The Most Dramatic Post in the History of Teaching as Story Telling …How I Became the Bachelorette

I’m Becca K.

If you didn’t read the tabloid magazines from February to March when you checked out at the grocery store, let me give you a crash course in this past winter’s trash TV. Arie, the infamous Bachelor on ABC’s top reality show, proposed to Becca K. while still in love with another contestant. Red flags? Most definitely.

After a few months into the engagement, he broke up with Becca ON TV and proposed to the other contestant. Was this staged? Probably. But for the sake of this particular story, let’s go with this-is-one-hundred-percent-true.

Becca K. was promised a future that was then taken away from her. If you didn’t tune in this winter to the drama, let me just tell you my story. It’ll do the show a little justice…I think.

There I was at the final rose ceremony. I had on my best dress or really suit, and I had my speech prepared. My insides were a cocktail of confidence and uncertainty. Sure, I had gotten this far, but that didn’t mean I was promised anything. I received rose after rose. I made it through group (class), two-on-one (collaborating teaching) and one-on-one dates (YCE). I made a good impression, one that I hoped would help me out that day.

He called me in and spoke to me for what seemed like an eternity. By the end of our conversation, I had a job. I got the rose. I knew that I was qualified for the job, but there was still a part of me that was in shock. This was getting all too real.

I left the meeting with the promise that human resources would call me to make everything even more official.

So, I anxiously waited.

Teachers contacted me. The school contacted me. I visited with the staff and students. I was preparing for what I believed would be my future.

Yet, I was still waiting on HR.

Days went by.

 I still waited.

I got a call on a Wednesday during my 4^th block class. My collaborating teacher told me to take it out in the hall. She was anxiously waiting with me. Human Resources was finally calling me. My heart was racing as I unlocked my phone.

Instead of getting a “congratulations call,” I got a “you need to come up with a plan B, you don’t have this job anymore” call. Due to some unforeseen changes, the future that I had been promised was no longer mine.

I slipped my phone into my pocket and sunk to the dirty floor of the freshman building. I didn’t understand it—I had just talked to the principal the day before. None of what I heard felt real. My mind started to fill with words punching my insides.

You weren’t good enough in the first place. Why did you get your hopes up? This was bound to happen. Nothing comes that easily to you. Idiot. You’re screwed. Good luck trying to find a job. You should have made a better impression.

Hearing a student coming to the door that I was sitting outside of, I picked myself up, put a smile on, and entered the class to help my students. My insides were going crazy. Regardless of how I felt, the “show” so-to-speak, still had to go on.

I taught through my frustration. I taught through my anger. I taught through my confusion. I fought back all the tears. For someone who is emotional, it takes all the strength to fight the intense waves that were slapping me in the face during that moment.

And then the kids left, and a bit of my frustration, anger, and confusion did too. I no longer knew where I would be next year. I no longer had a job (thought I had a job). I no longer had a plan.

Like Becca K, I was promised something.

Like Becca K, I had my plans changed.

Like Becca K, I was given a second chance.

While I don’t believe that a reality TV show exemplifies true love or anything worth spending time on, Becca was given the second chance at something whether that be fame or this false Idea of true love as the new bachelorette.

I believe I was given a second chance that Wednesday.

Getting rejected at this school was my second chance at finding the right school to land in for this next year. Rejection S T I N K S. Having plans change on you outside of your control is H A R D. Feeling forgotten H U R T S.

Moving through rejection, changes in plans, and painful feelings make people stronger though. While this illustration most definitely is cheesy and maybe even a bit forced, I’m thankful for this second chance. I’m thankful to continue the job search in hopes that I find the right place to teach.

About everything that I have encountered this year has been packed full of life lessons and wisdom ready for me to take hold of. I feel like I have the wisdom of a 60 year-old after YCE. This second chance at a job has only continued this lesson learning process.

I’m learning that just like we say “We teach students about English…not English to students” I need to also say “I teach students at a school. Not (insert school name) students.” Teaching isn’t about a particular school or subject matter. Teaching isn’t about seeming cool. Teaching isn’t easy like people make it out to be. Teaching isn’t arts and crafts and nap time. Teaching isn’t reading books for fun. Teaching isn’t simple. No, not at all.

Teaching is about people. Teaching is relationship-building. Teaching is helping Lauren in 4th block process her father dying. Teaching is getting the respect from thirty teenagers in one room. Teaching is keeping students safe. Teaching is intervening and reporting when students are in danger. Teaching is vision-casting. Teaching is trouble-shooting. Teaching is being a student’s mentor, friend, advocate, and safe-person. Teaching is hard. Teaching is worth it. Teaching is exhausting. Teaching is about believing in the future so much so that you want to spend times developing the minds of the future.  

I’m ready for the job search and more than ready to continue teaching…I’m scared but ready.

