Realizing Importance

Looking back, our loss tightened the aggravated family bond and improved my well being. Over three years prior to this loss I moved to the East Coast leaving my family in the Midwest. My intent with this move was to separate myself from them which they took with ambivalence. Earlier in my life, during college, my grandfather died and my family even though the problems present mourned but reminisced his impact on all of us. Everyone agreed this depression survivor, World War II veteran, and butcher shop owner was a force. In my adulthood I changed. My career as an English teacher in New York City paid the bills and I partied a lot. I dreaded the once a year family gatherings, and a couple of times avoided them. This altered Christmas Eve less than two years ago with a call from my parents informing me of my grandmother’s death. My philosophy morphed that Christmas with a plane delay, a reading of a slim novel, and thoughts of my grandmother, and end to an era.
Teachers get about a week and half off for the holidays, returning after New Year’s Day, but I did not plan a visit. Arguments from the previous summer still flitted through my mind. My father, a successful retired District Attorney in his beloved medium sized Wisconsin city said this to me over cheesecake: “You still can change careers. Public school teaching is for people who fail in their pursuits, or slackers that want summers off.” I did not respond but the full family table started to lay out alternative career options for higher salary and higher status. The table included my three brothers, three sisters, their significant others, and my parents while all the various nieces and nephews were excused to watch television. All my siblings attained success or married to success except me, the youngest. The dinners concentrated on all my siblings’ campaigns but when the conversation turned to my direction they supplied advice. This gave me an oppositional attitude. My mother, a retired professor turned University Administer chimed this in, “you really ought to get your PHD in something.” These dinner scenarios also instilled in me insecurity of my own profession. At the end of my first year half of my students failed the regents exam, and an experienced teacher suggested; “Don’t try to educate them, if you contain them, your doing your job.”
When I heard of my grandmother’s death I quickly bought a last minute flight. I didn’t care about the family obligation, but truly wanted to show this grand woman in my life her last respects. I remember in 2002, at my graduation for my Masters in Education how my family half heartily went. Two weeks prior my grandmother insisted attendance. So transport was arranged through the nursing home for the two hour commute to the University. On the day of the ceremony it was hot with poor air-conditioning in the large arena. As I waited to cross the stage I glanced at my family that I spotted minutes before. The group, at that point ten members, looked extremely agitated with impatience, with the exception of my grandmother, who beamed.
At the dinner party I was miserable gulping champagne too quickly. Several of my family suggested working a couple of years and then use my skill-set for another career. One sister in law, an accountant for a non-profit explained all the possibilities with a teaching background in that field. After the appetizer plates were cleared the conversation turned to my decision to move to New York City and teaching in that environment. Recalling headlines became a contest: knifings, shootings, gangs, drugs, Columbine, and September 11th. All construed New York and the city schools no longer safe from common criminals and terrorist elements. “You’ll be a different person in a few years from this move,” added the oldest, most successful sibling. She located in Hollywood owned a graphic production company for the movie industry, and even lived in New York for a stint. But with an interesting career and good salary the family accepted her choices. Looking back, my sister, thirteen years my senior did not imply a negative or positive connotation to that comment. The family interpreted the negative. My father concluded “with that pressure and no money bad things will happen, especially with your history.”
My father referred to the DUI that I almost received with countless beers and a dime bag of marijuana when I was sixteen, one month after getting my license. His connections as the local District Attorney got me excused from the law. Appears great, but the price I paid was losing my father’s faith in me. Since then we have been strained, like a life changing event where so many characteristics can be compared before and after. I consider my childhood content and happy, a connection with my family. All of my older siblings interested me, and our parents longed for our improvement. Maybe in childhood the possibilities are there in the parents’ eyes, a vast world for their children to take. Then by late high school or college or young adulthood a child’s paths gets chosen. So the anticipation of the future leaves the parents’ thoughts because they know, and interest fades. I often think of that mistake when I was sixteen, and to a degree I learned from that disgrace by never risking my life or others at the wheel of a car while intoxicated. However my lifestyle choice of being under the influence at all created a harsh difference in ideals. As a District Attorney, my father prosecuted drug and alcohol offences, giving him distaste for degeneracy. Both my parents are of the age to see the human after effects of the hippy drug movement. With that reasoning I concur that my indulgence was part of the family problem that I am solely to blame. That summer, 2002, numerous nights I’d crash on random sofas and face the disgust of my parents when I returned blurry eyed in the afternoons.
