Sunshine, Daisies, and Unicorn Farts

When I received my teaching assignment this year, I was thrilled - 11th grade English. One of my favorite reasons to teach this grade is because I get to teach my favorite novel - Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston.

If you're not familiar with the novel, it's a story of a young black woman, Janie, who spends her life trying to figure out who she is and spends her years chasing the dream of "true love." After two failed marriages and a third that ends in murder, the character returns home. My students get emotionally attached to the characters and spend the weeks in deep conversation about the themes of the book.

Today's chapter featured "Janie" being married off to a man some estimated 60 years her senior. Her grandmother arranges this marriage because she knows she's nearing death and wants her granddaughter to be well-taken care of - mostly financially. This gentleman has a home and 60 acres of land. Janie lives with him for one year, and continually "waits for love to begin." After the year is up, she says that "the dream (of marriage) is dead."

After a discussion of marriage in today's society, I asked my students the following question:

"Is marriage worth it?"

And the overwhelming, sad, and immediate response was "No."

I asked more questions. Why is it not worth it? Why do people get divorced? Why should they not get married in the first place?

The majority of students saw no purpose in marriage. They said they've seen too many divorces, too many unhappy people, and some even said that "marriage was a waste of money and time." They claimed boredom, adultery, abuse, and personality changes as reasons people don't stay together. They didn't see the purpose in the "piece of paper." They said they've become numb to the negative stigma that society used to have on divorce.

And I felt sad.

I am going to be married ten years this coming August. Has every minute been, as my husband would say, sunshine, daisies, and unicorn farts? No. Sometimes it's been just the farts.

But the truth is, I love my husband. I love our marriage.  I love our family that we have created. I love our memories. I love our story.  Our good times and our bad times have created the strong couple that we are. We've grown together; we've laughed a lot; we've changed together. Are we the same people we were 13 (gasp) years ago when we started dating? No. But I think that's a good thing. Are there things we didn't expect as we exchanged our vows? Sure. The whole "poorer, sicker, and bad times" part of the vows weren't what we looked forward to, but it was what we committed to. And we made a commitment to God to stick together through those times.

My heart breaks for these young kids who see no hope in the future. They haven't seen what good marriages can look like. So, can we blame them for not wanting to get married? I wish people would stop making the excuses of, "Well, he's/she's not the same person," or "I just fell out of love," or "We have nothing in common." Those aren't real reasons; they're sad excuses for not sticking things through. Sure the grass may be greener on the other side; it's the most green over the septic tank.

So regardless of what the world says, I love my marriage. Unicorn farts and all.

For Ebony

I know there are a lot of tough jobs out there.

I'm not pretending like I work in a field full of daisies, nor am I saying that I work in a mine field either. But for those that are on the "inside" of education, you know that being a teacher is a tough job. I have administrators and "the law" checking in on me, parents questioning me, and students demanding my knowledge, expertise, and time. But to me, those are the things that are expected. Someone recently asked me what the "most surprising thing about being a teacher" was. After some time in thought, it came to me.

Attachment.

I get emotionally attached to my kids. And yes, they're my kids.

I recently heard a teacher say about a theoretical student in her class, "Really, I don't care about you.  You're just a cog in the wheel."

Really, lady? Then why are you still teaching?

After eight years of being the classroom, I figure I have taught just over 1,000 students. And if you look at my Facebook account, almost half of my "friends" are former students. And I love that. I love that they care enough to stay in touch, and I hope they feel the same in return. I cared about them as students, and I care about them as adults. While in my classroom, my main concern is not that they learn literature or grammar, but that they learn life skills and begin to discover who they are and what their bigger purpose is in life. I just use Shakespeare as a scapegoat.

Possibly the toughest part of being a teacher is when I lose one of my kids. After eight years, I have lost four - three boys and one girl. One was killed in a car accident, one was beaten to death, and two were suicides. If I had this blog up and running in November, I would have written this then.

For two years, I taught at a local middle school. It was not by choice. The first year was the toughest; most days I hated going to work. But there was one 7th grade girl, Ebony, who was the bright spot of my day.  She was feisty, smart, talented, and stubborn. And after awhile, we grew to love each other. Every morning she came to my room to give me a hug. She gave me the utmost compliment one day. She said, "Hey, Ms. L. You gangsta!" Once I left the school, we became friends on Facebook. I ran into her this summer in the mall. She was still smiling.

At the end of this past October, I heard a news story that a local high school student was found hanging in the school bathroom in a suicide attempt. Shortly there after, I received a text message from a colleague telling me that it was Ebony.

My world stopped. Even now, months later, I fight back the tears. I waited by my phone, my email, and the local news channels to hear updates. "Fighting for her life," were the words we hung onto for days. Finally, the first days of November rolled around, and Ebony's family took her off life support. They had kept her alive a few extra days to make sure family could say good-bye, and that her organs could be harvested. I cried. A lot. I went to her funeral. I prayed. I still don't understand. No one does.

So when someone says that being a teacher is "easy," or that we teach for "three reasons: June, July, & August," I want to tell them that I'd give it all up, if I didn't have to lose one more kid.

They're not the cog in my the wheel. They're the wheel.