Something that has bothered me about myself since I was a young child is my lack of courage. I have always been very cautious about what I say to others, who I share my world with, and what I confront. I have a very vivid memory of being jostled around on the bus in middle school, trying to keep my head down. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a group of girls throwing pieces of paper into the hair of the girl who was sitting in front of them. Like a scene from a movie, the nicely dressed, blonde pretty girls laughed and snickered while the underdog sat rigid and stoically, her eyes fixed on the back of the torn up seat in front of her. As the suburban menaces (a nickname my old friend gave them) continued their “fun” I saw their victim’s eyes welling with emotion and I immediately felt fire burning behind my mouth. I wanted to scream out, yell at them, something, but I remained still and turned my head back towards my side of the bus where my friend sat quietly. She must’ve felt my eyes on her because she immediately looked up at me and gave me a look that said “What’s wrong?”. My response was a quick nod towards the scene playing behind us and that was all it took for my friend to lurch up in a fiery, seventh grade, rage.
I do not remember what was said that day on the bus, but I do remember that I gained an enormous amount of respect for my friend. She not only got the harassment to cease, she also allowed the poor kid to sit with us so she wouldn’t have to interact with the suburban menaces anymore. My memory of that day is also filled with a lot of shame as well; I was unable to stand up for someone in need and I find it hard to forgive myself for not taking action. When I got older and became more aware of the world and of my place in it, this only became harder. As I grew up and found out more about myself, I struggled to maintain my facade that I had kept my whole life: that of a quiet and studious catholic girl. It was what was expected of me and what I began to expect of myself. Even as I allowed myself to open up more, be more vibrant, I still spent my entire high school career trying to mask different parts of me. The bright and loud parts that might ward off others were shut tightly in the back of my mind. I kept my queerness from even my closest friends, I held my breath when someone was hateful or mean, I never revealed my feelings to others. It was like I was being held back by a rubber band. Every time I tried to be closer to someone else, I snapped back into place.
By the end of my high school career, I was so unhappy with myself that I called it quits and decided to graduate early. I wanted an escape, a fresh start. I came into January 2017 with a heavy heart, just hoping for a job opportunity that would tie me over until the fall when I was supposed to move out and start school. Unbeknownst to me, my job would do much more than just fill in my time.
One cold mid-January morning, I somehow dragged myself out of bed and made my way over to a local preschool. I didn’t know how, or why, but the kind woman who owned the school had deemed me worthy of working for her after a brief interview. Despite my lack of experience in the classroom and slight anxiety towards caring for so many children at once, I accepted the job offer. I’m not going to lie, I had no idea what I was in for. My first day of work, I was sent to a classroom of two year olds. It was on that day that I found out the true meaning behind the “terrible twos”. Two-year-olds are most definitely not terrible, but in a big group they can certainly be troublemakers. There was never a dull moment with this bunch! The kids in there were busy and they all had bright and loud personalities. So much so that by the end of day two, I had learned every kids’ name and their little quirks. PJ likes to make everything a drumset (my ears suffered), Korbyn likes running away when it’s time to go inside but attempting to retrieve him makes it worse (I probably ran a marathon my first week!), and whatever you do, don’t let Taniyah climb up the fence when we go outside; it’s a recipe for disaster. Despite the chaos and the dirty diapers, by the end of the first week, I had fallen in love with my new job. I had also learned a lot about kids and how they interact with each other and adults. Large rowdy groups of kids don’t typically respond to a sweet and quiet teacher, with the two-year-old class I had to be loud and proud. Dance parties and sing-a-long sessions (with my ukulele, of course) were a daily must. Basically, a lot of activities and variety kept everyone busy and out of trouble!
As I continued working at the preschool, I found myself becoming more and more outgoing. I came out of my shell little by little and as I did, my job became so much more enjoyable and rewarding. I was successfully able to help a mother get the extra help her son needed, I learned the secrets to stopping tantrums (dragon breathing and lotion is foolproof), and I got to teach all of my kids about importing lifelong skills such as handwashing and not biting your friends arm when they steal your car.
Joking aside, I am forever thankful for my first job. Teachers really are telling the truth when they say they learn just as much from their kids as their kids do from them!