“School opened and Anne returned to her work, with fewer theories but considerably more experience.” (Anne of the Island, by L.M. Montgomery)

Directing my local middle school choir has been the ultimate learning-teaching experience because–like every bright-eyed aspiring teacher–I wanted to revolutionize what I’d gone through myself as a student, believing that I could change the experience for the better. This gets sour pretty fast, especially when you have no formal training as a teacher. Teaching is a true vocation, which is why I always feel a little bit resentful of anyone who tells me they want to teach… just because there’s too many of them. I know this isn’t fair, but I’ve become so skeptical of anyone who can’t think of anything else other than teacher-doctor-lawyer and so fall back on those options because they cannot imagine another position.

Despite all of bitterness you just read, I returned to the middle school for another year directing the choir. After a summer of worrying about how it was going to fit in to my schedule with all the other things I committed to and feeling my interest in the gig fading (I told myself that this would be the last year I did it), I went to the first rehearsal with my teacher face on, only to discover that the teacher face stayed on.

In an hour, I remembered just what I love about teaching choir. I love sharing music, and I love being surrounded by kids who love to sing, despite how hard of a time I give them. This is such a fresh new time for these kids, and I can feel it. At my training for my job as an ice skating instructor, my supervisor reminded us that we could be the difference between a child loving skating, or hating it, and being in that position doesn’t frighten me as much as it probably should. In both skating and in choir, all I see is the opportunity to show a kid the world that I grew up in and I want them to feel as safe and loved and part of something as I did.

Skating and singing and music ended up being places of refuge for me. They did so well at serving as those places that I didn’t even realize that I ever needed refuge. Even though I was never particularly gifted at either of those things–I’ll never receive money or prizes for my abilities in music or skating–they defined my childhood and offered me so much.

That is what I want to bring to the table. Being on slippery ice is scary. Working with others is scary. Performing is scary. Being yourself and putting who you are on display is scary. But I want these kids to know that it is so much more than scary, and that I am there for them even when it is, because I know that there is a chance for them to fit in and figure things out and shine, if they let themselves.

Here’s to another wonderful year of non-bitter teaching. ♥