At my graduation dinner, after the desert plates were cleared and coffee distributed my grandmother asked me to go outside with her for fresh are, she spoke directly to me. I replied yes while the rest of the family breathed indifference as I got from the table and pushed my wheelchair bound grandma outside. Still incredible hot, we settled for shade underneath an umbrella, I sat down and thanked her for coming. We sat quiet for a minute until she said, choosing her words. “Teachers make the future, no guidance without them. Your father, when he was a junior in high school had a social studies teacher that influenced him toward his career, showed him the world of law. This man changed my son from someone with no direction to a student with drive and purpose. His lifelong drive to do what he believes was right made him excel in his career. But the money followed his work, giving him a taste of the upper middle class. This success raised his expectations of my grandchildren based on the dollar, not character. What I’m trying to say is your family is good and maybe someday you guys will recognize that in each other, but don’t wait for it to happen. This country is about the individual to make his own future, and do the best at his chosen field. Put your all into it and you’ll impact the lives of your students.” I thanked her and felt inspired to take charge of my career. After a couple of minutes I worried for the heat and asked her if we should return inside to the restaurant. “One more thing, you will have lots of temptations for drinking or whatever kids do now. Promise me only to do moderate drinking. Excess will teach you a hard lesson.” I promised her to show restraint, and many times think back to this dishonesty to her, when partying became a major definition of my personality.
We returned to the graduation dinner, and I sipped my coffee more relaxed than before. Make my own reverberated throughout my thoughts. Dinner over, my grandmother got into her nursing home transit car, and the rest of the family dispersed. Throughout that Wisconsin summer I visited my grandmother frequently always enlightened by her words, and at that point she became my only positive connection to my family. Then I moved to New York City, and my visits quickly went to once a year. With time lapsing between visits her deterioration showed but she always had a kind word brightening my trips back home, she did not judge, but accepted me.
Getting back to my Christmas Eve packing why I chose the novel The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho needs an explanation. My first Fall of teaching English in an urban high school I got introduced to the summer reading lists. The idea behind them is for students to read five to ten books over the summer and report on them when they return. On the orientation in August they gave me the list for the tenth grade and too little information of what to expect. I stuffed the list with the rest of materials and did not retrieve it until a panic at two in the morning the night before the first day of school. Looking over the list in my small studio apartment I realized in contained over a hundred books. Some classics stayed but the list encompassed more that The Great Gatsby, Hemingway, and Faulkner. Multicultural classics, contemporary prize winners, young adult novels, mystery, science fiction, and the mega bestsellers shared the limelight of the summer reading list. The idea is for kids to read over the summer what they choose to try to plant a life long habit. Seeing the list, I could count about ten books I actually read out of over a hundred. This fact gave me a sleepless night before the first day of my career.
My first day started as a daze before the first period at 8:05 in the morning. The kids were in the room by eight, but I did not say a word, no greeting, until that bell at 8:05. After the bell I introduced myself too loudly, but my mention of growing up in Wisconsin interested the students. A couple of questions with my answers broke the ice, or put me more at ease. Before I passed out the syllabus I asked the class about summer reading, if they enjoyed any books. Some audible groans come from the classroom, but one Hispanic girl, later a star student, raised her hand. She said: “I thought A Tree Grows in Brooklyn showed what life is about. Caring for your mislead family, growing up in chaos, odds stacked against you, but always doing the best to improve yourself and your family. Williamsburg at the turn of the century seems to be what our city is like now, just different ethnicities.” I told her good, that I would read that book, and how sometimes a story can have a big emotional impact on the reader. I felt guilt on not reading that classic, and once I read it, I agreed with the student’s interpretation.
