| Biographical Non-Fiction posted February 23, 2021 |
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The Road Not Taken ... Thank Goodness!
Relieved in Retrospect
by Elizabeth Emerald
I had a dream.
For those who read my last two "dream" posts, no need to roll your eyes or bail out; this dream is a metaphorical one: I always wanted to be a teacher.
When I was in first grade, I wanted to become a first-grade teacher.
When I was in second grade, I wanted to become a second-grade teacher.
Etc. Etc. Etc. (Until I got to junior high school; no way did I want to teach those brats.)
Flash-forward to graduate school (and faster-forward to graduating from the miserable place). The upshot is, in 1978, I earned (?) a master's degree in education.
Lowercase above intentional; my diploma proved to be worth its weight in document paper stock: I couldn't even garner a job interview.
Not that I tried very hard; the number of jobs I applied for could be counted on the fingers of one thumb.
I'd loathed my bait-and-switch student-teaching experience. The fifth-grade class to which I'd been assigned was structured as per junior high school; the kids were every bit as bratty as they'd been in my day. (Karma's a bitch.)
Nonetheless, ten months later, having recovered from The Year of Living Dangerously (credit due the film thus titled), I regretted not having pursued my chosen career.
By then, I'd transitioned into what turned out to be a 23-year career as a computer programmer. I found my work (and the pay-rate) rewarding, yet "the longing for my calling" persisted, albeit faintly.
When I took (involuntary) early-early retirement (having been down-and-out-sized in 2004), I took the requisite courses and exams to have my expired certification reinstated.
This go-round I tried valiantly to get a job. I was caught in a catch-22; i.e., only 22-year-olds got hired. I'd be called for interviews, only to be informed five minutes into it that they were "looking for an experienced teacher." (Translation: We're only going through the motions so that we can't be nailed for age discrimination.)
Yesterday, I read a superb post by Rdfrdmom2, titled Students Are Returning, which details her district's protocol for implementing the transition from virtual learning to soon-to-be re-opened classrooms.
While contemplating the tortuous/torturous task of navigating education during the Reign of Corona, I was flooded with gratitude that my dream did not come true.
I had a dream.
For those who read my last two "dream" posts, no need to roll your eyes or bail out; this dream is a metaphorical one: I always wanted to be a teacher.
When I was in first grade, I wanted to become a first-grade teacher.
When I was in second grade, I wanted to become a second-grade teacher.
Etc. Etc. Etc. (Until I got to junior high school; no way did I want to teach those brats.)
Flash-forward to graduate school (and faster-forward to graduating from the miserable place). The upshot is, in 1978, I earned (?) a master's degree in education.
Lowercase above intentional; my diploma proved to be worth its weight in document paper stock: I couldn't even garner a job interview.
Not that I tried very hard; the number of jobs I applied for could be counted on the fingers of one thumb.
I'd loathed my bait-and-switch student-teaching experience. The fifth-grade class to which I'd been assigned was structured as per junior high school; the kids were every bit as bratty as they'd been in my day. (Karma's a bitch.)
Nonetheless, ten months later, having recovered from The Year of Living Dangerously (credit due the film thus titled), I regretted not having pursued my chosen career.
By then, I'd transitioned into what turned out to be a 23-year career as a computer programmer. I found my work (and the pay-rate) rewarding, yet "the longing for my calling" persisted, albeit faintly.
When I took (involuntary) early-early retirement (having been down-and-out-sized in 2004), I took the requisite courses and exams to have my expired certification reinstated.
This go-round I tried valiantly to get a job. I was caught in a catch-22; i.e., only 22-year-olds got hired. I'd be called for interviews, only to be informed five minutes into it that they were "looking for an experienced teacher." (Translation: We're only going through the motions so that we can't be nailed for age discrimination.)
Yesterday, I read a superb post by Rdfrdmom2, titled Students Are Returning, which details her district's protocol for implementing the transition from virtual learning to soon-to-be re-opened classrooms.
While contemplating the tortuous/torturous task of navigating education during the Reign of Corona, I was flooded with gratitude that my dream did not come true.
For those who read my last two "dream" posts, no need to roll your eyes or bail out; this dream is a metaphorical one: I always wanted to be a teacher.
When I was in first grade, I wanted to become a first-grade teacher.
When I was in second grade, I wanted to become a second-grade teacher.
Etc. Etc. Etc. (Until I got to junior high school; no way did I want to teach those brats.)
Flash-forward to graduate school (and faster-forward to graduating from the miserable place). The upshot is, in 1978, I earned (?) a master's degree in education.
Lowercase above intentional; my diploma proved to be worth its weight in document paper stock: I couldn't even garner a job interview.
Not that I tried very hard; the number of jobs I applied for could be counted on the fingers of one thumb.
I'd loathed my bait-and-switch student-teaching experience. The fifth-grade class to which I'd been assigned was structured as per junior high school; the kids were every bit as bratty as they'd been in my day. (Karma's a bitch.)
Nonetheless, ten months later, having recovered from The Year of Living Dangerously (credit due the film thus titled), I regretted not having pursued my chosen career.
By then, I'd transitioned into what turned out to be a 23-year career as a computer programmer. I found my work (and the pay-rate) rewarding, yet "the longing for my calling" persisted, albeit faintly.
When I took (involuntary) early-early retirement (having been down-and-out-sized in 2004), I took the requisite courses and exams to have my expired certification reinstated.
This go-round I tried valiantly to get a job. I was caught in a catch-22; i.e., only 22-year-olds got hired. I'd be called for interviews, only to be informed five minutes into it that they were "looking for an experienced teacher." (Translation: We're only going through the motions so that we can't be nailed for age discrimination.)
Yesterday, I read a superb post by Rdfrdmom2, titled Students Are Returning, which details her district's protocol for implementing the transition from virtual learning to soon-to-be re-opened classrooms.
While contemplating the tortuous/torturous task of navigating education during the Reign of Corona, I was flooded with gratitude that my dream did not come true.
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