You're The Inspiration

Last week I received a call from one of the teachers at school. I thought maybe she was calling to express her extreme sadness over my decision to remain home with J. Or, maybe she had some juicy gossip to share (it runs rampart in my old stomping grounds). Nope on both accounts.

She called to tell me that a student had chosen to honor me at a banquet later this month. I inspired this student. The student looked up to me. I made a difference in his/her life. Wow.

I haven't been in the classroom in nearly a year.

I thought "out of sight, out of mind." Apparently not.

I don't know who the student is. They like it to be a surprise.

I started thinking about last year, the last year I taught. What could I have done to inspire this student so much that he/she chose me?

Let's see . . .

I made them write. A lot. And read. A lot. I'm an English teacher so it sorta goes along with the territory.

I listened to their stories. I told them some of mine.

I asked about their lives. I asked them about their plans for the future.

I went to their games. I attended some of their concerts. I showed up at their work (not knowing they would be there). I was around . . .

I told them they could be whatever they wanted to be . . . as long as they were willing to work hard, believe in themselves, and be true to who they are.

Respect. I told them to give it and to earn it. It is a rare commodity . . .

We laughed. They laughed at me, their roly poly little English teacher who at times could barely keep her eyes open or food out of her mouth. They were there the first time little J decided to make his presence known. They were in awe. So was I. We shared a moment.

I remember saying, "I really want you to do well." A student replied, "You actually mean that, don't you." Yes . . . I do.

I am flattered. I am humbled. I am continually amazed that I could do this . . . make a difference.
That means they were listening. They were watching. Watching and listening . . . oh, my.

Now with J I think about all I do. What I say. How I act. We've already discussed how I won't be perfect. It just won't happen. It wouldn't be any fun anyhow.

That means he'll watch me when I cook and clean. Or when I don't. He'll listen to my stories of first loves and my youthful misadventures. He'll see me make a fool of myself (he can add that to the times I've already made a fool of myself). He'll stare at me when I clearly don't have a clue. He'll see that I am uncoordinated and clumsy. He'll know I can be a slob. He'll laugh when he watches me lose my keys for the bazillionth time. He'll clearly gaze disapprovingly at my fashion sense, taste in books/movies/music. He'll NOT laugh at my super corny jokes (that are seriously much funnier when I remember how they actually went).

Look up to me? Be inspired by me? Me, make a difference?

Poor J . . . he doesn't have a chance.

Or maybe, just maybe . . . he does.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

For all you who are or will one day be the "inspiration"--I dedicate this to you. We are SOOO in trouble . . .




An 80s tune. You knew it was coming.

*My 100th post is coming up. Really? Shouldn't we just count the non-craptastic posts? That would be . . . like 3. Yes. I meant to make this announcement really, really tiny. Maybe you won't notice it. Do you? Then you have really good vision 'cause I can barely see it and I'm typing it.