Tag Archives: society

The Day I Became a Teacher

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At this point, I’ve logged hundreds of hours in the classroom due to fieldwork, student teaching, and substitute teaching. As a sub, there isn’t much I haven’t done K-12. Yes, I’ve even subbed kindergarten, although I now avoid if I can. It isn’t that I don’t like young students. I do, and some of the best days I’ve spent subbing have been in 1st grade. I can understand why my great-aunt loved teaching 1st grade so much. The problem is that many kindergartners don’t quite get school yet. The whole idea of a substitute teacher throws them off, and it can become a nightmare if you don’t do things in exactly the same way as their regular classroom teacher. One would think that by now I would feel like a teacher, especially after completing student teaching. Well, I didn’t fully realize that I didn’t until Friday, March 10th, 2017 – the day I became a teacher.

There is some background I can’t get into, but it is enough to know that on that particular Friday, I headed to Oscoda High School to support a student performing with the Pinconning High School Band. They were competing against several other local high school bands. I wasn’t prepared for the reaction of some of my former students (from my experience student teaching at Pinconning Middle School/High School). As most of the classes I had during student teaching involved 8th graders, I hadn’t expected to see many of my former students that day. I was wrong. I saw several of my former students, and one look on their faces made me realize how much they appreciated the fact that I came to watch them perform. One student even caught up with me in the parking lot as I was leaving. He just wanted to thank me for coming out to support them. The funny thing is that I hadn’t even thought about that when I had decided to go. I am glad that I had the opportunity to support them though. They certainly deserve it.

What I call the public part of teaching always takes me by surprise. It really shouldn’t. My mom taught all throughout my childhood, and due to the fact that she knew so many people in our small town (not only did she spend most of her teaching career at the same elementary school, she had grown up in the same town as well), it always took us much longer to do the grocery shopping after school. I dreaded having to run errands with her as she always ended up talking with someone when all I wanted to do is go home. It didn’t take long for the same thing to happen to me. It took me by surprise then, and it takes me by surprise now. For whatever reason, that experience at Oscoda High School will stay with me. When I finished my student teaching, many of my students were sad to see me go. I reassured them that I would be back as a substitute teacher, and yet, this semester it hasn’t worked out (yet) for me to sub at Pinconning Middle School/High School. At least I had the opportunity to see a few of them that day. I will always consider March 10th, 2017 the day I truly became a teacher. It reminded me of why I decided to become a teacher after all these years:  The students.

Discouragement

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There are few things I find more depressing than a teacher discouraging a student. It doesn’t matter what level, students should never feel that a teacher doesn’t believe in him or her. Unfortunately, teachers like this exist at every level. I found myself thinking about this recently when I came across one such teacher, now retired, in my daily life. I never had her as a teacher, but she always seemed to go out of her way to be negative. I occasionally see this women in my business life, and she well knows that I went back to school to become a teacher. It never fails: She always brings it up and always acts as though I will never find a full-time teaching job. Excuse me? Neither one of us knows what will happen. Thanks for the vote of confidence.

The worst is overhearing negative teachers talk. One woman bluntly stated that she would pay for her children’s college educations in full, as long as they did not become teachers. I didn’t say anything, but that statement didn’t sit well with me. If that teacher happened to have my child as a student, there might be cause for concern (frankly, I am being nice here).

Even as a high school student, I went out of my way to avoid such teachers if I could help it. I knew of one teacher who had years earlier discouraged my aunt from pursuing her chosen profession. He didn’t particularly like my family. Fortunately, my aunt didn’t listen to him and went on to have a successful career in her chosen field. Well, for whatever reason, he must not have made the connection that I am related. I had to have him for one class, and it was OK. However, I did have a choice as to what I could take as a senior. Even though most of my peers took an additional class with him, I chose a different class. I am so glad I did. The last thing I have ever needed in my life is someone to tell me that I can’t do something. I am already my own worst critic, and I know that I am not the only one.

How many students have been discouraged from trying something new due to an overly critical teacher or parent? What a sobering thought. I am convinced that everyone has innate talents; some people just haven’t discovered theirs yet. Imagine if we were all a little more supportive and a little less critical of those around us. What a wonderful thought. So many of our biggest, toughest problems might actually be solved. Maybe people wouldn’t turn to drugs and alcohol quite so easily if they felt what they did mattered, that they could contribute to society.

This actually gets to the heart of what I believe to be wrong with society. We are too hung up on perfection. We don’t value ingenuity. We don’t honor work ethic the way we should. We don’t honor true diversity of talent. Well, I guess I’ll leave it there.

What If?

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Fear

All of the things I fear the most have been on my mind lately. What gets me the most is the realization that in most cases, at least some version of what I would consider the worst life has to offer has already happened in my life. I have lost so many wonderful people close to me. I’ve been forced to start over so many times I’ve lost count. I thought that I would marry only to have that relationship end after 10 years in the most painful way imaginable. I’ve dealt with infertility for decades now. I’ve faced so much rejection in all areas of my that it shouldn’t faze me when it comes to writing. Oh, but it does.

