The Open Road

Warning: This ended up becoming a bit of a cathartic ramble. Essential points as follows, if you don't feel like delving into my lengthy description of my childhood trauma:
-plan to teach grades 3-8... in some capacity (at the junior high/middle school level it would be fun to be in a literature, writing, or theatre class)
-my hobbies include crocheting, reading, painting, and chasing my sons around
-my interests are limitless: foreign travel, education, and friendship support are high on my priority list

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My road to a teaching career was much like my family's migration to the Northwest; certainly not a direct route and most definitely involving a number of detours and wrong turns.

I was born in Fargo, N. Dakota in 1978. My summer memories of the Midwest include fields of green corn stalks and yellow, top-heavy sunflowers stretching out in every direction for miles. My winter memories recall vast blankets of snow so deep and cold that it would take me 30 minutes just to prepare for an adventure outside on a bright, but frigid, January day. I remember moving. Head start - 1 school. Kindergarten - new school. Different Kindergarten. First grade - new school. 2nd, 3rd, 4th grade - one school . . . then we hit the road.

My mom and my step-dad sold the majority of our belongings at a garage sale and thus began our voyage west. Just like in Steinbeck's "Grapes of Wrath," our 1959 Ford pick-up with holes in the floorboard was loaded with the necessities for survival as we made our way through N. Dakota, S. Dakota, Montana, Idaho, and eventually to Oregon. The search was for a better life. A new life. But, it was not my search. I remember going to food banks and washing my face in icy snow-melt mountain streams.

Eventually, we broke down in Charleston, Oregon. This is where I learned to crab and met my fifth grade teacher, Judy Polhamus. Mrs. Polhamus was sympathetic, kind, and encouraging. She expressed sincere interest in me and my capabilities. I was emerging from a dream, learning to use my talents when we moved again.

This time our move took us to a remote area of Eastern Oregon. Sagebrush. Wild mustangs. Arrowheads. 6th grade at Crane Elementary School. Lunch served family-style on 2 long tables for the entire 6th and 7th grades combined. Sports meant everything. So, I took up basketball and track. I fell in love with exploring the wide open spaces. I went for walks that heralded big and small natural wonders. But, socially, I did not belong.

TO BE CONT...