Originally posted on Themestream
What did I want to be when I grew up?
Well, a lot of things, like anyone else. I wanted to be an actress, or a singer, or even a writer. When I was a child, I even wrote books and sold a few to my friends. The artwork left a little to be desired, but the storyline was, well, there.
I went through elementary school wanting to be in the arts somehow. I was in plays and choirs all through school, with the exception of my junior high years. Then, I was learning that a purely academic environment was bad for me.
After high school, I went to college. The only reason I went was because the alternative was to stay at home, and that just wasn’t something I wanted to do. My mother had tried to help me some. She’d asked me what I was considering as a major, and arranged for me to meet professionals in those fields. I spent a day with a television news reporter, met with a child psychologist, and even got to speak with a professional actress. Even then, I was no closer to knowing what I wanted to be when I ‘grew up.’
Of course, what 18-year-old does?
In my seven years of college, I majored in psychology and mass communications, and took a variety of classes that were requirements for no major. College was a great experience for me overall. It was a learning experience, too, but that’s for another time.
Eventually, I graduated with a degree in music education. Shortly before graduation, however, I decided I didn’t want to teach. I’m still not completely sure why. I do know, however, that it related to my feeling incompetent, despite my education.
Why did I feel so incapable of teaching music? I’d been through the classes, and was heavily praised by my professors. I knew the material, and was comfortable in front of a classroom. My piano skills were weak, but that could be improved over time. Until then, there were accompanists and tapes, and I was able to pick out individual melodic lines on the piano.
My excuse was the bureaucracy. There’s a great deal of red tape involved in teaching. A love of the classroom isn’t enough. A teacher has to put up with quite a bit of garbage, from parents, from administrators and from taxpayers. Teachers often have to defend their positions to those who think it’s an easy job – work nine months a year, seven hours a day, off for the summer. I’d like to give those people a month in a teacher’s shoes.
The real reason wasn’t bureaucracy. It wasn’t the hours, or the money, and it actually wasn’t even the fear of not being prepared.
All my life, I’ve been told I’m not qualified for the job.
A teacher must be reliable. If a teacher misses work, there are people who will lose. Remember how those unfortunate substitute teachers were treated? A teacher must be prompt. A few minutes late to work could result in more lost time and anarchy in the classroom. A teacher must be organized. Standing in front of a class without a plan is an invitation to an unruly class. And a teacher must be confident in his or her ability to instruct.
Reliable? The only thing I’ve been told people can count on from me is that I will somehow, somewhere, screw up. Even though at my current position, I receive very high ratings and praise, I can’t help but think of when I will make a tremendous mistake that brings everyone down on me. That message came from my childhood, from my frequent changes in direction.
Prompt? I was late for my own birthday, and have rarely been on time since. Never mind that I usually get to work at minimum five minutes before I must, or that I have been able to make time to make breakfast before I leave. I don’t remember the mornings I caught the bus to school, the majority of the mornings. I remember the mornings when I caught the late bus and walked in the door just as the teacher was calling attendance.
Organization? Lack of organization is more appropriate. Employers have complimented my filing system, and yet I feel disorganized. I can find things if I have to, but I usually have to search. Arranging my thoughts in a particular order is another special challenge for me. At work, I can find whatever I need, due to extreme compensation. At home, I cannot find my bills.
Confident? With a history like that, who would be?
This is the point where I’m supposed to blame my ADD for my shortcomings. The thing is, while ADD did indeed lead to those behaviors, those around me were the ones who reinforced the problems. It’s not their fault, either, it just is. One of the things diagnosis did for me was give me answers to questions I’d wanted to know. Questions such as why I couldn’t seem to proofread an expense report, or why I couldn’t remember names of friends I’d known for years were answered with that diagnosis. I understood why I did the things I did.
With diagnosis, I learned there were solutions to my problems. In my instance, knowledge and medication helped. I’m learning to retrain myself, to do things differently than I had before. It doesn’t seem like much, but my coat gets hung up when I get home. My dishes are washed in the morning. My bed is made before I leave for work. These simple things were things I couldn’t understand. Not being able to do those simple things made me question my abilities for more complex tasks.
I’m still not quite ready to believe I can teach, to believe I’d be competent and not get bored with it in a few months. I do know that I would be good at it.
Monday, September 8, 2008
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