The Road Less Traveled Has Made All the Difference

Here is a blasphemous revelation: I did not want to become a teacher when I was growing up.  To the average person, that may not seem like such a big revelation, but in the world of education, it definitely is.

When asked, most teachers will explain that they knew they wanted to be a teacher from a very young age.  Most will regale you with tales of how they would line up their stuffed animals or siblings and "play school."  Many will confess that their parents and/or grandparents were teachers as well.

I am the exception to this rule. I did not play school. I played with Barbies. . .A LOT, not baby dolls, but Barbies. "Store" was also big on my play list. Shelves in the basement were lined with all sorts of "goods" that my brother and his friends could "buy," while I ran the cash register.  No one in my family tree was, or had been, a teacher.

When it came time to decide on careers in high school, there was really only one on my list:  Journalism.  I loved to write, and I loved the class of the same name. I wrote for both the yearbook and the school newspaper; when I did, I felt "in the zone." I had found my passion.

Therefore, when I enrolled in the class, "Intro to Mass Communications" at SCSU, I was ready to start my career. As the class wore on, however, my enthusiasm wore thin. Finally, I had a "come-to-Jesus" moment in which I finally admitted that Journalism was not the career for me, simply because I did not want to spend the rest of my life writing about tragedy and bad news in people's lives. I realize that journalism involves far more than tragedy, but I just didn't want to be a perpetuator of it.

The ensuing, panicked question was, "Now what?"  I was closing in on the end of my sophomore year in college.  It was go-time in choosing a career.  Any more wavering about a major would mean that I would be taking and paying for classes for the fun of it; I was out of general slots to fill.

After considering my passions, reading and writing, I wracked my brain to come up with a career that would allow me to use both.  A light bulb went off.

I became a teacher by default.

It's not a glamorous story, and when pressed by my students as to how I entered this career, I generally try to defer the question. It's not that I want to mislead them; I don't want them to think I became their teacher because I couldn't find anything better to do (which is basically the truth).

On Tuesday, I will start my 22nd year of teaching.  The first nine were amazing.  Even though I was a new teacher and a new mom at the same time, I loved every minute of it - the challenge, the creativity, the kids. Then, I switched schools (to be in the same District and on the same schedule as my kids), and something tilted off center that has never quite been righted. It's like there is a little piece in the internal machinery that needs to be replaced, but I don't know where it is or how to fix it.  Nevertheless, my love for my students remains as strong as ever. Even though they suck the energy right out of me, I look forward to seeing them every day.

Even so, two pesky words, "What if?" have clouded my thoughts about this career within the last few years.

In 12th grade Communications (English), we read a book called Things They Carried. My favorite chapter is "On the Rainy River." Tim O'Brien has to decide whether to go to Vietnam or flee to Canada after he receives his draft notice. In order to underscore the difficulty of O'Brien's decision, we read and discuss a poem by Robert Frost called "Road Not Taken." See poemThe poem describes two choices that look equal, but the narrator just has to pick one and not look back. He promises himself that he will return one day to check out the choice he didn't take, but even as he says the words, he knows it is a lie.

"I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence;
Two road diverged in a wood and I -
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference."

The last two lines always annoy my students.  They are completely subjective and can go either way.  The last line can be positively or negatively interpreted based on the narrator's attitude and inflection about his/her life-changing decision.  In others words, it can be the best decision s/he has ever made or the worst.

Every time I have read the poem, my career decision burbles to the surface. In an effort to add authenticity, I tell my students my story, and they always ask, "Mrs. Aaker, are you glad you became a teacher instead of a journalist?"  Of course, I tell them what they need to hear.  And it's true sometimes, and sometimes, it's not.

Until yesterday.  

This year, WHS is offering a new elective, Journalism, and ironically (God has a funny sense of humor), my colleagues chose me to teach the class.  Again, to add authenticity to the experience, I emailed a former student of mine, who is a sports writer for the XXXXXX Times. I asked if he would be willing to come and talk to my class about his career and his journey to becoming a journalist; he enthusiastically accepted.

In between scheduling details, we caught about our personal lives, and he wrote the following:

I am glad to help out any way that I can with the class. I’m just happy people are still interested in journalism. We’re suffering right now in the print industry. There’s a lot of layoffs and re-shaping of the industry going on. Eventually we’ll all be online, but it’s just taking baby steps to get there.

My company, XXXXXX, is restructuring all of its newsrooms and will have 15 percent layoffs in all 81 of its papers. We’re one of them. We’ve had some people quit in the past 4 months, so most of us should be fine. We might lose 1 or 2 people during the restructuring.

