The Difference

Rosie would never have guessed that her New Years’ Resolution this year would be to stop making a difference in the lives of children. She’d been doing just that for the last ten years in her classroom, but this year in particular, she felt undervalued, overworked, and inadequate enough to finally be ready to try something new. She was never going to be one of those teachers that made the HUGE differences in the lives of her students—teachers like Mr. Putnam, who joked and teased with his students all day long and somehow they still learned all of the scientific concepts needed to ace the end of year exam; or like Mrs. Rutledge, who was both terrifying and welcoming at the same time so that the students both loved and feared her deeply, willing to work hard for her like they were no one else. No, Rosie wasn’t that kind of teacher. She was the mediocre kind that was quiet and pretty good at planning lessons and organizing, but when it came to the actual teaching of children in the classroom that truly mattered, was seriously lacking. She had tried many different grade levels, from elementary to high school, over the last ten years, hoping to find that one age group that she just “clicked” with. Yet here she was, middle of her tenth year, teaching 8th graders during a global pandemic, and realizing that it probably just was never really her calling. In fact, she’d known all along that it wasn’t—she never went to college or grad school for education anyways. She went to study the English language as THAT was her true passion— but somewhere along the way, when it became apparent that pursuing a fruitful career in editing or writing or something else she truly wanted would mean she’d have to leave her entire family behind and move across the country, she gave up that dream. Her friends and family convinced her to use her English degrees to TEACH the concept to young children—‘how fulfilling it will be!’ they said. ‘You were made to do this!’ So she graduated at the top of her class and pursued all the teaching certifications needed to make this become a reality. After all, her sisters were great teachers— surely it was in their blood? The problem was, it wasn’t. She wasn’t made to put on the same show six times a day to moody teenagers that weren’t interested in analyzing a particular allegorical novel, or how to properly write an expository essay because they had to write a passable one for the state at the end of the year, or why the poet chose to use one word over another in that funny poem that she loved. She didn’t realize that teaching would feel so much like performing—both for her students every day and certainly when her administrators came to watch—and Rosie was not a fun, dramatic person that loved to be on stage. She was always the shy type that preferred to stay inside alone with a good book and a cup of coffee, rather than be out socializing. Now, her job requires her to be the center of attention to various groups of 13-year-olds day in and day out , and she never quite feels “cool” enough to make a true connection with any of them. Especially this year, when half the kids are attending class online to stay healthy, and the others are in her classroom while she tries to stay far enough apart from them to be safe, but also close enough that they feel loved and supported and willing to learn. Oh and make sure that everyone at home and in person are have the exact same experience every single day and learning at the same pace. Um, how did anyone think this was going to work again? It doesn’t—at least not for a mediocre teacher like Rosie. It was the wake up call she needed to realize that there has to be something else in store for her, and along with the thousands of other teachers that are realizing how teaching just has too much of the take take take, and not enough give, she’s decided it will be her last year. The job security has kept her here, but if the pandemic has taught her anything, it’s that life is too short to be stuck in a job that just feels wrong for who you are. The second problem was—who was she? Rosie was a lover of language. She was a lover of traveling to far off places to learn about another culture. A lover of coffee in the mornings and wine at night. She loved to curl up with a good book and waste away an evening. How can someone find a fulfilling and fruitful career amidst all of these seemingly ordinary passions at once? The answer, to Rosie, suddenly became clear: librarian! Librarians spend quiet days with her best friends—the books. The books can help her travel to far off places in her mind, and she can help others find their passions in a book, too. There’s nothing better than experiencing the thrill of a good book in your hands for the first time, and she wouldn’t have to try and analyze the books to death to a bunch of teenagers that couldn’t care less about it. She could be with her kind of people—book people—all day long. She would need to go back to school to get certified for library sciences, but Rosie was a student at heart, no matter her age, and she missed being on the student side of the educational system. So maybe Rosie’s vow to stop making a difference in the lives of children this year was more than that—after all, she did love kids and obviously knows how important it is for them to have amazing teachers and role models. But she was finally able to accept that she wasn’t made for that role, and now maybe she was at the point in her life where she could put her own needs first and make a difference for HERSELF instead of someone else. And that made all the difference.