Actually, that’s my point: Why do I continue to let fear dictate what I do when I’ve faced most, if not all, of my worst fears head on? A friend of mine made me realize that I am perfectly content to work on things up to a point as long as it is well within my comfort zone (going back to school, for example), but I then hesitate to take the next step when things become too real, when the stakes are the highest. I am at a point in my life where I need to act:

1. Life is way too short.

2. I am as prepared as I will ever be.

It is frightening and liberating at the same time. I am out of excuses.

Would it be so terrible if for once we didn’t give into our deepest fears, especially when it represents the difference between pursuing our dreams or settling for the status quo? It makes me wonder what life would be like if women actually supported one another and stopped tearing down one another constantly. It still happens all too often. What if honesty ruled?

Beauty

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Perception Is Reality

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One of my former bosses used to say that perception is reality. At the time, I didn’t fully agree, but the more I thought about it, the more I recognized the fundamental truth in that saying. It goes along with the saying “Whether you think you can or whether you think you can’t, you’re right” (Henry Ford). I have to keep telling myself this, but it goes beyond personal plans and self-determination. I took it a step further and realized that it definitely applies to politics.

Without getting too overtly political, all I can say is that whomever controls the narrative controls the perception of reality. This is why fake news and outright media bias is so dangerous. Does it happen on both sides? Yes, of course. I’ll leave it up to my smart readers to determine where the truth actually lies. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that this gets to the heart of my political beliefs. It gets to why I believe what I believe. This is also why it is so difficult to change another’s political opinions.

More than anything, I am truly tired of people telling others what they should believe. Excuse me, am I not capable of making my own well-supported decisions? It doesn’t matter if it is politics or something else, I will not blindly follow anyone or anything. Will people try to persuade one another? Sure. No problem. I am always willing to listen to a well thought-out opinion. That is not what I am discussing here. I am talking about the arguments used by many that state if you are x, y, and/or z (for example, a woman, college educated, etc.), you must believe 1, 2, and/or 3 and lockstep with this politician or political party. It happens. It happens every single day.

This entire idea can be taken one step further. It explains some detrimental beliefs we have in our society. The one I want to talk about here is the belief that everyone needs a college education. While I don’t necessarily believe that college is for everyone, I do believe that everyone needs some kind of additional training or education after high school. Unfortunately, we as a society place a much higher value on a four year college degree than we do trade school experiences. The sad thing is that we need people to become electricians, plumbers, builders, and so much more. There are many people out there who much rather work with their hands than do straight academics. Unfortunately, many of those students are talked into four year degrees when they might be much happier learning a trade. In the end, our society loses. We have gutted the trades, and those who pursued a traditional four year degree instead are left with a mountain of unnecessary debt. By the way, there are so many other examples.  This just happened to be the least controversial example I could think of at the moment.

I suppose my biggest frustration is that so many people do not base their perceptions on the truth. The truth doesn’t seem to matter much anymore. This sad fact is precisely why we are not resolving any of our political, economic, or social issues. No one wants to listen to anyone else.

Body and Other Four Letter Words

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This is one of the final – and best – blog posts I shared on my old site.  This is still a topic that I think about and struggle with every day.

There are many reasons why I haven’t blogged in well over a year, but today I’m going to address one of the main reasons.  One of the main reasons I decided to blog in the first place was simply to address issues most important to me, and with the issues of body image and infertility, I’ve failed to do just that.  How do you address something that affects every single aspect of your life?  How do you address something so overwhelming that no one, not even those who love you the most, wants to hear it?  The thing is that the longer I let these thoughts fester, let these words go unsaid, the longer I wonder if there is something I could’ve done for girls and women dealing with the same issues.

As a child, I can precisely pinpoint the moment when I was told my body wasn’t good enough; it was the day I entered kindergarten.  Prior to kindergarten, no one called me fat or felt the need to constantly remind me just how short I was.  Sure, I was a “stocky” kid, but I was also active.  I played outside constantly with my little sister, cousins, etc.  I never felt self-conscious in a bathing suit; I was having too much fun swimming.  I never felt the need to compare myself to anyone else.  Did I envy my older cousins?  Of course I did!  I looked up to all four of them (all female), but even as a small child I knew that to compare myself to someone so much older simply didn’t make sense.

Everything changed in kindergarten.  In gym, I was always picked last for teams.  When we had to line up by height (again, in gym), I was inevitably last or next to last.  Sadly, I was compared to a little girl who was much larger than me.  I just remember the anger and outrage of such an unjust comparison, and yet, I felt empathy for the other girl.  Was that really how other kids saw me?  As time wore on, kids started making rhymes about my body.  25 years later, and I still remember it all: “Short, fat, and squatty; got no face, got no body.”

