Every Picture Tells A Story - A Teacher's Story

     5:30 a.m. Monday. No alarm clock. No need for one. Her internal clock lets her know that it is time to rise and face whatever the day may bring. She showers, picks out her wardrobe, and gets dressed. Presentable. Professional. She has eyes on her everyday. She makes sure to look her best. She exits the bedroom and heads to the living room to retrieve her schoolbag that she had left there the night before. It's heavier than usual today. It is loaded down with the essays she brought home with her after school on Friday. She picks up the few scattered papers on the couch, stacks them up, taking care to keep them tidy, and then slides them into the already overloaded bag. 

     She hoists the bag strap over her shoulder and makes her way to the kitchen, dropping off the bag on the table along the way. She walks over to the coffee maker, and reaches for her large coffee cup. It is covered with school pride. It dons the colors and mascot of her alma mater, Hatley High School. The place she couldn't wait to leave at graduation, but has found herself there once again. Things are different now, though. She's on the other side of the desk. She's an adult now, and she strives to act like one every day, as hard as it may be.

     She fills her cup, adds a little creamer for flavor, and prays that it will wake her up before the kids arrive. She grabs her small lunch bag, and fills it with enough bottled water to get her through the day. Her lunch bag is covered with kitty cats and rainbows, because even the most responsible adults have to connect with their inner child from time to time. Plus, it helps her connect with her students. It allows them to see that she is a real, genuine person. After all, most students believe that their teachers are edu-bots that are locked away in the closet overnight, only to be released the next morning to teach once again. 

     Bag of papers? Check. Coffee? Check. Kitty bag? Check. Now, kiss the husband and load up the car. She drops all her gear into the passenger's seat, and walks around to the driver's side and opens the door. She slinks into the driver's seat and reaches for her keys. Keys? No check. Aggravated, she goes back inside to retrieve her keys. She reenters the house to find her husband standing just inside the doorway, with a playful grin on his face, holding out her keys ready for her to snatch them away. This is not a good start to her Monday! Back in the car, engine started, she reaches for her cell phone. She turns on the bluetooth, and syncs her phone to her radio. Good music. That's what she needs. Something peppy to get this Monday back on track. Needtobreathe? Not today. Colony House? Maybe later. She decides to go with For King and Country's "Fix My Eyes."  It should do the trick. She turns up the volume and backs out of the driveway. 

     It's dark still. Her headlights come on as she puts the car in drive and starts down the road. She sings along with the radio for the first mile, then the song starts to fade out of her mind. There are too many other things drowning out the music this morning. She begins thinking about students. She worries over grades. She gets anxious knowing that that one kid that has been giving her a hard time lately is in her first class. Before she knows it she is pulling into her parking spot. With all the thoughts in her head she doesn't even remember the drive from home. 

     She has a prime parking spot, because she is usually one of the first ones to get to the school. She has found that the extra time spent in her classroom each morning better prepares her for the day. She unloads her gear and lugs it to the high school building. With her shoulders loaded down and beginning to ache, she makes a quick stop by the office to sign in, and then strolls down the lonely hall to her room. 

     Her fingers reach for the light switch, and with a flip, the lights flicker on. The bright glow illuminates something that she had forgotten. She left school Friday without sweeping her floors. It was the weekend, and she was tired, but now she was wishing she had just taken the time to tidy up a bit. She walks over and drops her things in her desk chair, sits her coffee on her desk, and then heads to her closet to grab her broom. As she begins sweeping beneath the various desks she is amazed with the amount of dirt her students can track in each day. "They apparently don't know how to use a floor mat," she jokes to herself. Grabbing a dust pan, she bends over and sweeps up the piles of dirt and debris, and dumps them into the garbage can. She places the broom back in the closet and closes the door to conceal the untidiness found within. That's one job that will have to wait for another time. She has too many other things on her plate for now.

