Twenty Years is a long time...

Last Friday, as we prepared to depart the county to attend my brother-in-law's wedding, my husband finished his twentieth year of teaching. He has taught high school social sciences, coached a high school baseball team, and supervised the school newspaper. Seventeen years ago, we moved to our current location, and he began teaching eighth grade language arts and history. Teaching has changed dramatically in twenty years, but my husband has faithfully served his students, and their parents, for all twenty years. He occasionally gets one of those special gifts, a note from a student from the past that says he made a difference. Most of the time, though, his job is the PILE of papers that comes between him and his family, and he spends most of his time caring for the squeaky wheels that require his attention. Amidst it all, though, he loves it, and he loves eighth graders. He reworks his lessons, staying fresh and interested; he loves grammar and words and writing and language. He also loves history, and he can fill our dining table conversation with the stories that he has taught in class. He is the teacher I wish I had had in eighth grade (he should be grateful he didn't have me as a student,though ....it was not my shining moment in childhood.)

We used to spend our February nights dreaming of other careers. Teaching is hard work, and February can be a long month. So, he would flip through the want-ads in the back of World Magazine, and I would hear him suggest teaching English in China, or switching to a small, classical school in North Carolina, or Washington, or Anywhere, U.S.A. We have actually gone as far as checking out salaries for private schools. It was a grim reality, folks. GRIM. If your students are in a small, classical school, kiss those people's feet and give them a bookstore gift card...Please!

How did we resolve this ambivalence about my husband's occupation? We moved my mother into our granny flat. We knew we couldn't move her again, so thus endeth the dream of moving away. But, a funny thing happened. Suddenly, the job looked great. The then-seven-year-old broke her leg, and we cried with joy at the insurance coverage the job provided. Our friends and our property became dear to us. Basically, we finally came home. It's funny how long the road to home can be.

I am grateful for the stability my husband has provided by working so hard, and I am happy to know that 90-120 students each year are given the gift of my husband's teaching each year. They may not see it as a gift now, but I trust that they will someday.

Happy Twentieth Year of Teaching, dear. You are the best.