What It Means To Be a Teacher

As most people close to me would know, I taught high school English for exactly one disastrous year after college. =) If anyone doesn't know the details about that experience, suffice it to say that I learned much about myself and my inability to function in the American public school system. **shudder** 

This does not, however, mean I changed my opinion about education and educators. I love learning! I could probably be a lifelong student and be perfectly happy. =) And, I deeply respect those who have made it their life's mission to teach. Unfortunately, this opinion is not necessarily shared by everyone in America today. Too often, I see teachers berated for things out of their control or forced on them by inept leadership. The public demands excellence, but gives no support and little resources.  

So, I thought I would share with you what I feel it means to be a teacher. I send this out to my many, many friends and relatives who work tirelessly day in and day out in an oft-times thankless job.

I love you all!

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What it means to be a teacher:

To be a teacher means working 8-10 hour days and still bringing 1 or 2 hours of work home with you each night.

It means spending thousands of dollars of your own money on everything from tissues and notebook paper to new technology or resources in your attempt to catch the imagination of just one more kid.

It means watching children struggle with schoolwork and disciplinary issues and knowing they are going home hungry and alone.

It means being able to do little comfort or help that needy kid because--

to be a teacher means being constantly suspected and mistrusted because of the selfish, deviant actions of a few.

It means being told how to do your job by those with no training or experience in your field.

It often means being forced to choose between the education and growth of your students and the financial health of your school and district.

It means spending your summers attending conferences and working part-time jobs for extra money, all while trying to spend quality time with your family and loved ones.

To be a teacher means you will be bullied, belittled, challenged, threatened, and verbally assaulted by both students and their parents when they aren’t happy.

It means you work 4-6 years for your degree, then spend another 1-3 years in a “trial” position under a mentor before you gain your full certification.

It means having to supervise other functions outside of regular hours such as dances, games, and field trips.

It means working with curriculum and supplies that are sometimes past their prime because the budget can’t allow for their replacements.

It means watching new stadiums and gyms being built while using those old supplies.

It means you will probably spend the first few years of your career in the hardest classes with the most difficult schedules.

To be a teacher means bringing home a paycheck that is roughly the same as a McDonalds shift manager’s.

It means spending your lunch hour and planning periods prepping lessons, grading papers, and setting up activities—all while attempting to swallow at least half of a sandwich.

It means having to justify and explain in five different ways why you taught what you taught in the manner you chose to teach it.

It means grading papers and writing lessons on the weekend.

It means never having a moment to yourself during the day.

But…

To be a teacher also means watching a child’s face light up when he finally grasps a difficult concept.

It means watching a student everyone thought would drop out in a cap and gown preparing for college.

It means gaining a new family of “your kids” every fall and sending a little bit of your heart with each of them every summer.

It means knowing the joy of seeing a kid read for the first time, succeed for the first time, or try for the first time.

To be a teacher means choosing every day to invest in the next generation whether you receive credit for their successes or blame for their failures.

It means caring when everyone else gives up, working after everyone else leaves, and showing up when everyone else stays home.

It isn’t about a paycheck, a career, or a job; it’s about the students and opening their eyes to what life could be and what they could be. Because teaching isn’t about what happened yesterday or what is going on today; no, teaching is about building the future one child and one idea at a time. Indeed, the future of our society does not rise or fall in the marketplace or the political floor.  Our future is created in the classroom.

Some weird math...

One of the most common misconceptions I have encountered among Christians is that the church and the pastor are somehow responsible for one’s spiritual growth.

Now, I completely agree that we should find a church home where we can receive nourishment and be challenged; however, the public church service should never be our only (or even our main) source of spiritual food. We are each responsible for our own spiritual growth and development.

So, if you are feeling underfed or that you've stopped growing, that is not the pastor’s fault, but yours.

If you disagree with me, here’s a couple questions.

• Whose fault is it when your love of McDonald's gives you extra pounds and high cholesterol: the doctor’s or yours?
•  Whose fault is it when your speeding car hydroplanes in the rain: the weatherman’s or yours?
•  Whose fault is it when the kitchen fire spreads too quickly because the batteries in the smoke alarm haven’t been replaced: the fire department’s or yours?
• Whose fault is it when your car runs out of gas: the mechanic’s or yours?