     She goes to her desk, unloads her bags from her chair, and sits down. She is already tired, and the day hasn't really started yet. She chugs down the last drop of her coffee and turns on her computer. While waiting for it to boot up, she starts unloading the tests and essays that she graded over the weekend. Progress reports are due on Wednesday, so she knows that she has to get her grades put in as soon as she can. Her computer desktop pops up while she is sorting out the papers on her desk. She turns her attention back to the computer, and pulls up her email. Two pages of correspondence. As she scrolls through her emails, weeding out and deleting the junk, she comes across an email from one of her coworkers. He lets her know that he is battling a nasty virus, and he isn't going to make it to work today. He doesn't want to infect anyone, so he asks her to print out some classwork that he has emailed to her and take it to his room for his substitute to hand out to his students. She is behind with getting her own things together, but she is happy to do it for him. She has had to ask others to do the same for her, and she doesn't want to let him down. 

    She emails him back to let him know that she is taking care of his request, and then prints out the paperwork he sent. She stacks them up, rises from her chair, and walks down to the copier room at the other end of the hall. She places the stack of papers in the top of the copier, inputs the amount of copies, and presses print. As the copier begins to whine and whir, she sits at the table in the room to try to finish grading the last few papers she had left from last week. Before she can get through the first paper, the copy machine stops printing. She investigates the problem and finds that there is a paper jam. Opening all the doors on the side of the machine, she finally locates the jam, and strategically removes the torn paper. With the closing of the machine door, the copier begins spitting out copies again. Before she can take her seat, the copier stops again. This time she finds that the copier has run out of paper. She grabs a new ream from the boxes of paper in the corner, removes its paper wrapping, and drops it into the paper drawer. The drawer closes and the machine goes back to work. She prays that she will have no more problems as she picks up her pen and begins grading again. After a couple of minutes the machine stops again, This time, thankfully, it's because the copies are done.

     She takes the papers back down to his room, sorts them, and sets them out with instructions for his sub. She sprints back down the hall to her room to continue getting things ready for her class. Though she didn't sweep her room on Friday, she was relieved knowing that she had already made all the copies for her classes in preparation for today. She gets everything sorted and stacked on her desk, and then reaches for the remote for her projector and powers it on. The projector begins to light up the wall where her smart board is located. Slowly her computer desktop is projected onto the board and she begins to pull up the lessons she plans to present to her students today.

    Before long, the bell sounds, and teenagers, like herds of wild animals, begin to file in. Her face quickly forms a smile. That one student that has been working so hard to raise his grades is the first to enter and take his seat. She could not be more proud of him. It's the kind of initiative that he has taken lately that makes her feel like she is doing something right. Sometimes she has trouble faking a smile with all the things she is dealing with in her own life, but he caused a genuine grin this morning.

     As more students make their way to their desks, one kid slowly walks in as the tardy bell rings. He has his head hung low. It's obvious he doesn't want to be here. He speaks to no one and saunters to his desk at the back of the class. He looks up and spots her at her desk. The smile isn't quite as big as it was before. This was the one. The one that made her so anxious on the way to work. She could tell that he was in one of his moods. She worries that he is going to cause trouble today...again.

     Forcing her smile back to her face, she rises from her desk and walks to the front of the room. She tries to settle everyone. It's early. She knows she has to allow them to get all their daily greetings out of the way. It's not like these kids don't see one another every day, but they somehow act like they haven't seen one another in years. Some of them, anyway. Some others are not so rambunctious in the mornings. A few have their heads down on their desks and have begun to drift back into sleepyland. She quickly nips that in the bud, and calls the class's attention to the smart board at the front of the room. Before long, education happens. Most of the students are absorbing the lessons that are being hurled at them. Most. 

