I am a teacher...

I am a teacher.

I go to school, not work, every day.  I work harder, and smarter, than my students.  I strive to instill things like knowledge, independence, confidence, appreciation, kindness, and accomplishment in the minds of those whose brains are not fully developed, therefore they cannot fully appreciate these things. But still I try.  I give up evenings and weekends to plan, execute, and communicate better.  I sometimes neglect my family.  I almost always neglect myself.  I wait to respond to negative parent e-mails and I re-read positive ones countless times!  I look forward to summer and the break that it brings from the chaos, but then I crave the interaction with my students.  I miss them (but don't tell them that; I have a reputation to keep).  I am a protector, a counselor, a parent, a friend, and an enemy.  I am the person who assigns homework over Thanksgiving Break and threatens students with it over Christmas Break.  I wonder about my former students; did they ever "grow up", are they happy, have they finally found peace and happiness with themselves?  I see faces before names and I refuse to formulate lesson plans based on test data.  I am just one of many teachers who strive to continually get better, who resists the urge to become complacent, who is never satisfied with my personal success.  I am just one of many teachers who feels a responsibility for my students beyond their academic success.

One week ago, the unspeakable happened in a school.  A place where children go, and feel safe.  A place where parents send their children and don't question whether they will return to them in the afternoon.  It is a place where thousands of people go to help impact the lives of the next generation.  And there is no place I'd rather spend 8 hours a day.  It would be easy to say, in the wake of such tragedy, that with two small children at home I should look for a "safer" career.  But I refuse to let myself, my family, and especially my daughters, be changed for the worse because of this tragedy.  I do not want my daughters to feel fear for a situation we could never fully anticipate or protect them from.  I want them to feel hope for the change that will come from such an unnecessary tragedy.  I want them to look into my eyes and believe me when I tell them, "I will do everything I can to keep you safe".  I want to be the one, years from now, to explain to them how things "used to be" before we, as a country, started taking better care of our citizens, all of them.  I want them to understand that we cannot control everything, but that they can find security in making sound decisions.  I don't want them to check the house with a pen, a knife, or a phone in their hands.  I want them to trust those around them.  Unreasonable fear is not an option.

I cannot even begin to hypothesize about how I would react in the face of such horrifying circumstances.  The reality is, I do not know how I would react.  But I am honored to find myself in the career company of so many who have died with such conviction, preserving opportunity, life, and hope.