Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 60933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60933 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
When I had sent in my application I hadn’t truly thought I would get a response so quickly. I had figured I had time to think about moving back here or putting in my application at other places. It had been my sophomore year in college that I decided I wanted to be a teacher. It had taken me several more months to decide I wanted to teach history and I wanted to teach high school.
My parents had surprised me by being behind this decision and then went on to tell me what good benefits and retirement being a teacher had. None of which had been why I had decided to become a teacher. It all came down to: I was good at it. I had been teaching my younger siblings my entire life. It was second nature to me. I knew I could do it and I could do it well. I also enjoyed history. Learning about why we are who we are today and how we got here.
Until six months ago, I had planned on applying at high schools near and in Nashville, but things had begun to change with Malecon and me even before it was over. My thoughts had begun to move toward whether I would want to stay in Nashville after graduation if Malecon and I ended things. Did I truly want to stay there if we didn’t?
Now here I was back in Lawton with my degree and teaching certificate, and an interview four days after applying for the position. I hadn’t even told my parents yet. I had told no one. They would be thrilled. They would assume I would be living under their roof. I would have to explain that I had money saved up and would be renting a place of my own.
My parents weren’t going to understand that at all. Not when their house was right here in town. I wanted to put that argument off for as long as possible. It could be pointless. I might not even get this job. Just because I had a degree didn’t mean a high school principal was going to hire someone who had never attended a public school herself. Having been homeschooled might present an issue for me. I wasn’t sure yet just how much of one it would be.
I’d had four years of college experience after having missed the college admissions deadline my first year after graduating. I had done some online classes until the following January, when I finally got to move away. I hoped that counted for something. Momma was already at the store, and the smell of her cinnamon rolls filled the house, meaning she must have had to bake some in the house kitchen as well. I listened for any sign of life before making my way downstairs. If one of my family members saw me dressed in this straight navy skirt that hit right below the knees, white blouse, navy heels, and pearls, then they would know something was up.
The house was silent. Stopping in the kitchen, I found a plate of cinnamon rolls left out, and I knew they were for me and whoever else came along. I grabbed one and poured a cup of coffee in a go cup, then hurried to the door to get out of the house before I was caught. If they saw me after the interview, it would be fine. Then I would be done with it and I could answer the million questions they were going to hammer me with.
I glanced back in the rearview mirror at the store as I pulled onto the street, knowing my momma had to see me leaving and wondering if she saw me walk out to the car. There was a good chance she had. It was hard to slip anything by the woman. I shoved all thoughts of my family aside and took a deep breath.
I was a grown woman. I had my first real interview for my first job in my career choice. This past semester had been my last step to being certified. I had successfully finished my student teaching at a 5A high school in Nashville. This was it. I was a big girl now.
My pep talk continued the rest of the five minutes it took for me to drive to Lawton High School. It wasn’t nearly as large as the high school I had done my student teaching at, and I loved that about it. When a school was too big it was almost as if it were a university, and there was no way to know everyone. You met strangers daily, and many you never crossed paths with again. Here it would be different.
I parked my car and looked up at the brick building I had once wanted more than anything to attend. Simply so I could know Asa Griffith. Rolling my eyes at the shallowness of my youth, I reached over and picked up my purse from the passenger’s seat along with some sample projects I had been given an opportunity to try during my student teaching.