Confessions of a Scholar Mom
The Gratitude Gospel: Day 5
“Mommy, two plus two equals…1, 2, 3, 4!”
I shot my husband the look. You know, the “Wait, what just happened?!” variety.
Our three-year-old son has been curious about numbers for years, but the light bulb moment has never been within reach.
Until yesterday.
When I found out my second child would be a little girl, I panicked. I may be a woman, but I only had experience parenting a son.
Something happens the first day that you begin teaching. A connection materializes between your heart and those of your students.
But what about the ones who hate you? What about the ones who hate each other? What about the ones who make your instruction difficult?
Baking brings me joy. But last night’s mission involved a deeper purpose.
I wanted to reward those students who make it to our last class meeting before spring break.
I already know what you’re thinking. What college professor makes baked goods for their students?
Tonight this very rare thing happened: my little girl let me read her five stories before she drifted off to sleep in my arms.
Let me explain.
I don’t know about you, but 2017 approaching sends me into a bit of a tizzy. What will the new year bring? What have I left undone? And, perhaps most importantly, what have I learned over the last 12 months?
I made foolish mistakes in my youth. Too many involved the opposite sex.
In the last year, two of the men I gave pieces of my heart to have died. I’m at a loss.
But I’m a mother, and there is no slowing down. Only moving forward…even when I have to crawl.
It really, really hurts.
Several years before I became a mother, I was a high school English teacher…and probably inappropriately maternal.
One particular student comes to mind from my first year in the classroom. He demonstrated a gift for the written word. His passion for music was contagious (think drummer). And his family was in the midst of a financial crisis. He always seemed to end our conversations with the same urgent question: How am I going to survive?
But I am a teacher, and – every so often – I struggle with a God complex. I want to save every last one of my students.
As an unmarried, 23-year-old I couldn’t offer him money or a safe home. He did, however, mention that his birthday was quickly approaching. And so I did what any loving woman without children would do.
I celebrated him as my own.
Oh, Ronald Reagan. In 1983 his administration presented A Nation at Risk, a report that would forever change the game in American education.
In short, it claimed we had everything to fear. We were falling behind. Our teachers weren’t good enough.
And so began our collective sprint to a finish line where all children succeed, where domination in math and science would be as natural as breathing. To achieve these goals, however, we had to shed the excess – the nonessential.
And, just like that, the STEM virus began.
