From the Death of a Toad To the Birth of a Teacher

Dear Aster,

So despite having a good number of theoretically shameful and regrettable events in my past, I can honestly say that there is nothing I would want to go back and change or do differently — big or small. But I can talk about two relatively insignificant (at the time) events that put me on a path of great importance. Without these two random occurrences, I would likely not have become a teacher and missed out on ten years of passion, joy, and human experience at its finest.

The First: The Silver Lining of Getting Caught

By the time I got to the tenth grade, my English has stabilized enough that — with ample work ethic to support me — I could realistically survive an honors class. So there I was, in sophomore honors, feeling all proud of myself, but not actually liking the subject yet. We got assigned to do a research paper on a topic of our choice. In retrospect, my teacher-self realizes just how valuable this project was, but at the time, I found it tedious and unnecessary. I have no idea what moved me to choose to research the issue of prison overcrowding, of all things, but there I was — having all the drive to succeed and zero actual interest in doing the project.

So, I plagiarized. I plagiarized badly. I was arrogant and ignorant, I believed myself to be invincible, and I did not understand how turnitin.com worked. Now, some teachers would probably yell at me, report me to the dean, and give me a zero. After all, that is what ‘zero tolerance’ means when it comes to cheating, and that is the policy listed on every syllabus. Some other teachers would maybe give me a stern talking-to and make me redo the project to receive credit. But my teacher — Mrs. Hope, bless her darling heart — sat me down in private and gently explained the situation. She showed me the process of grading in turnitin from the perspective of the teacher, with all the red bleeding through my shitty attempt at a paper. She told me how surprised she was to see me do this, how highly she thought of me still, and how she just wanted me to learn. She offered to help me switch topics to something more interesting to me personally.

At no point did I feel like she was angry or disappointed, but I did feel utterly and completely loved in that moment. I went back and redid the entire research paper on the same topic out of stubbornness. It took me forever, but I did it. All because this amazing woman took the time to make me understand that she is in my corner, and that everything that happens in her classroom is for my benefit. I didn’t know it at the time, but this was a hugely formative moment for me as a future teacher. Later, I would realize that I want to be that person for someone else — the one that makes every failure feel like a win simply because someone keeps loving you through it.

The Second: Ask For Help With Homework, Switch Majors In the Process

Fast-forward to senior year of high school. I am now in mostly AP-level coursework, accepted to Loyola, committed to the business school because I still have no idea what I want in life, so I might as well learn to make money. I am probably even more arrogant than I was two years prior, as my academics have improved even more during this time. And then, the dreaded close reading and literary analysis of AP Lit hits me like a ton of bricks. My rigid, mathematically-aligned mind simply cannot find the stupid meaning in every tiny little stupid nuance of a stupid poem. I am incredibly frustrated, but refusing to ask for help because poetry is not supposed to be hard to understand, and why the hell are we forced to do this in the first place.

Finally, I realize that I am truly lost, and I grudgingly succumb to finding the English tutoring center at my school. I actually remember feeling embarrassed to go in there; it felt like admitting defeat, and that was so far beneath me — so I thought. But I had no choice, so I plopped down next to the lovely little old lady assigned to tutor during my free period. Now, I wish I remembered her name because the influence that this woman had on me within the next half hour of my life literally changed its entire trajectory.

I was supposed to analyze Richard Wilbur’s “The Death of a Toad.” It’s a beautiful poem, and I have loved it ever since that day. Before I walked into the tutoring center, I thought it was the dumbest thing in the world, focused on a grotesque, yet mundane occurrence of little importance. My tutor read it out loud, and pushed me to consider every line, every word. We talked about the chilling auditory imagery created by the s- and sh- sounds in the first stanza. We talked about the fact that lawnmowers became a common household staple in the 1950s, and this tiny event was both an unintended product and a symbol of technology’s encroachment on nature in our own homes. We talked about the transformative and regal quality of the third stanza — a sad attempt to give the animal’s life a grander meaning. We talked about the way death permeates all aspects of life.

When I came out of the tutoring center, I felt intensely alive and elated. Of all the drugs and substances I’ve ever tried, this was by far the most enjoyable high I’ve felt. I wanted to continue talking about the poem, to come back to it and discover more treasure buried within its depths. I was definitely excited to write an AP paper about it. But, most importantly, I wanted to work in a field that would grant me this high every day, and one that would give me a chance to share this high with other people. I wanted to help others discover the beauty of language and the power of their own mind because on that day, I found both.

And so, these relatively unrelated and insignificant choices — to cheat and to seek help on two assignments — resulted in me becoming a high school English teacher. The time I spent in this profession is and always will be a source of incredible pride and happiness, no matter what.

Love,

Orchid

P.S: We are all going through it nowadays. A loved one asked me yesterday: what do you do to make yourself feel better when you’re down? I said it all depends on the source of the down. Do I have the power to fix it? Is it internal or external? I cope by doing, so my usual go-to is to get into action mode and try to problem-solve. So, it’s really bad when I feel down without knowing why I feel down. If doing is not an option, I get self-destructive in an attempt to distract.

How do you cope with hardship, both the kind you have control over and the kind you don’t? Do you like your coping mechanisms? What do they say about you? (How are you doing in general, my love?)

[Currently listening to: Beyonce’s “I Was Here.” This is definitely my post-teaching anthem.

“I was here, I lived, I loved, I was here

I did, I've done, everything that I wanted

And it was more than I thought it would be”]