Ash Settles

As the ash from Iceland’s volcano floated through the atmosphere, some of the microscopic particles drifted down to earth and settled.  Settled, stayed for a while, came to a rest, stopped moving.  Exactly what more than a million travelers were forced to do last week.  Fortunately, Drew and I were not among them, even though we were traveling back from the U.S. to Russia one day after it erupted.

When our Delta flight left JFK for Moscow’s Sheremetovo airport, the pilot told us that our route would be altered, longer by 3 hours, so we could bypass the ash on a southerly route via Spain and Ukraine.  A three hour delay – another movie, perhaps, time to finish that book, or try again to fall asleep.  No inconvenience at all, compared to the 65 teachers, their families and 40% of the Anglo American School students who were days, even a week, delayed in returning from their spring vacations.

My story, (since this is my blog) is about where I settled during the Week of the Ash.  I re-entered an elementary school classroom at AAS and stayed for a week, taking over the duties of a 4^th grade teacher stranded in Paris.  As students like to put it, “Hey, are you. .  The Sub?”   Three years of retirement had blurred my memories of how it feels in your muscles, your joints, even your eyelids to be a teacher.  At the end of the first day, I was exhausted!  By mid-afternoon, I realized that I hadn’t been to the bathroom and had eaten my yogurt and cracker lunch while typing out a template for a research report.  This kind of dedicated, though rather obsessive, behavior characterizes most teachers I know.

 Interacting with sixteen 9 and 10-year-olds for a week reaffirmed an even more glaring Truth about teaching than the fact that it’s hard work.  It is a humbling responsibility.  Who doesn’t have a good teacher/bad teacher story that comes to mind immediately when asked for a memory of both?  My 8^th grade algebra classroom flashes to mind as my teacher is handing back an exam.  Passing by my desk, she tosses the paper to me with a bright, red D plastered across its top as she says, LOUDLY, “Twylla, I just don’t know what happened to you on this test.”  I wanted to race out the door, chasing my self-esteem down the stairs.  Contrast that with my 6^th grade teacher who greeted me every morning with a literal twinkle in her eye, kindly smile on her face and the words, “Twylla, I’m so glad to see you this morning!”  My self-esteem hurried to catch up with me every day as I climbed the stairs to my classroom.

A teacher’s influence is seen in the subtleties, the choices he makes hundreds of times during a day.  Choices to resist the sigh, eye roll, shake of the head, and words that deflate Self Confidence in a slow, often imperceptible leak.  Choices to embrace the smile, respectful tone, empathetic ear, and words that infuse the Spirit with inexhaustible energy. Choices that last a lifetime.

Staying put for a week as the ash swirled and clouded the lives of many, I experienced renewed clarity and gratitude.  Clarity of the incredibly influential role a teacher plays in individual lives and ultimately the world, as these individuals interact in the larger community.  And gratitude for Mrs. Hardman, Mrs. Shope and Dr. Anderson, whose choices to teach with dignity and respect, are still being felt in this individual life.