     She begins to walk up and down the rows of desks. She has learned that the students tend to react better to her teaching when they feel a closeness to the her. They enjoy the one on one interaction. It lets them know that she really cares about them. Not just as a class, but as individuals. They feel like she truly wants the best for them. As she strolls down the last row, she spies HIM in the back with his head on his desk, and his hoodie over his head. She moves in closer and gives him a gentle nudge. Nothing. She tries a gentle shake while saying his name. Nothing. Finally she gets on his level and quietly shouts his name. Like a shot, his head jerks up as he yells, "WHAT?!" He is obviously annoyed, but not nearly as annoyed as she is. She points to the door and tells him to meet her in the hall. He springs to his feet. His momentum shoves the desk aside, almost hitting her in the hip. He rushes to the door and slams it as he exits. Some of his classmates begin to snicker while others sit with a look of shock on their faces. She tries to quickly calm them down, and then exits the room, gently shutting the door behind her.

     She tries to compose herself. These are the moments she dreads the most as a teacher. As usually happens when these trials come up, she steadies herself with one thought. She is a Christian. It is not something that she gets to advertise to her students, but she doesn't hide her faith either. If a student asks her a question about her beliefs, she answers it. Every time she faces these types of issues she reminds herself of all the times that she has disappointed God, but yet He continues to forgive her and hold her close. If God can do that for her, then surely she can do the same for her unruly students.

     She walks over to the boy. He is leaning against the wall, his back to her, and his hoodie hanging over his face. She slowly walks toward and stands just in front of him. She can barely see his face, because of his dangling hoodie. She can, however, see the faint trace of a tear trail on his cheek. She gently tells him to look at her, and he slowly raises his head. His face is flush, and his eyes are red. She can tell that he has been crying, but he is trying hard to hide it. Normally, she would make him pull his hoodie off of his head, but this time she offers him the compassion that he is seeking. He is trying to conceal his emotions from possible passers-by, and she is happy to accommodate him this one time. 

     "What's going on with you," she quietly asks. He boisterously denies her an answer as he brushes by her, attempting to wipe away his tears with his shirt sleeve. She patiently turns to confront him again. She lets him know that he doesn't have to tell her anything, but that he did have to act appropriately in her classroom. He tentatively agrees, and marches back into the classroom. He sits back down in his desk, crosses his arms, and sits there quietly for the rest of the class. When class ends he begins to slowly gather his things. He isn't in a hurry to leave. He doesn't want to be close to everyone else as they are leaving the classroom. He finally begins to leave once the last person makes their way to the door. As he nears the doorway, she calls out his name. He stops dead in his tracks, and hesitantly turns to see what she wants. She lets him know that she is there if he needs her. He timidly nods his head, then turns to exit the room.

     She sits there at her desk, her heart broken. She can tell that he is dealing with some major issues in his life, but she feels so powerless since he would not accept her help. Her face runs warm as a tear begins to well up in the corner of her eye. So many kids. So many problems. She can see it on their faces every day. It is so agonizing when she has to watch her kids, who don't know how to regulate their own emotions, sit in pain and sadness. But this was only first period. She knows she has to compose herself before the next class comes in.

     Her second period class flies by with very few problems. Her students in this class are pretty attentive today. More attentive than usual. She wonders what has made the difference. The bell rings and the kids bustle to the door. They enjoy her class, but every ringing bell means they are closer to the day's end.

     She has one straggler. A young girl shyly walks over to her desk. She can tell that something is weighing heavy on the student, so she offers an attentive ear. The girl tells her about her cousin. He has been having trouble at home. She shares that his dad has left home, and his mom has lost her job. These things have caused him to become very angry and sad, and she is really concerned for him. She knows that he has experimented with cutting in the past, and fears that he may start doing it again, or something even worse.

     The teacher's heart drops in her chest, and a lump wells up in her throat. She knows the young girl's cousin. It is HIM, the boy that has been giving her trouble. She knew that he was battling something, but didn't know what. Now she has a better understanding of the torment that he is under. She thanks the young girl and tells her that she will keep an eye on her cousin, and comforts her by telling her she is always available if she ever needs to talk again.