That first day I made a vow to read the books on that list, so I could respond clearly to their opinions, to encourage them. Only one student vocalized her favorite book, but my first weekend of paper grading I had about a hundred student book-logs and reports to sift through. Somehow during the next couple of years I lost sight of my book list vow, the New York life took hold of me. My professionalism included one hangover morning being awakened by the 8:05 bell to the eyes of the entire classroom. Many dazed mornings gave me a reputation among the students and perhaps other staff. After my third year of teaching I only read about forty books on the list, three of which had been removed. Also I started teaching twelve graders who had a list of their own. In the months preceding my grandmother’s death I renewed with vigor my ambitions to read the books on the lists. I acknowledged that that I wanted to improve my career. The Alchemist was on the list, so I threw it on my carry on backpack for my traveling.
On Christmas morning I awoke and looked outside the dark window where a street light displayed thick snow. Childhood memories of glee with similar white Wisconsin Christmases swept over me for a couple of minutes until I simply turned from the scene and showered. The taxi was ten minutes late, a rarity, and because of the weather the ride to LaGuardia took fifteen minutes longer than usual. I felt impatience at the ticket counter and security gate, but tried to think of my grandmother. This trip had a purpose because I would never regain relatives from the greatest American generation for the rest of my life; just baby boomers, generation X, and the ones of the future. After I walked through security they choose me for additional search. All it required was a pat down and swab of my shoes, but the five minutes of scrutiny dismayed me. By the time I got to my gate and learned of my five hour delay I was irritated.
Coffee, the largest they served, settled me down and I pulled The Alchemist out of my backpack. The story starts out in Spain with a Shepard character starting off to a town to propose to a girl he met once. But then a dream comes along telling him to leave his homeland to Morocco to fulfill his personal destiny. Half reading, half thinking I recalled my own career decision and my move away from the family. This book or fable suggests one must go on a personal quest for self fulfillment. The conversation with my grandmother at my graduation dinner so many summers ago crossed my mind, she conveyed the same wisdom. The character in The Alchemist does journey to Morocco and faces several set backs, such as having his money stolen, and years of work. However, he met some people that influenced him to stay on his path. He did not give up working toward his goal. With a twist the story concludes with the character achieving his destiny and leading a content life.
At the airport I put the finished book back in my backpack and thought of my own life. Teaching was my chosen career, and these first three years of too much partying has derailed my achievement in the field. The time started not to blame parents’ expectations on my self doubt, but to thoroughly excel as a teacher. The periphery nights out have led nowhere, only experience, and spent money with nothing to keep. The good thing about memories is that I don’t have to do the same acts over and over, but can remember my past, change my habitual actions, and improve my future. Discipline, drive, and practice can erase the damage of my excess I decided, and this was the time to start my new life.
By the time my plane landed in the Midwest I was of a completely different mindset. The conversation at the dinner table flowed about my grandparents. Careers of the family members took a backseat, and I think everyone recognized the importance of this family; a network that would last the entirety of our lives, and a history that embodies who we are. After the dinner my dad stated to me, “I notice you hardly touched your wine.” I explained what I’ve been thinking, that intoxication and productivity do not go hand in hand. “I see a change already.” Two days after our large family went to my grandmother’s funeral which fully respected the woman she was. Two days after that on the car ride to the airport I told my parents’ my commitment to change for my own progress, and they were supportive. New Year’s Eve 2006 I spent by myself reading one the books on that elusive list.
Now, in the summer of 2007, I realize my Christmas decision a year and half ago, was a turning point in my life. My focus turned on and my teaching improved greatly. In the summer of 2006 I read thirty four books on the required list in the comfort of the Wisconsin sun. This past school year I excelled in my profession. In February a star student known by his peers for his tattered clothes showed me his acceptance to Columbia University with a full ride. I put my all into my craft, with a proven result in June 2007: 87 out of 108 students of mine passed the Regents in English. My grandmother would have been proud of me and my family is proud of me. All this was inspired by reading a slim book in a thought driven way because of a loss, and I convey to my students that reading does have that power.