The weird thing is we have to re-apply for the new positions and interview for them. A lot of people are stressed out to say the least. So, hopefully I still have a job when I come down there in October. I’ve been told I’m safe, but you never know.

In chewing over his words and my personality, a light began to peek over the horizon of my thoughts.  If I had chosen to become a journalist instead of a teacher, I would probably be burned out by now, looking for an out.  Undoubtedly, I would have grown tired of the various writing beats by now, and I might have even been tired of writing - which would be the biggest tragedy ever. Plus, based on what is happening in the industry right now, I would be wondering if I would even be recalled (older staff are more expensive staff). Of course, there are no guarantees about my hypotheses, but like I said, I know myself and have lived long enough to understand how the world works.

As frustrating as my teaching can be (and there are many frustrations), the pros still outweigh the cons. While subject matter and necessity ultimately caused me to choose teaching as a career, people are now THE most important aspect of my career.

My faith is the center of my life and flows into every aspect of my career. Each day I go to work, I have the opportunity to do good and be a positive influence- to try to make the world a better place than it was the day before. Everything I do and say is carefully monitored, weighed, assimilated, and/or rejected; I am always "on."  One way or another, I am influencing someone - positively or negatively. The Bible says that the bar is set high for people who teach.

"Not many of you should become teachers my fellow believers, because you know that we who teach will be judged more strictly." James 3:1

I realize that Christ is speaking of spiritual teachers, but I believe it applies to me (all of us, really) as well. Rather than take that verse as a threat, I see it as the ultimate challenge.  I get to invest my time, energy, talent, and passion into a person - as many will let me into their lives - not a philosophy, machine, or organization.  I have job security.  Knowing what I know about myself, I NEED that piece in my career, or I would consider my career to be pointless.

Finally, "What if?" can be returned to the murky depths of doubt from which it originally arose.  There is now no question in my mind that I am supposed to be a teacher.  As has ALWAYS been the case, God knows me better than myself, and He has led me to this career for a reason.
Although my decision to walk this path was unorthodox and confused even me, the fact is that God has me exactly where He wants me, and I best be working with Him than against Him with my irrelevant side drama.

"Keep right with God and let Him do what He likes , and you will find that He is producing the kind of bread and wine that will benefit His other children."  (Oswald Chambers)

And when I do,

"I shall be telling this with a sigh (of contentment)
Somewhere ages and ages hence;
Two road diverged in a wood and I -
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference."

Splitting Wood: A Mom's Perspective on Raising a Son

Yesterday, my oldest child left home, presumably for good (at least, that is what he has told me several times). Two weeks ago, we made the three hour trek to his new apartment to bring all the big furniture. His jam-packed car left with the rest sometime yesterday afternoon. A new chapter of his life has begun, and therefore, a new one has begun for me as well.

At about 10 a.m. the fact that Nick was leaving hit my like a 2x4 upside the head. That's when the emotions and waterworks were dangerously close to hi-jacking my day.  I sent a quick text to a friend for prayers for composure, and it worked.  Other than one exasperating tearful episode, I made it through. The last thing my excited yet apprehensive son needed was his emotional mother to spontaneously combust before his eyes.

As I am well-aware, my experience is not unique. A friend sent me a link to Rob Lowe's thoughts on his child leaving for college (see the link), and I can relate completely. He uses excellent description, adjectives, and metaphors to describe exactly what it feels like.

Rob Lowe on sending his son off to college

As a mother of a son, however, I have grieved this feeling of loss four times in the short twenty years we have spent together. It's a healthy process, and it has to happen, but that doesn't mean that it hurts any less.

In my mind's eye, the process resembles the splitting of a log. In order to start a fire, wood needs to be split. It's hard work, but without it, there's no fire. With each swing of the ax, the log splinters and begins to separate into two. So far, there have been four swings; the fifth occurred yesterday.

The first breach occurred when Erika was born, which is not to say that her birth was a bad thing. Through fits and turns, Nick and Erika have become best friends and co-conspirators, often preferring each other's company to that of Mom and Dad - which is how it should be.

Prior to Erika's birth, Nick and I had a evening ritual. After his bath, I would rock him to sleep each night. With his blond head tucked between my chin and chest, I loved to drink in the clean smell of Johnson's baby shampoo, his fine downy hair tickling my chin. Long after he was asleep, softly snoring, we would continue to rock. It may sound weird, but I loved everything about that moment - his sleeping weight, the peacefulness of it, the time that just we two spent together.

