New Sparkles

I have a birthday coming up. I suppose it isn't so special, but it seems to be simply the last year of my "youth". I have always tended to be a drama queen about everything, especially age. On my 25th birthday, I cried the blues because I was a quarter of a century old and hadn't accomplished much in my life. Perhaps it was the lack of dream-achievement that got me going that year. Funny, I still haven't achieved those dreams I had back then, but I'm not bothered by them anymore. I have new dreams now, some of which I have partially accomplished, and some that I know I will never accomplish. That's okay. I will be 39 this year, this month, 8 days.

And for now, I'm going to swiftly change the subject due to my somewhat erratic thinking, and recall a time in my past. My second grade teacher was Mrs. Veenstra, a Dutch woman that never seemed to like me even though I was probably the best behaved student in her class. I was a good kid, never wishing to displease any adult, and in certain subjects, namely English, reading and spelling I was ahead of the rest. However, there were a couple of subjects that I got less than I should have for whatever reason, which I cannot recall, but due to my reserved nature, I probably had a habit of drifting off into "fairy land" and needed to be brought back to Mrs. V's classroom.

I remember a conference Mrs. Veenstra had with my Mother. Mom and I sat alone with her while she explained that I had some "N"s on my progress report. (I can only remember "N" as meaning "Not Good"). She turned to me at this conference and told me that she didn't like me when I got grades like this. I have never forgotten those words, of course.

I suppose that she didn't mean it quite the way I took it. Maybe her English was slow in that area and she meant that she didn't like the grades themselves, and had no intention to imply that she didn't like me personally, but as a child, I took it personally. Naturally, now I know better.

It was in her class that I lost my first tooth. It was in her class that I had an "accident" when I was not allowed to go to the restroom. Hers was the last class I had before we left California for the last time. Hers was the first class that tried to teach me anything about classical music. And now, hers is the one class that I must remember the most, because now, I am a second grade teacher.

I have given up retail for good, (I hope), and have gone into a school. There are 19 students in my class, all of them precious, albeit, not without their moments. I am certain that this will be the best job I have ever held because now, I am able to shape and mold young minds. I like the look in their eyes when they finally "get it", like the little girl that read a word by herself when she didn't think she could do it. I helped her to recall one of her consonant combinations and the vowel sound, and when she looked at the word and put it together, the realization hit her and you could see a great big smile light up her face. That's what I live for.

...and it doesn't matter that my specialty is music, or that most of my experience lies in another country and in other types of classrooms. It doesn't matter that most of my students are children of immigrants who have a hard time helping them with their homework because their own English is poor. But most of all, it doesn't matter that I am going to be 39 years old in 8 days. My students (my children) don't notice. They think I'm pretty and they give me "gifts" of love every day with their smiles, their drawings, and their "aha" moments of realization.