My grandmother once commented on how she use to look forward to the leaves changing color in Fall, revealing their splendid yellows, reds, and oranges. She went on to say that as she grew older, however, she began to appreciate, instead, the beauty of winter trees with their bare branches, mirroring the root system hidden underground. That beautiful observation has rattled around in my head for years. What if growing older could be the most beautiful part, the highlight of all this living? A time when my roots, the real person, is revealed as all the rest falls away.
The older teachers I worked with when I first started teaching showed me the beauty age can hold. These seasoned veterans with whom I started my career were innovative, meaningfully connected with students, and willingly helped me during my formative years-not at all the embittered curmudgeons my college professors had warned might be a part of the school landscape. Often times I envied the way the students seemed to revere them and worked hard to earn their approval and respect. I looked forward to the day when I would be that force in a classroom.
I feel the shift beginning. I’m embracing this move from fun, whimsical, young teacher to a more steady, self-assured, older “been here, done this for a while” educator. I’m aware of the shift in my teaching persona and, of course, I fear I might lose relevancy. After all, I have become the teacher who needs our Literacy Coach to help set up all the Google folders and help scanning, hyperlinking, and importing the assessment tool to the “My Learning Plan” website. Yep, that’s me. My younger, computer savvy colleagues may even roll their eyes at me, not understanding my angst as they click, click, click from one screen to another in, what seems to me, utter madness.
Luckily, my fear of “losing touch” was calmed during a recent speaking engagement for the “Be THAT Teacher Conference” held at Western Michigan University. My speech centered around my story as a teacher, and I ended by inviting these “newbies” to hold true to their stories and purposes for serving students and communities through teaching. After wrapping up my presentation, I stood at the front with a couple loyal teacher friends who’d snuck in to hear me speak. And then, the sweetest thing happened.
An aspiring teacher from the audience came to me and said, “Thank you for sharing your story. I felt like you were ME. So much of what you said was my experience.” I looked at this fresh, eager, beautiful young woman and thought, “Oh, I remember you so well.” I remembered being in her place–at that stage. She was me years ago, and I was who she might become. I loved that moment and all it revealed.
Teachers–young, old, and in-between–share something very precious…beautiful hearts. Hearts that want to help. I think it might be all the helping for all these years that ages us in the very best of ways.
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