Most of us are mature enough to accept that our actions—or lack of action—will bring consequences in other areas of our lives, but when it comes to our relationship with God, we often fail to make the connection.

We understand that all human relationships require some kind of maintenance and investment, and that the depth and strength of each relationship is proportionally determined by the amount of time and effort paid into it. And yet, we think that by spending 1.5-2 hours in a church service a few times a month and throwing a occasional $20 in the offering, we should have flourishing, rewarding spiritual lives. (Can you imagine if that were your marriage?)

Think about it, people. It just doesn't add up.

Whisper

Climbing.

Blue sky above--

I grope for a hand-hold. 

No ropes. 

Deep well below--

Will this toil ever end?

I've been on the edge,

Peering through the abyss. 

The water's covered me

When my last strand broke. 

Keep me on the wall. 

Keep me in my path. 

Only from my labor, can I

Ever hear the birds again. 

K. Yerton

2003

Friendship (Through the eyes of a kid)

I am one of a group of teachers who rotate weeks in the middle school Sunday School class at our church.  If you haven't noticed, 5-8th grad is my favorite age group! =) They're old enough to have intelligent, rational conversations, but young enough to still intimidate with my "superior" wisdom. LOL

Actually, I just love watching as their worldviews and ideas begin forming.  If you want to see why an adult is the way he/she is, look back to these ages.  Things that happen during those years will shape their whole lives.

Our curriculum focuses on character traits and lessons each month.  For November, we are learning about Wisdom: where to gain it, how to use it, etc.

This past Sunday, the lesson was "To be wise, hang out with wise people."  I split the girls and boys up to do an activity where they wrote down characteristics of the ultimate best friend on sticky notes.  Each group had a poster on the wall with a stick figure that they then attached the note to the corresponding body part. (For example, "Speak kindly" would go near the mouth.)

They had a great time, and I didn't really pay much attention to what exactly they were writing down, other than to give some hints and advice occasionally.  So, yesterday, when I was doing some cleaning up at the church, I took all of their notes down and read them.  Much hilarity ensued! LOL I had to take them with me to share with the family, and now, I share them with you.

Enjoy!

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Describe the ultimate best friend:

Answers from 4-6 grade students (with some observations and initial thoughts from yours truly)

(I have left them exactly as they were written, odd capitalization and misspellings, and all.)

Girls

• wear appropiate things
• listen to me.
• Talk nicely to people.
• Tell people about the love of Jesus (I guess they thought I would be grading them.)
• never tell my secrets.
• Help others in need
• See the good in everything
• Not be a sore loser. 
• Kind heart
• Would not gossip and make me look bad (I'm assuming there's a story there.)
• Doesn’t make fun of my make makeup (Makeup? You're like 10!)
• touch a bug and not be grossed out. (Umm...This is on the girls' list?)
• Give nicely
• love sleepovers and not be afraid of the dark (Another story, I guess.)
• Helps you feel better when your sad
• Say people smell good Not Bad (Lord, I hope there's a story behind that! LOL)
• Respect other peoples things.
• hang with everyone even when they are mean
• Don’t sit around and play Halo (Apparently, someone has brothers.)
• responsibility
• Be wise and smart
• keep in mind everone has Feelings (Was the emphasis intentional there?)
• Have patience
• Wants to be your friend no matter what
• not let their dog poop in my yard (Well, that story I know.  LOL Gotta love "that" neighbor.)
• Invite people to come to church. (Again with the grading...)
• not lead me in the wrong direction.
• not be in a hurry to leave. (Leave you? Church? Life in general?)
• Would come to church.
• Would not make fun of people’s clothes
• Under stand me and laugh at me jokes (We suddenly became Irish.)

Boys (Hold on to your seats, folks.)

