Prelude to this entry:
I read lots of blogs. Other people’s blogs. Most people I have not ever met.
And I call it “checking my email.”
While checking my email today, I came across an idea that has a blogger post one entry each day. It is part of the National Blog Posting Month http://www.nablopomo.com/ and even gives a writing prompt. I thought it looked like a fun idea, and even somewhat like making a list (you know I can’t turn down making a list). So here goes:
When you were little what did you want to be when you grew up?
Oddly enough when I finished my kindergarten year, I knew I wanted to be a kindergarten teacher. I don’t know if it was the fact that I was madly in love with my kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Parmen. (I mean she took us to her house to have homemade cookies and milk!) Or if it was simply because that was the only idea of a job I could truly understand. Of course both my parents worked outside the home, but I could see every day what a teacher was. And I really wanted to be one.
It wasn’t until high school that I started thinking about combining special education with being a kindergarten teacher, and got more interested in teaching early childhood special education. But even then, the idea never swayed from teaching.
Some days I think it’s pretty incredible that I have never thought about doing anything else for a career. I still keep in touch with Mrs. Parmen, and she always reassures me that she knew since I was in kindergarten that this is what I was going to do as well. I have a photo of her and I on my desk, and I like to think she sees what is happening in my classroom. And when days are rough I try and think about her patience and kindness, and get myself back to that mindset.
But, it would be unfair to think that everyday I am so blessed and grateful to be doing my job… because we all know, that some days I really wish I was an office manager; filling out forms with a brand new ball point, blue ink pen.
Even Mrs. Parmen knows that. She is totally not down with me being spit on and called a “punk ass bitch.” On those days, I am almost positive there is an office waiting for me, with her homemade cookies and milk.