      The young girl smiles and thanks her. She can tell that this teacher truly cares, because she is always willing to listen. She turns and walks toward the door, her spirits now slightly lifted. As she closes the door behind her the next bell rings. It is now the teacher's planning period. No kids. She is glad. She is feeling very raw at the moment. Trying to hold back her tears, she folds her arms across one another as she leans them onto her desk. She places her head softly on her arms and she begins to pray. She asks God to take care of her students, especially this one that was weighing so heavy on her right now. She asks for the patience and the wisdom to handle the situation with love and grace. She thanks Him for allowing her to take part in the lives of these children, while in her mind she wonders if she is really making a difference. She finishes her prayer, rises from her desk, and tries to compose herself.

      She leaves her room for a moment. She has to make a bathroom run. This is the one time in the day that she has the opportunity to do so. She sometimes laughs at her husband for having to make so many pit stops when they go on trips. She has a teacher bladder. She can go without a bathroom break for hours, because she usually has to. As she walks toward the restroom she spots her administrator strolling her way. He stops her with a reminder that her evaluation is scheduled for Wednesday. He lets her know what period he plans to be in her room to monitor how she conducts her classes. This is something that she has grown accustomed to having to do, but she still gets that nervous feeling, knowing that she will be scrutinized on how she does her job. She thanks him and continues her journey. Along the way, a thought enters her mind. Wednesday. That's the same day she has to hand out progress reports. As if that day wasn't going to be stressful enough, but now she has to worry about her eval on top of everything else.

     When she returns to her room she grabs those last few papers that she didn't get graded earlier in the morning, and she puts her red pen in motion. After a while she finally marks the last paper, and turns to her computer to begin inputting grades. She goes down the line of student's names, one by one, keying in the various test scores. Some are high. Some are low. She notices some improvement in grades, and some that have allowed their grades to slip. With each grade variance she wonders why. What is causing their grades to go down? Is it complacency?  Is it trials that they are facing? Is it her? Of all the possible factors, this is the one she usually lands on. Is she doing enough? Is she teaching as well as she could? She constantly questions her teaching ability. The stress of such thinking is draining, but little does she know, her constant questioning is part of what makes her a great teacher. She always wants to do better, therefore she does.

     As she sits there pondering, she is snapped back to reality with a rapping on her door. She looks up to see one of her neighboring teachers pop her head around the corner of the door frame, and offering a reminder. They had swapped duties this week and she doesn't want her to forget that she is supposed to take her place in the cafeteria during lunch. They converse for a moment and then her neighbor leaves. Looking around the room, she realizes that she needs to move her desks around before the next class comes. The next gang will be working in groups, so she has to maneuver the desks into clusters of four. Though the shifting of heavy desks is taxing, she is glad to do it. She enjoys teaching to groups. She is amazed by how much easier it is for the students to grasp the lessons when they work together. The exchanging of thoughts and ideas really helps them understand things better, because they are allowed to discuss the lessons with their peers. While pulling the last desk into place she notices the drag marks through the dirt on the floor. She just swept! She wonders how it could get this dirty after only two classes. No time to sweep now, though. The bell rings. Here she goes again.

     After that class ends, and the children file out, she grabs her lunch bag and trudges to the cafeteria for duty. She enters the lunchroom through a side door to prevent being trampled by starving children. She spies one of her fellow teachers sitting at the teacher's table in the center of the room. She heads toward the table, greets her friend, and sits down. Other faculty begin to strategically sit around the table. They make sure that there are eyes on every corner of the room, and that any tomfoolery will not go unseen. As they all attempt to eat their lunches, hoping this lunch period will be harmonious, they begin to talk shop. Students. Grades. Learning Strategies. Test Scores. They are teachers. I'ts what they know. It's what they do. It's always on their minds. Suddenly they hear the sounding of the bell. It signals the end of lunch, but more importantly, it signals that half the day is done.

