What It Feels Like to Be a Teacher

Irons in the Fire

I was asked a couple of days ago if I needed another iron. "What?" I responded, completely confused. "Do you need another iron in your fire?" the person clarified.

"Oh" realizing what was meant, "I do...what do you need me to do?" I asked with all seriousness and genuine concern.

Except...that wasn't what was meant. "No. I'm not asking you to do something for me, I'm asking if you think you need another iron in your fire b/c you have so many already."

Hmmm. The conversation ended and I left. Completely feeling like crap.

I spend every moment I have at work...with my colleagues, with my students, with my friends....trying to be a positive example and trying to get them to "push" themselves to be better at what they do and to do greater things. I never tell a student...you can't do this. I never tell a student...you have too many things going on. I never tell a teacher...you can't further your education and continue to be a good teacher and wife/husband/mother/father. I never tell a friend...you spend way too much time at church. I never tell a mom...you've got way too many freaking kids.

I simply do not believe in the philosophy that if you are involved in a lot, you cannot be great at everything you are involved in. I think some personalities thrive on this and I am most definitely one of them. I get my energy, my soul food, and my love for living life by being involved...and coincidentally...I am a human BEING.

Why is it that some in society insist that because I choose to take on responsibilities to help teachers be better teachers, and that I make myself available to my students and former students to tutor, advise, recommend, and assist them with whatever I can, and that I seek ways in my job to make myself a better teacher OUTSIDE of my 8-3 work day, and that I find ways on the weekends to visit friends and family and catch up on their lives that I have too many irons in my fire?

My apologies. I don't chase around teenagers picking them up from basketball practice and dance lessons. I don't do laundry for my animals. I don't make dinner for my husband. I don't plan weekly schedules for five other people. I am me. This is what I do. I grade papers and make lengthy comments. I get text messages asking about homework. I get to school to see students waiting at the door for help. I take time from one class to help one student needing an answer "right then." I conference with my students. I have conversations with them individually about their writing and their research. I talk to teachers. I know their strengths and weaknesses. I know when they come to my room totally spent, I want to have a great lesson plan they can take, a good book to read, or a cup of coffee to drink. I welcome phone calls and e-mails.

I could not function as a human being if I were not BEING the servant I was called to be every moment of my life.

Here's the ending: I did not visit the cockpit!

"I don't know. Where're you going?" he responded, an inquisitive smile spreading across his face when I nudged the pilot in front of me at Starbucks and asked if he was taking me home. (NO....it wasn't a come-on line!)

"Atlanta....then onto Springfield, Missouri." I said.

His quick, excited response caught me off guard. "By golly I am!"

"Really? No way!" I couldn't believe it. I know my eyes lit up from their tired state because, wow, how many times do you stand in line at Starbucks in LaGuardia behind the pilot flying you to your destination?

To prove himself, he pulled out his itinerary and showed me his line up for day, which started with my flight to Atlanta and ended up in Jacksonville, Florida for the evening.

We exchanged a few niceties and I managed to learn that it was his birthday. I insisted on buying his coffee...AND that he sign my boarding pass...AND that he take a picture with me.

He insisted I visit the cockpit during the flight.

"WHAT?! I can do that?! Are you serious?"

"Yes, I'd love for you to."

"Well, I'm with three other people."

"Bring them all, there's room."

"Seriously?"

"Yes. Seriously."

We parted ways from Starbucks and I ran off to the waiting area to find my friends. Laura was there reading her chick lit dutifully saving three other seats.

I told her the entire story in fast forward and showed her his signature, our picture, and the fabulous little Delta trading card (meant for kids obviously) he gave me..."since I'm out of wings right now."

Before I knew it, there he was again, heading my way in the waiting area. I introduced him to Laura and our conversation continued.

He left, and shortly thereafter, it was time to board. I was giddy...but found my way back to "steerage" in the back of the plane rather quickly. Once in the air, I got nervous. How am I going to do this? What am I going to say? "Hey stewardess, the pilot told me to come to the cockpit?" or "Hey, I bought coffee for the pilot, can I visit him in the cockpit?" Seriously. Post 911, how in the world does one enter the cockpit on a Boeing 757 at 35,000 feet? Do you simply knock on the door? "Excuse me....it's me...the girl from Starbucks." Yeah. Right. And then I feel the tap of the Sky Marshall on my shoulder..."Excuse me....it's me...a Sky Marshall...and you are under arrest pyscho Starbucks girl."

So needless to say, I was stumped...and scared...and nervous....and all of those things made me back out of going forward and seeing a commercial jet working at its best.

Yes. I'm sad. Yes. I'm mad. Yes, every friend I have thinks I'm crazy and that I missed a once in a lifetime opportunity. Who knows. Maybe destiny will let me have another shot, but here's what I learned from my experience (and from trading card#17):

• At 255,000 pounds, the 757 is about the same weight as a diesel train locomotive.
• It carries up to 186 passengers.
• It can fly up to 528 miles per hour.
• It can fly 3600 miles.
• And you can visit the cockpit if invited. :)
  

The Man Gown CRACKS Me Up!!

This link is in honor of my sister's yarn hair ribbons from the 4th grade, although I'm pretty sure we didn't buy them at JC Penney.

I promise...you are up for a laugh...thanks to Johnny Virgil's 15-Minute Lunch Blog...although it might actually turn my blog into a "Rated R"...so forewarned...it's a little risque, but you can handle it.

The picture to the right might be 1975...I think mom and dad are stuck in the 60's still...but my sister's pants are beautiful. I'm just adorable no matter what decade it is.

Three Days Shy of November...

1. Dear Readers.....you can stop sending me hateful mail and text messages. I'm back to blogging again after, what?, a nearly eight-week hiatus? Writers need time off too, man! My sincerest of apologies for leaving you with nothing better in this world to read...like Henry James, or Margaret Atwood, or Kurt Vonnegut. I have to say the funniest e-mails were simply the ones that said..."Blog." ...and..."Blog." and finally, yes, "Blog." again. So thanks for all those simple, yet fruitful reminders.

It's not that I haven't been writing. My Hawaiian journal is nearly half full from first semester of writing so far with my classes. I'm going to peruse that tonight and post something so delightful you'll want to make more coffee and read it twice.