Of Life and Times

I honestly cannot remember a time that I did not like going to school. Okay, I lied. I hated the fourth grade. Cruddy teacher and everything seemed to go wrong that year. But besides that little glitch, I have always loved to learn, and school was like a smorgasbord of new information for me to play with.

My most difficult subject was math. I think I was almost 40 years old before I found an injured mechanic turned adjunct math teacher at SUU before I met anyone who could help me understand how to think about multiple variables in an algebraic equation. For some reason when he walked me through it I felt like the sun shown for the first time in my life, and I understood what it meant to be warmed by its rays. It was so very exciting. That was short lived, but I won’t ever forget how it made me feel. I felt hope and confidence. I felt like I could conquer the world.

When I was in high school I had a history teacher who was as effeminate as was allowed, short of being in imminent danger of being beaten up by the red necks in the neighborhood. He had gone to school with my mother 20 plus years before and was a quirky fellow. One day I asked him why those in South America just let the Europeans walk into their countries and just take it away. Why didn’t they fight back? He paused a moment, with his head cocked to one side, then bravely strode down the aisle and snatched my pencil from my hand and went back to the front of the room. Turning on me he said, “This is my pencil. You going to do anything about it?” I have to admit that I had to scramble to pick my jaw up off the floor. I saw with perfect clarity why the Europeans got away with what they did. They had the fire power to slaughter the local peoples if they gave them any trouble, so the locals couldn’t do anything about it. That was the most potent and graphic lesson I ever learned in school. It was instant comprehension and understanding. Everything fell into place in that moment. It was a wonderful experience. I was thrilled to be in his classroom.

I wanted to grow up to be a history teacher myself, but my father (and I won’t get into those issues) discouraged me because it wouldn’t pay me enough money and I would have to work too hard for what little salary I got. So I stuffed my dream into the back of my mind and looked elsewhere.

Over the years I have come to one grand realization. I love to teach. I love it so much that I cannot not teach. It just comes out. It is like the enthusiasm of a child on Christmas morning. Just try to get them to stand still and not make any noise. Won’t happen. As I watched television with my children I interjected and drew comparisons. As we watched sit-coms I challenged the moral undertones being represented so they would not think I approved of what they were being taught by Hollywood. When I went to work for BYUH as the Administrative Assistant for the Dean in the School of Business, it was my students who encouraged me to go into TESOL. They said that they learned more from me while at work than they did from most of their other teachers at the university. While I don’t know that I really believe that, it made me feel good, and I yearned to be able to teach full time. So I left my position and finally finished my Bachelors in TESOL. I fully expected to go back to work as an Admin. Asst., but three years have now gone by and I am still unemployed. I have been blessed with the opportunity to teach three EIL classes in the last couple of semesters. That has been a euphoric joy. I love the students, I love the topic. I love my language. I love to teach.

This is why I am enrolled in the certification program. Despite what my father told me those many decades ago, I still want to teach, and if I have anything to say about it, teach I shall.