• go through the right path (Through the path? Is there a gate?)
• Love others even your enemies
• Help others no matter who it is.
• do not sneak out (Sneaking out? Who sneaks out at the age of 10? Seriously? Is this a big problem?)
• Give to the needy
• use words insted of fist (This sounds like a teacher quote.)
• Play Good Video games (Play the games well or play good games? This could go several ways.)
• do not hit (I guess it's a recurring problem for him.)
• Have good intintians 
• give people a 2 chance (Is this like a second chance?)
• wach your words 
• wach your toung 
• listens to other
• wach what you hear (Not sure how to do this anyway.) 
• See the good in others.
• wach what people you hang out 
• do not think about bad stuff
• thing mo npgativp thouts (I swear that's what it said.)
• watch apopiate things –not freaky—I know **** ("Name removed to protect the innocent.")
• wach what you wach 
• En corugases others. (wait...what?)
• Has a good mind
• think befor you Speak 
• listen and obay

Ok, I'm crying again! LOL

Masquerade, paper faces on parade

This song has been ringing through my head ever since I heard what the sermon series for the month of October will be at our church. =)  The title "Masquerade" sends me off into the famous scene from "Phantom of the Opera," picturing the fancy costumes and elaborate dances.  Movie scenes and images from classic stories all meld together into some fanciful idea of a masked ball that has always made me want to attend one--clearly I have forgotten my complete inability to dance and the total lack of that kind of culture in my social circles. =) But, hey, a girl can dream, right?

Anyway, in my mind, I have always pictured these balls as a type of amalgam of "Phantom" and Poe's "The Masque of Red Death." I suppose that is because underneath all the gaiety and fun of adults in fancy dress dancing the night away, there always seemed something slightly sinister about the whole idea. Some would call that the romance of the idea, I guess--not really knowing absolutely who anyone is.  Modern recreations of the masquerade ball have tended to lose a bit of the complete anonymity that they used to bring.  Everyone was masked, and no one was supposed to remove his mask until the proper time, usually midnight. Costumes were closely-guarded secrets that, often, only one or two people in one's own party knew.  And, of course, if you have read very much classic mystery fiction (thank you, Agatha Christie), you are aware how often the change or replication of a costume was used as a plot device to carry out some evil deed. Someone could carry out a heist or even murder someone without being missed or recognized, or all suspicion could be laid on someone else in an identical costume.

What is my point, you ask?

Today, we are often told that we need to be authentic and real with the people around us, but as someone who has spent her entire adult life struggling with depression, I can personally attest to how difficult this is.  Some days, it just seems easier to smile and say everything is fine, to keep working when you want to crawl away and hide, to pretend than risk rejection or misunderstanding.  As a freshman in high school, I was having a very difficult time fitting in and feeling like I belonged--in the school and church and social circle I had grown up in.  I was intrigued by acting and begged my mom to let me join the church drama team.  Now, I am well aware of the bad rap that church drama has given itself over the years, and how poorly the concept has adjusted to a changing culture.  However, for me, in the 1990s, it was a life-saver.  I, ironically, found myself by being other people.  It may have been that I had simply finally found something I was good at, but I was a different person on stage and in character.  Unfortunately, my difficulty came from being unable to translate that to real life.  I only knew who I was when I was acting.

When I went away to college, I lost this aspect of my life--and, I might add, it just about broke me.  I had no outlet for the emotions and frustrations I had formerly been venting through my other characterizations.  I desperately longed to get involved in theater at school, but I was paralyzed by auditioning.  You see, I didn't practice well with others because I didn't know how to moderate my performance for rehearsal.  I scared people because I was the girl who was constantly injured or bleeding from throwing herself in a role, even during practice.  On stage, I was just as intense.  I didn't act the role; I became that character.  It was my only release, my sanity.  

All the stress finally came to a head in my senior year, when I finally began to realize what was wrong with me.  It had never occurred to me that I might have inherited the familial tendency for depression; I just thought I was stupid and lazy and a big fat failure.  I asked my mom, who has the same problem--I know, another indication we missed, right?--to get me an appointment with her doctor when I came home for Christmas that year.  I will never forget that day--December 18, 2003; it was truly a turning point in my life.  I began taking antidepressants that day.

The doctor told me it could take up to 2 weeks to know if they were going to work, but it only took 3 days. In three days, my whole life changed.  I could get ready for class without feeling like I was dragging a 2-ton weight out the door.  I could talk to other people without being terrified.  I could be around my family without dissolving into fights every 5 minutes.  I could make friends, go to work, teach.  Basically, I could live.  My college friends were shocked at the complete change in me, and people who had known me my whole life were almost suspicious at the sudden turn-around.  

