March 1st

   March 1st was a big day for me.  It’s the anniversary of the first date I shared with the man who is now my husband.  Sixteen years ago, I began a new adventure, drinking a cafe mocha at a local Starbucks, enjoying our conversation, and feeling an initial  connection with the man I have now been married to for fourteen years.

   This year, March 1st, took on an additional significance.  March 1st, I left my teaching career.  I didn’t just leave schools, or take a leave of absence; I permanently resigned under my doctor’s advice.  

   Being a teacher wasn’t my initial dream.  Back in the day, I had my hopes set high, literally.  I wanted to be an astronaut.  Then I took a class in high school called, “World of Education.”  Four days a week, I left campus and spent the rest of the day volunteering in a nearby elementary school classroom.  I was the teacher’s assistant grading papers.  I was the interventionist giving extra help to a child struggling with long division.  I was the tutor, reviewing flashcards with a child learning English.  And I was the one-on-one assistant for a special boy named Silas.  Silas wasn’t easy to work with, for many reasons.  But we made it work.  I got through to him.  And he got through to me.  I decided I wanted to teach.

   I was fortunate to have spent my entire teaching career in a small, neighborhood, public school.  Because it was the only school I had ever taught at, leaving was that much harder.  Teaching was never just my job; it was my passion.  My school, my classroom was an extension of my home.

   And now I was being told I had to leave.  That I was no longer able to do something I had chosen to do.  

   My emotions and conflicted feelings aside, I really didn’t think most of the school would be impacted by my departure.  I knew my students would be saddened, and concerned - who would give them “brain food” during tests and tell them they were loved.    But, I had erroneously assumed that school would go on.  After all, teaching is largely a thankless job.  For twelve years, I had worked to provide my students with a safe, nurturing environment for them to learn and grow.  Each day, my number one goal was to keep them each healthy and safe.  And I did it, day after day, for twelve years, most of which went un-thanked.

   I taught with my heart and soul because I believed that was the only way to teach.  I was being entrusted with other people’s children, after all; a responsibility I did not take lightly.  I taught with 100% dedication because it was the right thing to do.  I did it without fanfare or acknowledgement.

  Until March 1st.  For the first time in my teaching career, I really knew how much I had touched others.   School-wide, I was acknowledged and celebrated.  Flowers and generous gifts, hugs and tears, kind words and thoughtful thank you’s.  I was humbled, and overwhelmed, and truly touched.  

   Teaching was never easy, and truthfully, seemed to become harder and less pleasurable each year.  Yet I never would have left if not for my doctor.  

   I may not have left the way I would have liked, but I left knowing I had succeeded - I had made a difference.  

   March 1st is now another new beginning, a new adventure awaiting to start.  It was an ending, but also a beginning.  Change can be intimidating, my medical condition scares me, but I know, undoubtedly, that I am loved and appreciated and those feelings will support me on this new adventure of mine.