     She gathers up her trash, drops it in the garbage receptacle, and begins the trek back to her classroom. Along the way she hears the cheers and screams of children from around the corner of the building. She picks up her pace to investigate what the commotion is all about. As she rounds the building's edge, she spots a small group of immature bodies huddled around one another. She knows exactly what is happening. It's a fight. She drops her lunch bag on the dirty sidewalk and lunges into the crowd to try breaking up the scuffle. As she reaches to halt the flow of an incoming blow, she gets knocked to the ground. Everything stops. Fighting is one thing. Causing a teacher harm is another. The horde of onlookers disperse in every direction. As the dust settles, she looks up at the two offenders. They both stand there staring at her, petrified. She is shocked when she sees who the young men are. Even more so when she sees one of them offering his hand to help her up. It is HIM. She braces herself with the nearby railing and lifts herself to stand. She glares at them, her mind quickly assessing the situation. She points at HIM, and commands him to go wait in her classroom. As he enters the building she turns her attention to the other boy. She didn't think the fight was as serious as it seemed. The group of onlookers was more impressive than the fight, so she sharply reprimands him, offers a warning, and sends him on his way.

      She bends over to retrieve her lunch bag, that is now covered in dirt, and calmly gathers her thoughts as she walks toward her room. This confrontation could be bad. It could be good. She braces herself for the worst. As she enters her room, he is very quick to apologize. He felt awful for knocking her down. This teacher, just hours ago extended an offering of support, and now he is in anguish for possibly hurting her. She can see the sincerity in his eyes. Now knowing the trials he is facing, she is quick to accept his apology, and offers him a seat. She knows she doesn't have long before he must go to his next class, and another class would be interrupting her room. She again offers a listening ear. This time he accepts. He quickly pours out his heart to her as the tears begin to stain his face. She listens. She consoles. She supports the best way she can. She so wants to wrap her arms around him, squeeze him tightly, and show him just how much she cares, but she can't. Student contact is against the rules. She tries to comfort him with her words. It seems to help. As he wipes his reddened eyes, he looks at her with a slight smile, and thanks her. He knows that he is experiencing the comfort and support that he isn't getting anywhere else. She is making a difference in his life, but as he stands to leave the room, she wonders if she could have done more.

     The rest of the day she does what she does best. She teaches. She inspires. She loves. She gives every ounce of herself in every class. She deals with the fact that only a rare few of these students, that she serves every day, realize how much she puts into her job. How much she works. How much she prepares. How much she cares. It's draining, both physically and emotionally. Yet, she continues to do it. It's what she was born to do. It's her calling. She knows that God can use her in this position, if she only allows Him to. So she relies on Him for strength, and she presses forward.

     As the day's last bell sounds, she sits at her desk, takes a deep breath, and then picks up her pen. She is thankful to have finished grading the stack of papers she had taken home over the weekend, but now there are more. She had administered two tests today, and had students do worksheets for a couple of her other classes. Now they lay before her, waiting to be graded. She grasps the first paper and begins to scan it, marking mistakes, and writing encouraging words where needed. Before she knows it, the clock hits 4:21. She decides it's time to go home. She's tired. She misses her husband and cats. She's ready to get home to the ones she knows love her. She packs up the rest of her papers and prepares to head home. 

     She arrives back home to find her husband has cooked supper. At least that is one thing she won't have to do today. They prepare their plates and go to the living room to settle in and get comfortable. They begin to watch one of their favorite shows that was saved on the DVR, and enjoy their supper together. Her cat jumps on the couch to greet her. He has been waiting all day to snuggle with her. Although he is interrupting her meal, she welcomes him. She has been waiting for snuggle time herself. He helps to relieve the stress of her day.

     Once she finishes her meal, she sets her plate aside, and picks up her laptop. The show they were watching isn't over yet, but she has to make out two tests that are planned for tomorrow. She sits there in the glow of the monitor, her cat by her side, typing away. Her head begins to ache as she finishes up the last test. She is so glad to be done. That is one less thing for her to deal with tomorrow. It's only Monday and she is already looking forward to Friday, but then she realizes that she will have more papers to bring home this weekend, too. As she lays her computer aside she remembers something that she had forgotten to do. She had planned to go to town after school to pick up some supplies for her classroom. She was planning to change her bulletin board tomorrow and needs a few things to complete it. She looks at her husband. Before she can say a word, he knows. He knows that look. She may be at home, but there is still more work to be done. He agrees to go to the dollar store with her so she doesn't have to go alone.

