The Heart Has Its Reasons

by Kerry Blair (getting by with a little help from her friends)

Sometimes life sneaks up on you. In my case it wasn’t a tornado or a flood or an earthquake or a fire. I am a natural disaster in and of my myself. Enough of one, in fact, to make even something simple and joyful like blogging seem like an insurmountable task of the Herculean variety. As always, when disaster strikes, there was somebody there for me. The world has the Red Cross; I have my family. Every single time disaster looms large (if only in my mind,) my family is first on the scene. Here are two examples: large and small.

Large: When I was diagnosed with ovarian cancer and had no idea how I would navigate the terrifying waters of chemotherapy, especially with my husband living and working hours away from home, my second-oldest son put his life on hold and moved in to care for me, my elderly mother, and the dozen or so critters with which we share our tiny piece of planet. He somehow managed to shop and clean and tend and fetch and carry—and complete a semester of graduate work. He has yet to accept payment, free rent, or even much in the way of gratitude. I don’t know how many young adults could/would handle what he has made look easy, especially on a moment’s notice, but I suspect the number is very small. Miniscule, in fact. In every way he is my hero.

Small: Though I am through the chemo now, my MS is in high gear and I feel like I am living life in a vat of molasses. I can once again do everything I ever could, but it takes quadruple the effort to produce a quarter the speed. Not to whine (oops! too late for that!) but here are times when walking across the room seems as difficult to me as running a marathon might to you. (Unless you’re Jeff, then it’s a piece of cake.) So, last night at about nine o'clock I pushed myself up from the table where I’d been playing a game with a visiting nephew and said, “I need to write a blog.”

My daughter, who is working here this summer to help relieve her older brother in his mothersitting duties, took one glance at me and decided I looked not only like death warmed-over, but death warmed-over-then-left-out-on-the-counter-about-nine-hours-too-long.

“What’s the subject?” she said.

I told her I had planned to blog about why I write. (Or don’t write, as the case may be.)

“I’ll guest blog,” she decided. “Go to bed.”

Ten minutes later, the blog was on my computer and I was asleep.

I read it this morning and realized that Hilary captured much of what I feel about writing in her reasons for teaching – and said it better than I ever could. Like me and Julie, this is a girl who dreamed of many life-paths as a child. She considered veterinary medicine, zoology, and even (or especially) becoming a professional editor. (She’s been finding errors in my books since she was twelve.) She finally settled on teaching. This is why.

There is a Reason I Will Teach

by Hilary Blair

Last week I attended an annual conference held by NAU’s College of Education: “There’s a Reason I’m a Teacher.” It consisted of several workshops and speeches by the national and Arizona teachers of the year. Although I was annoyed that several of my instructors required me to attend, being the dutiful student that I am, I went. At the end, I was glad I did.

My biggest fear about teaching is not the little monsters . . . er . . . I mean angels . . . I will teach. It’s not the incredibly long and difficult test I have to take to become certified. It’s not working with the other teachers and parents, even though this is what my instructors have told me is the worst part of the job. I worry about the time I will go for my first interview at an elementary school and the interviewer will ask, “So, why do you want to teach?”

I will freeze. My eyes will get huge. I will hyperventilate. Then I will run out of the room, never able to fulfill my dream.

I really, really, really want to become a teacher. I know that.
I just don’t know why. (It’s certainly not for the money).

The typical answers given at the conference by other education majors were: I like kids. I want a better future. I want to teach the next president of the United States. (Really. Someone said this.) To inspire others. Because teaching is the hope of the world. To help just one person. A teacher really helped me when I was in school; I feel I need to pay that forward.

My reason?

All of these. When a child you’ve been working with “gets it” for the first time, their smile lights up the world. I will help prepare the future mechanics, engineers, doctors, military personnel, mothers, fathers, teachers, business professionals and, heck, maybe even a president.

I am not going to be a well-paid babysitter. I am going to be a teacher. A sculptor of young minds – the leaders of tomorrow.

I will know each of my students as individuals, and I will know my class as a whole. I will know their interests and hope to inspire even more. I can’t do everything for the world, but I can’t do nothing.

There IS a reason I will be a teacher.

The son I mentioned earlier is also a teacher. I think you’ll agree that with young men and women like Jake and Hilary preparing themselves today, the future is looking much brighter indeed.

But why have they chosen to teach when there are so many better-paying, less life-engulfing options? Perhaps for the same reasons we write when there are so many better-paying, less life-engulfing activities in the world from which to choose.

Possibly only only Blaise Pascal knew the answer. He summed up his reason for writing thusly:

The heart has its reasons that reason knows nothing of.

Amen.