grade makes me sad to this day. I had a best friend named Velma Yokley. We played together every day until Mrs. Butterfield told me that I shouldn’t play with her so much, and I should make other friends. I can’t remember if that is a true story, but I remember something came between Velma and me, and when she moved away, I felt very sad. I loved her dark skin and braided hair.

Velma stood out as the only Black student I can remember in our school until I reached high school. Livingston’s population reflected a mixing pot of nationalities; Mexicans, Philipinos, Japanese, Portuguese, Whites, and Italians. There also happened to be one Jewish family and one Black family. Per capita, the ratio seemed about right for a town of 1500 people.

I don’t remember third grade. I think the teacher’s name was Mrs. Van Hook.

My 4^th grade teacher, Dadie Blackwell, one of my mother’s friends, made it known I would never be her pet. Maybe I expected favors and she wanted to make sure that didn’t happen by being especially hard on me.

I interrupted her when she made an error while reading to us from the Social Studies book. A big mistake. She disciplined me by making me sit outside the classroom during story time every day for two weeks. With my struggle as a reader, I thought the teacher would be proud of me for noticing her error. Not!

Unfortunately, it did not cure me from interrupting or talking too much. My last boss before retirement said, “Karen, you are a workshop leaders’ worst nightmare.”

I’ve always said, “I’m a great teacher, but I’m a terrible student.” I’m either asking too many questions, getting ahead of what’s being taught, or challenging the teacher.

Evidently, Mrs. Blackwell, didn’t cure me of that bad habit.

P.S. A note about the photo above. When I was three and a half, a big dog tore into my face, leaving a long three-legged crow’s foot scar from the bridge of my nose to my hairline, nearly effecting one eye. I was often described as “the girl with the scar,” but I wasn’t outwardly called Scarface until an incident in the 6th grade. That will show up in the next chapter.

Please let me know if you want to hear more of the story, or if it bored you.