After Erika was born, Nick decided that he no longer wanted or needed to be rocked to sleep. Maybe he thought his new baby sister needed his spot or maybe he was displaced; I don't remember. Erika, however, wanted nothing to do with being rocked to sleep, and try as I might to get Nick to continue our nightly ritual, he refused. That was the first loss.

The second occurred at the end of Nick's 8th grade year into the beginning of his 9th grade year. Throughout the years, our little family of four did everything together. If ever there was a camping trip or vacation, the kids always came with Mike and me. I don't begrudge people who take vacations or do activities together as a couple; Mike and I just didn't do that. The kids were always included.

At the end of his 8th grade year, our church hired a new youth pastor. Suddenly, our family of four became three when it came to excursions. Nick and the youth pastor bonded well, and his social life involved whatever activity was going on at church or at Rocky's house. Likewise, Rocky became the authority on all topics. Mom and Dad's opinions were superfluous.

Again, this was a good problem to have - the kid wanted to go to church and be involved with youth group. However, the fact that he was moving away from us and choosing someone else as role model/social life was tough. Even though I knew that this is what teenagers do, I still grieved the loss of what we had had for so many years. Nick was breaking away, making his own choices, deciding his own social network, and we were no longer invited to be a part of it.

When Nick turned 16, more splintering occurred, and the chasm widened. Based on our experiences, teenagers should be locked away from the age of 16 through 18. This was, by far, the most turbulent time period we experienced with both of our kids. Since Nick was the oldest, everything was new and unfamiliar, so we had to shoot from the hip with regard parenting him.

During this time period, it was all about fun and friends, not family. Communication was limited and often negative. Conversations seemed to be battles more often than not, with respect and courtesy often being the biggest casualties.

One particular low moment was Parents Night for swimming. After the meet, everyone was supposed to go to the cafeteria to eat bars and socialize. I was so disgusted with his behavior, attitude, and lack of respect for us at the event that I told Mike that I just wanted to go home after the meet. Later, Nick came home, indignant, "Why didn't you show up? You embarrassed me!" Right back at ya, Buddy boy.

That memory, embarrassing and painful that it was, illustrated how miserable life was during that time, which is not to say it was all Nick's fault. Remember, since Nick was our first born, we were making it up as we went. In retrospect, we could have handled situations better or differently, and I'm sure he would say the same. You learn as you go.

As Mike continually tried to point out to me during this time period, Nick was just trying to figure out exactly who Nick was while trying to establish some independence. Even so, I missed my Nick. This snarly, disrespectful Nick 2.0 version was not very likable - at least to us. Thankfully, he was still respectful and kind to others; at the time, I just wished he would extend a little of that to his family as well.

The fourth division occurred within the past year. Per his decision, Nick chose to live at home for two years following his high school graduation so that he could obtain a two-year AA degree at the local community college. In making this choice, he was able to go to school, maintain two jobs, and pay off the first two years.  While this proved to be a good decision on his part, there was a decided difference between first-year Nick and second-year Nick.

During this past year, we barely saw Nick at all. He came and went as he pleased, which was tacitly understood and agreed upon. He rarely ate meals with us. Basically, even though his address and bed were here, we co-existed like two ships passing in the night.

Yesterday, as Nick and I were running an errand together, he was asking me various questions to which I truthfully responded, "Nick, I don't know how to answer. I don't even know you anymore." He gave me a sideways, questioning look, so I had to clarify, "Even though you lived at home, I rarely saw you last year. I don't know what you like and don't like anymore. The only one who can answer those questions is you." The sad reality of those words hit me as they slid out of my mouth. The hard truth is that I have lost my little boy; a man, mysterious yet similar has taken his place.

And yet, truly, that is what we have been working toward for the last twenty years - helping him to become an independent adult who is able to think, decide, and yes, deal with the consequences, both good and bad.

So when he asked, "Are you excited for me, Mom? Do you think I am ready?" I could give him the answer that he not only wanted to hear but the truth as well.

As the ax fell again yesterday, I sent my son on his way to a new life in a new city. Once upon a time, I used to be able to hug all of him at one time. This time, I had to reach up to give this man who is my son a hug and a kiss goodbye.  Most importantly, I looked him in the eyes, hands on both sides of face, and said, "You are ready for this.  Mama loves you. And remember that Mama always has your back."

And that's really all that matters. Even if and when the circumstances, roles, and duties change over time, once a mama, always a mama.