In some ways things got better in junior high.  I went from being bullied to being mostly ignored.  As others paired off and experimented, I just threw myself into my school work and books.  Sports were never much of an option for me, and unfortunately, sports at the junior high/high school I attended were the key to popularity, especially if you were a girl.  I wasted my time on crushes who couldn’t be bothered to even talk to me, much less date me.  Once my little sister joined me at the same school, I was bombarded with comments such as: “I can’t believe you two are sisters! Your sister is so pretty and popular!”  The implication, of course, being that I was the exact opposite: ugly and unpopular.

As an adolescent, I would’ve given anything to look like my Mom and sister, both of whom I considered relatively thin (though they would both fight me on that one), beautiful, and popular.  At the time, I wanted blonde hair and blue eyes if it meant acceptance.  I remember driving with my Mom in her new red Grand Prix as a young teenager.  GM had completely redesigned the Grand Prix, and my Mom had one of the first redesigned models in the area.  My Mom had lost a lot of weight, and frankly, looked great.  Every time I went somewhere with my Mom, it seemed as though we would get stares, mainly from men.  I couldn’t help but wish I was the one making heads turn, not my Mom.  Despite all of the disparaging remarks my Mom would make about her own weight, I never saw her as anything but beautiful.

Adolescence is hard, but it is even harder if you are short and fat.  At the time, I thought I was huge, and that there was no chance I’d ever lose the weight.  Today, I’d love to weigh what I did in high school.  In college, I proved myself wrong and lost a lot of weight due to walking Michigan State’s campus and walking all over Spain during my semester there.  What I wasn’t prepared for was how I would be treated differently.  People were interested in me, in my life – even a few men.

After college, after moving to Houston, Texas for my first “real” job, things changed.  I took all of the stress of that job, the joy of being in a relationship, and the loneliness I felt before Brian joined me in Houston, and I did what I do best: I used it as a license to eat.  The desk job didn’t help either.  Not only did I gain back all of the weight I lost, I kept gaining more too.  It got to the point that my Dad and Grandma were shocked when I returned to Michigan.  They couldn’t even hide it as I’d gained that much weight.

Today I’m at a point in my life where I’d love to lose the weight again.  I’m single, and frankly, happier than I’ve been in a very long time.  The thing is that I’d be kidding myself if I didn’t admit that I’m scared: I’m scared of all of the attention I’d receive if I did lose the weight.  The experience of having lived through that once left me angry.  Am I really that much more of an interesting person if I am relatively thin?  As I thought through all of that, I realized that losing weight would only be temporary (again) if I didn’t deal with my own body issues.  I’m left wondering how I am supposed to do that when everything in our society states, quite bluntly, that my body, even at its best, will never be good enough on account of my height alone.

If there is anything I want girls and women to take from this, it is this: 

We should not feel we have to be a certain weight to feel loved and accepted for who we are, society be damned.  Never let anyone tell you differently.

We as a society need to come to accept the simple fact that people come in all shapes, sizes, and colors.  Words hurt much more than most people realize.

girl 2

Is this what we want for girls?

Through all of this over-thinking of body image as of late, I came to realize that I’ve never truly even liked my body, and much of the reason stems from infertility.  The first thing I ever remember wanting out of life was to be a mom.  At no point in my life did I ever not want a family of my own.  Unfortunately, biologically, it just isn’t going to happen.  Fortunately, I came to terms with the fact adoption is a wonderful alternative a long time ago.  And yet, I’ve never quite forgiven my body for so fundamentally betraying me.

If I resemble anyone on either side of my family, it would be my Great-Grandma Suszko, my Dad’s maternal grandmother. At nineteen, I was working with my Grandma (her daughter) when she opened a package from a niece containing her parents’ wedding photo, newly redone.  My Grandma kept staring at the photo and then back at me.  It was clear she thought I looked like her Mom, although the fact that I was the same age as the girl in the photograph probably helped.  As someone deeply interested in family history, I have a copy of Great-Grandma Suszko’s naturalization papers.  Her physical description could fit me perfectly, with one exception: she was two inches taller than I am.  My Great-Grandma Suszko had ten children, all but one of whom lived well into their 70s.  Add in the fact that my Mom has four sisters, and I came up with one conclusion: My body should be built to bear children.  It just isn’t.

What people who don’t have infertility fail to realize is that dealing with it is an on-going process, not a one-time deal.  Just when you feel you are fine with it, accepted it fully, and have moved on, something happens that forces you to deal with it all over again.  For me, one of the hardest things to deal with was the day I realized that I fully met the medical definition of infertile (I’ll spare you the details).  There just wasn’t anyone I could share that deep sense of loss with at the time, even my boyfriend.  I’ve talked a lot about my experiences with body image, but it just wasn’t complete without discussing infertility as well.  There was a time in my life that dealing with infertility was so painful that I downplayed my desire for a family of my own.  I downplayed it to the point that my own sister never realized that I wanted children.  It saddens me that those I love most can never fully understand due to the simple fact that they are parents.

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