Two days before I was to administer my fifth grade students their science EOG, I sat at my desk projecting my latest web treasure onto the SmartBoard, reviewing once again weather fronts and how to read a weather map. My principal popped his head into the room and asked me to see him before leaving school that day.
One look at his face told the me whole story. For months, those of us who lack tenure waited with baited breath as talk of budget shortfalls and cuts loomed over our heads. There was a principal's meeting the day before. We all knew the decisions across the county had been made. I thought I was prepared. However; time stopped for a silent moment as my gaze froze on his face, and I knew he was as sick of having to tell me the news, as I was to hear it.
Many teachers begin their career while they are young; fresh out of college with lofty ideals and unscathed by the irony that a long life inevitably brings. Not me. I had children. I raised them to love the Lord. I watched as they married, and I had 'a second go at momthering' (new word, I just made it up) with my five grandchildren. The second time around you tend to get it right.
These past ten years, I trudged along teaching, tutoring, and slaving over adroitly written text books until the wee hours of the night until I finally earned the credentials which labeled me a 'real teacher.'
I had finally arrived. I am almost through my first 'hell year' of teaching. I have bonded with my students, taught my heart out, and I have touched their hearts and minds. I am spent, older, and now I am sad.
I have come to a fork in the road. And I do not know which way to go...
