I change my hair, my clothes, and my mood. That's about it. The whole fact that Jackson is starting preschool tomorrow would normally be my change limit for an entire year (more to come on that note later).
And yet, when my boss called in the middle of June asking if I wanted to change teaching positions, I said yes.
Huh?
Who is this person?
I have taught the same subject since 2002. I liked it. I was good at it. I was comfortable.
But still.
As much as I love to write myself, in the seven years I taught writing, I only found a handful of students who embraced it like I did at their age. Some were beautiful writers and still hated the whole task of it. Most of the rest of them just hated it altogether. I could make them adequate. I could even make them proficient, competent, and maybe even good. I could not make them love to write. And I'm not mad at them for that. If anything, I'm mad at me.
I was being blessed with a job that I've wanted to do since I student taught twelve years ago. Am I nervous? Heck yes. I have big shoes to fill and high goals to obtain. I have to reach back into my student teaching days to remember what I learned way back then. I am doing something I've never done before. And that makes my hands sweaty.
But I'm excited too.
I get to finally commiserate with my students at least a little. I love to read now, but I hated reading in junior high. I was smart, but not a fast reader. I was terrified of reading aloud. I avoided reading as much as I could without getting into trouble.
I can finally give a speech to my class telling them I understand. I get it. But I want to change their minds. I think literature--good literature--can easily sway even the most reluctant reader. I want them to see that if I could be transformed into someone who loves loves loves a good book, there's hope for all of them.
What an adventure this will be!
