Recently I was asking my officemate if she thought I’d be at my school next year since I honestly don’t know what I’m going to do to which she responded: “Be serious, Kelly. The writing’s on the wall.”
My presentation in Chicago at the NCLB conference went excellently and I couldn’t be more pleased. I could have been more prepared, like remembering to bring a projector or copying off my powerpoint, but whatever. It’s not like I’m a teacher that has gotten upset when a student comes to my class unprepared. Do you remember when I said that the owner of that company offered me a job but not like a job-where-I’d-have-to-leave-my-current-job?
Well, after I presented, he offered me that type of job.
I didn’t answer him.
Then, on Monday of this week I ran into my favorite professor and advisor in the Reading Master’s I was getting before I quit to get the Educational Administration degree which I’m finishing this May. She not only discussed my finishing that degree when I’m done, she also asked where it is I’ll be getting my PhD.
However, it was yesterday that blew me out of the water. For the past three years I have been e-mailing and corresponding with the Reading and Writing Consultant at the State Board of Education. Actually, it started with me saying something like, “Hey, it is SO stupid the way you guys…” After that, she invited me to work with her and now I’m helping to write the Illinois Learning Standards for the state.
I am, at once, reminded of the skit on In Living Color with the Jamaican family who admonishes their kid for being shiftless.
How many job you got, mon?
I got tree job, mon.
Tree job? Awwww, you lazy, mon.
Does this explain this coffee love I have? This inappropriate licking of lids when I’m pressed for time and can’t get another cuppa when I need one? Or why I’m tired all the time? I got too many job right now, mon.
When I got to the conference center where we got our directives for writing the standards I saw a familiar face, but one I haven’t seen in about 10 years. It was Nell, the fantastic, outrageous, inspiring teacher under whom I did my student teaching. She stood, staring at me, waiting for me to recognize her before we squealed and hugged for a long time. When I got my assignment in her classroom to teach high school English everyone else in the program was jealous. I hadn’t realized how wonderful she was or how lucky I was to have learned from her.
She said that she’d asked about me ever since I left but couldn’t remember my married name but she’d hoped I was doing ok. Right away she asked about Mallory and was shocked that she’s all grown up and a junior in college. When I graduated college she came to my graduation party and brought a card with a $100 bill in it which I promptly refused.
“Take it, honey. I never had children of my own and you kids I’ve had as student teachers became my kids. Take it. I want you to have it.”
It was an incredible gift back then and it never lost it’s power over me. Neither did Nell. She and her husband ride their motorcycles to Alaska every year. When I asked her about it she said she still had her hog, but that she drove her hot rod Mustang to today’s meeting.
“It’s black. It’s cute. I just love it!”
Nell, by the way, is older than my own mother. I can’t even guess how old she is, but a friend of mine who is 52 had Nell when she was in high school. Nell is a tiny little blonde-haired woman I can only describe as a sparkplug. Oh, how I want to be her when I grow up.
Which brings me to what she requested of me. She said she was proud of me for continuing my education and pleaded with me to get my doctorate degree just like her. In the time I was learning under her tutelage, I found out that her title was that of “doctor“. Not once did she allow me to address her as Dr. So-and-So even though she earned it.
“Oh, honey! You should do it! You should go on and get that doctorate. Do it. You’d be perfect. Do it for me.”
She was bouncing up and down and squealing and grabbing for my hands as she pressed me to continue even further with schooling. I wish I could have seen my own face when I told her that I would because saying it aloud made it real for the first time when it’s something I’ve only secretly dreamed about. I don’t know if I will. Hell, I don’t know what I’m doing next year.
In the meantime, though, I will be checking that writing on the wall and answering that damn, pesky door where I hear opportunities knocking. If nothing seems to fit, I’ll carve out my own place and step off on a new path. Who knows where it leads?
