There are a couple questions that I promised myself I would never ask kids. "Do you like school?" (and school related questions that follow that dutiful and monotone 'yes') and "What do you want to be when you grow up?" But even though I am aware of that grade school promise, I still ask those lame questions quite lamely. Right now I am fairly comfortable hanging out with toddlers (those who like to listen to humorous animal sounds and give high fives and listen to my fair to middlin' singing), non-verbal preschoolers (they like the same things with the addition of lots of running and spinning), and those dreaded early teenagers (they like to talk about themselves and hear you talk about them--it's easy to do that since, seriously, they are pretty darn cool kids). So, I guess the age I don't quite get is verbal preschoolers to about fifth grade.
I remember answering that question, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" a lot. At first I said a ballerina because I had this kickin' tutu and leotard and thought it would pretty cool to walk around in that all of the time. Then, in first grade, I had a teacher who ate yogurt in the morning while we worked on our board work and drank a Coke in the afternoon while we played on the playground. "Are you kidding me?" I thought. "This is a job? Bossing people around, eating and drinking all day? Heck yes!" So for the next five years I wanted to be a teacher.
My reasons for wanting to be a teacher expanded past the yogurt and Cokes. During my school days I would study my teachers constantly and then imitate at home. I would plan lessons in my lesson plan book, average grades, make tests, teach to my imaginary, yet very unruly, class. I have always been a little obsessive, so I didn't get many gifts for any holiday that were not centered around my dream to teach. By the time I was in fifth grade, I had a wall sized chalk board, bulletin board, an overhead projector, and teacher's guides. When people asked me, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" I would answer, "A teacher," and then steel myself for the next response. Either the adult would ask why and find my nerdy, adult-like focus hilarious or would say, "Oh. That's nice." Either way, I felt embarrassed.
So, surprise, surprise, I am now a teacher. It is different than what I imagined it would be to teach, and most of the time, it is better than I imagined it being. I love what I do. Last year I applied to be a National Board Certified Teacher. The process is a long one. It consists of 4 entries in a portfolio. And 6 essay test questions. A teacher has three years to bank scores while working on passing enough entries to earn NBCT status. Right before Thanksgiving this year, I received the email letting me know I had passed. I am now a NBCT. I wouldn't have been able to do all of the work I had to do without the help of Joe. He was an incredible support.
And when he asks that question of kids in those elementary years, which isn't very often, he listens to the answer--sincerely.
*I chose to use the adjective great because it rhymes with eight. However, my very short list only includes the best books of the year. (This is also because I have the most pathetic of memories now--thank you pregnancies--, and I only remember books I still have in my possession.)