Teaching, Recess Duty, and Hallway Hangouts
We had my dad’s funeral last weekend. Afterward, I spent a few days in bed with flu-like symptoms—because clearly, grief wasn’t enough of a challenge on its own. One thought kept swirling around in my head during those achy, medicine-head days: a piece of writing I had considered sharing at his memorial service.
Becoming a teacher was something my dad had a philosophical problem with. (He had opinions—big ones.) But as that writing pointed out, teaching was what I felt compelled to do—twice.
And you know what? I was a damn good teacher. I loved it all: creating lessons, working with the kids, assessments, planning, parent-teacher conferences, back-to-school nights—you name it, I was in my element. So much so that I stuck with it for a full 30 years.
Back in the day, teachers with that kind of experience weren’t unicorns; they were practically the norm. But lately, I keep meeting people who went to school for teaching but never taught, or who once taught but ran screaming from the profession.
I just finished listening to a beautifully produced podcast called Those Who Can’t Teach…Anymore, which dives into why so many educators are leaving. It hit close to home.
So many of my friends left teaching during the five years before I retired. I was lucky—really lucky—to stay happy in the classroom for 25 out of my 30 years. By the final stretch, though, I knew it was time to move toward the exit.
But let me tell you, teaching was never some daisies-and-rainbows profession. It was my co-workers who made it all bearable—dare I say, enjoyable.
Take Jackie, for example. When I first started teaching at the ELC, she and I would often go for runs together. Sometimes we ran outside; other times, we hit the old elementary school next door, jogging through the hallways and stairwells. We even shared space with the stinky boys’ wrestling team as they wrapped up practice. I kept Jackie entertained with stories (basically my warm-up act), and we became friends.
Then there was Jamie. At the start of every school year, during inservice, teachers had to choose two weekly time slots for recess duty. One year, Jamie came running up to me, absolutely giddy. “I got us signed up to be recess buddies for BOTH times!” she announced, as if she’d just scored concert tickets.
My thought was, “Why is she so excited to hang out with me?” Jamie was so fun and such an incredible teacher. I even had the honor of teaching both her daughters in first and second grade.
We’d talk about life, books, movies, and laugh over the occasional classroom chaos. Our recess duties often “accidentally” ran longer than the standard 15 minutes. Oops.
But the memory that truly sums up the best of teaching for me is sitting in the hallway at the end of the day with my team. Gini, Monica, Tracy, Amy, and I would gather outside our classrooms, plopping onto the carpeted floor or whatever chairs we could scrounge up. We’d hang out, share stories, vent about the day, and laugh until our sides hurt.
That camaraderie? It was magic. I knew it was special, even then. But I didn’t realize how rare it was until I talked to teachers from other schools who barely knew their colleagues beyond a quick “hi” in the hallway.
Now, looking back, I can say with certainty that teaching wasn’t just a career—it was a community, a calling, and, occasionally, an endurance test. It wasn’t always perfect, but it was always worth it.
To my dad, who didn’t totally get my choice but still supported me, and to my colleagues who made those 30 years unforgettable—you were my people, my laughter, and my sanity.
And to anyone out there wondering if teaching matters: trust me, it does. Even when the daisies are wilted, the rainbows are gray, and the unicorns have the day off, it matters.
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