You are probably wondering what this has to do with masquerade balls.  Well, my whole life had become like one big masquerade.  I had to spend so much energy just trying to function and get through the days that I didn't have anything left for self-discovery or development.  So, I had discovered it was simpler to be the person that the situation needed.  No one ever saw the real me because that was too difficult to deal with.  I had my standard go-to identities I pulled out as needed: student, friend, employee, church kid...  I had worn masks for so long that I couldn't remember what was real anymore.  I was 23 years old, and had absolutely no idea who I was.  I had one real friend, my family, and a stranger looking back from the mirror.

The past 10 years have taught me a lot about myself:  I'm insanely stubborn; I am fiercely independent; I love to learn (mostly because I just like being smart); I'm creative; I still have difficulty making friends; I'm still clueless about guys (arent' we all, though?); etc.  I've learned many things I am not.  But mostly, I have learned how to recognize when I start fitting a mask on.  Do I always choose authenticity? I wish I could say I do, but I'm still human; and humans have a long history of hiding.  But, I am learning, and getting better, and discovering more each day.

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I don't often re-post poems on here, but this one was simply too appropriate.

Masquerade

Bow

Spin

Turn

One by one,

We take our places,

Twirling and bending,

Dancing around the room,

Safe behind our masks.

Dip

Reach

Step

Midnight approaches.

Slowly, we weave

Across the floor,

Moving toward discovery,

Toward You.

Stand

Sway

Twirl

Maskless,

You enter the floor,

We stare at Your beauty.

The chimes ring:

One---

Bow

--Kari Yerton

10/30/2010

The one I need to clarify....

I was just going to post the poem below without any kind of an introduction, but it suddenly occurred to me that it might need some background information. :)

First of all, let me clarify for anyone who is still confused after reading the poem: I. Am. Not. Pregnant.

Thank you. :)

Keep reading...

I wrote this poem at the end of a nine-month program that I was a part of a few years ago.  As the year was winding down, I was thinking back over the changes that had happened in mine and everyone else's lives during that time period, and it suddenly occurred to me how similar it was to the nine-month period of pregnancy.  So, I grabbed a pen and started scribbling; what came out of it is what you'll read below. This is the first time I have really shared this poem because I was unsure that others would appreciate the analogy.

That being said....

9 months

Unexpected--

Unplanned--

Accidental--

Then,

Nine months

Months of pain--

Months of sickness--

Weeks and days of sorrow

And exhaustion--

Feeding from us--

Growing in us--

This new life has

Consumed us for

Nine months. 

Now the urgency comes--

Push!--

Breathe!--

Work!--

It all comes down

To one final act. 

Do we run away,

Abandon this piece of us,

Or with pride

And resolve, 

Pick up the new life

And carry it into

Tomorrow?

5/2011

In which things get a little spicy...

As a natural-born collector, I spent most of my childhood as the bane of my poor mother's existence.  She--hyper-organized, neat-freak that she is--was constantly attempting to get me to sort through my "treasures." Thankfully, those tendencies faded a bit with age, but I still love a good collection! 

So, today, I am introducing you to one of my favorite things....my collection of salt & pepper shakers.

Most of them are vintage, but I do have several new ones as well that have been given to me over the years, or that I just loved too much to pass by (Thank you so much for that, Cracker Barrel!).

Some of them have background stories--like the quirky pair of busts below that I talked myself out of buying for six months before giving in to temptation--but most have been happy finds while junking in stores all over the country.

The style that got me started collecting is the kind that has the vegetables in some sort of container, usually a leaf or basket.

I have also have several that have been passed down to me through the family.  The cows belonged to my paternal great-grandmother, and four of my sets were from my maternal grandma.

I only actually use one of the pairs on a daily basis.  The reproduction jadeite set below was my very first set and is the one I use all the time.  I grew up using the Pepsi-Cola bottles, and saved them from my mom's sudden need to purge the kitchen a couple of months ago.

The five-piece set of spice jars above was my grandmother's and probably is what inspired this deep love of mine.  She had a small shelf running around the top of her kitchen walls that she filled with salt & pepper sets and little knick-knacks her family had brought her from different trips.  When my mom and her sisters were cleaning out Grandma's house, I asked if I could have the stuff from that shelf if no one else wanted it.  I think they all thought I was a little crazy, but those little pieces of kitch had fascinated me as a child.  Having them in my kitchen in almost like having a little bit of Grandma & Grandpa around.

Hope you enjoyed my Show & Tell!