In the words of Becca K, “let’s do this damn thing.”

Be Where Your Feet Are

My head bumps the top of ceiling as I get back into the safari jeep again. “Are you okay?” someone asks. I respond with a weak “Yes. The ceiling and I are just getting aquatinted.” After five hours of driving and nursing my throbbing head, the jeep parks for us to get some needed stretch time for our weary legs. As I get out, the dry heat burns my abnormally white skin that Crayola has not found a name for in the white pallet. I take two steps forward and hear a noise that will cause anyone’s heart to stop. I avoid looking down—ignorance is so bliss…most of the time. But I can’t avoid the unavoidable for long, so I look down. Sure enough, my pants just ripped. Not just a little bit, no. The entire back side of my right pant leg fell off. Maybe it was the head injury that the jeep ceiling gave me or my lack of water that day, but nothing was going to stop me from the night Safari.

Sammy lifts the roof of the jeep, something I wish he’d done five hours ago. We hop back in. Sammy and I talk about life—about his children, his dreams, his hope for his home, and sports. Well, Sammy talks about sports, I just listen. An hour into the conversation, I ask Sammy when we are going to begin the safari. Sammy looks at me as if I had lost my left pant leg. “Nzuri. We started an hour ago.” (Again, I blame the head injury).

Safari’s don’t have a straight route. There are no roads, directions, or set paths. To safari means to drive into untouched territory with no plan other than to be back before dark so you don’t get eaten by an animal. Sammy smiles and tells me “Hakuna Matata. Look up. Look out.”

People say you haven’t seen a sunset until you see an African one. While the myriad of colors painting the skyline will leave you without words, this amazing vista is what changes a person.  The remote, untouched land takes on new life with each fading ray of sun hitting the red earth and pale grasses. I’d even argue that pictures rob the beauty beneath the fertile ground.

As I watch the scenes unfold and listento the hum of Sammy’s jeep, my mind travels to my students back in the Rift Valley. I think about the orphans and my friends without homes. The beauty of the land juxtaposes the poverty in circumstances. But something feels different. This land feels full and energized. I forget about the lack.

Elephants paint the horizon. Giraffes come close. Lions stay far away. I watch as cheetahs are chased by baboons, and as the zebras race each other. I breathe in and close my eyes. No hand has touched the grasses or trees. Beauty and fullness do not come from the work of man, but from the land God has provided. These animals are as wild as they get which is not unlike my hair most mornings. They haven’t entered my home; I’ve entered their kingdom. Sammy looks at me. As if he can see my mind moving 150mph, he puts his hand on my shoulder and whispers, “be where your feet are.”

I catch myself most days, saying something along the lines of “when I graduate.” Before that, it was “when I start student teaching.” Before that, it was “when I get that one professor.”  When I find myself in this trap of wishing for a job or to be a seasoned teacher or to finally have my own classroom, my mind travels back to Africa—the place where people live for the moment in front of them because that’s all they have promised….”be where your feet are” resonates with me often.

In Africa, I would marvel at the sight of a lion who was doing nothing other than being a lion. It didn’t take effort or training or a certificate or validation from someone else for the lion to be a lion. While I have more training now and I am about to get that piece of paper that says I can legally teach, I’ve been a teacher since I was five and played “pretend teacher” with my friends after school. I’ve been a teacher since I read my first sentence in pre-k. I’ve been a teacher since I started babysitting. I’ve been a teacher since I was bullied in middle school. I’ve been a teacher long before I will ever receive that piece of paper that validates who I am already.

I consider myself to be someone in the business of building character. Reading a book teaches kids to think about something from a different perspective, fostering empathy. Writing an essay teaches kids to know theiraudience, instilling a sense of ownership and developing communication skills. Getting the kid that sleeps the entire class to wake up develops perseverance in a student and teacher.

While students need training to do certain things, they do not need validation from an authority figure to have the character of a writer, a doctor, an actor, or whatever it is that they want to be. While a student may not have the training needed to be a practicing doctor, he or she can still heal others. We as teachers, specifically English teachers, get to facilitate this development. We can teach that future doctor how to use words, how to heal deep wounds, and how stories can help others fight their own battles. Words are powerful, meaningful, impactful.

I write this for three different sets of people:

1. Students: Wherever you are at…whoever you are…don’t live for the “when.” Your opportunity now is far greater.
2. Teachers: We need to be investing in our students’ character and current state rather than ONLY pushing them to think about the future.
3. Pre-service teachers: Don’t wait to become a teacher. You are on a journey as a teacher NOW.

Don’t wish your feet were ten years into the future when you have been given this day. Don’t run on ground that isn’t there yet. When we live for all of the moments ahead, we forget to take complete advantage of the moment we are in. If you’re in the process of whatever, your moment is right now. Be where your feet are…