     They hop in the car and hit the road. She is exhausted, so he offers to drive. She begins to fill him in with all the happenings of her day. She tells about the breakthrough she had with a student in her second block class, and the boy in her first class that had begun raising his grades. She speaks of her kids with such pride. She has always told people that she didn't have any children of her own, because she has hundreds of kids that she cares for every day. It was always meant as a joke, but there is so much truth in it. She loves them. All of them. She rejoices with them when they succeed, and she mourns with them when they fail. 

     Her husband doesn't understand everything she is talking about when she starts to use her "teacher speech." She uses all of the technical words that only teachers understand, but he listens anyway. He knows that this helps her get things off her mind. As they pull into the parking lot of the dollar store she stops talking. She just sits there quiet for a moment. Her husband asks if she is OK. She just needs a minute. Another student just crossed her mind. It was HIM. Although things seemed better with him when they last spoke, she still worries about him. 

     Her husband tries to divert her attention. He can tell that she is upset. He promises her that she can buy some pens and pencils for herself. Her eyes widen, and she perks up a little. He knows that one thing that makes a teacher happy is pens and pencils. He opens the door for her as they step inside the store. She grabs a shopping cart and makes her way to the school supply aisle. She picks up the few things she needs for her bulletin board and tosses them into the cart. Then a notebook display catches her eye. The notebooks are on sale. She knows that her husband has them on a budget, but she gives him the look. With her eyes she directs him to look at the display. He knows what is on her mind. He gives her the nod and she grabs a couple of stacks of notebooks and drops them into the buggy. As they turn to go back down the aisle, they pass by the pens and pencils, but she continues to pass by them. He stops her and asks why she isn't getting any. She lets him know that the notebooks are for her kids. Sometimes they can't afford to buy them for themselves, so she wants to make sure she has some extras just in case. She knows that he worries about money, so she had decided to not buy herself any pens. Her students are more important. As they walk away, he grabs a pack of pens and tosses them over her shoulder into the cart. Pens make her happy, and he can tell that she needs a little happy right now. After all, she deserves it.

      As they step to the register to check out they see one of her former students. It's a girl that graduated two years ago and is currently going to college. The student spots her and runs across the store to greet her, because it has been so long since they have seen one another. They wrap their arms around one another and squeeze tightly. They release their embrace, and the student quickly begins to fill the teacher in on how her life is going. She relays that she is in her second year of college. She is working part time to make ends meet. She met a boy, and she thinks he's the one. As the stories continue, the teacher's own college memories begin to flash through her mind. These stories eerily mirror her own life in some ways. Being the teacher, she asks the student what her major is. She remembers how outgoing this student had been in high school. She knew that she could do or be anything she set her mind to. The student's cheeks upturn, and her smile widens as she tells her that she is studying English. As the teacher stands there, looking surprised, the student looks at her and says, "I want to be a teacher, because of you."

   

   This story is a work of fiction, but it is based around things that happen in the lives of teachers each and every day. I know first hand. My wife has been teaching for over ten years. I have heard the stories. I have seen the amount of work and care that she pours into her job every single day, including weekends. I have seen her beam with pride, and I have seen her cry with fear, because of the decisions that are made by kids who may see her as nothing more than a teacher. She sees them as so much more than mere students. She really considers them her own.

The day that is written of here may not have taken place, but every incident that is described in it has. The picture above is of my wife. When I saw her sitting in the dark, illuminated by the glow of her laptop, I quickly grabbed my camera. I knew that it would be a perfect snapshot of a teacher. Always working. The job of a teacher extends well past the chalkboard. Their work reaches everywhere.

Now you know the story behind this picture.

 If you have enjoyed reading this story, thank a teacher. Without them, you would be unable to.