I was born and raised in rural north central North Carolina, just a few miles from the Virginia border. Being born at the end of one decade of the 40's, I truly came of age during the 60's. Being eleven when the decade began and turning twenty-one as it ended, I couldn't have been at a more impressionable age for such a decade of change and violence. By the time I was twenty-one, four of my heroes had been murdered before the eyes of the nation; I had barely missed the draft; and I had read my way through Hemingway, Steinbeck, Fitzgerald, Faulkner, and had a good start of the likes of Cheever, Malamud, and Updike. And I knew I was different.
Inspired by 10th grade French teacher, who was also my 11th grade US history teacher, I was two and a third years into my journey to become a teacher. I had left the frozen wonderland of wilds of Boone for a small liberal arts college then simply known as Elon. There I finished my quest for a teaching certification in social studies along with a lot more hours in literature, philosophy and religion. I had been living at home and commuting 30 miles a day one way. I graduated on Sunday, started substituting on Monday, and was offered a full time teaching position on Wednesday. I spent the next 18 years in the same school, under the same principal, but hardly ever teaching the same thing from year to year. I learned so much in my time there and learned so much from that principal. My second year of teaching, I wrote my 10th grade teacher a letter of thanks and kept his reply for the next thirty years. I am sure it is still in a drawer somewhere.
Along the way I had turned down six months of teaching in Tasmania (one of the huge regrets of my life), gotten a master's in English Education from Duke, served as club adviser, department chair of both social studies and English, committee member of local and state committees, and dedicated myself to my kids. Along with this I had entertained the idea of going into the ministry, but one Maudy Thursday evening it became very clear to me that my place was and still is in the classroom.
Married when I was 31 I spent the next years dedicating myself to my kids, my own flesh and blood kids this time. But I don't think I ever neglected the others during this time. Now I am a white haired, bearded old white man. I still love sharing stories and reflecting the light I see in eyes of my students. Now after not being in a place where I stayed for so long and had a safety net, I want to put myself in position to share with others. I only hope some one finds something worthwhile in what I share.
Inspired by 10th grade French teacher, who was also my 11th grade US history teacher, I was two and a third years into my journey to become a teacher. I had left the frozen wonderland of wilds of Boone for a small liberal arts college then simply known as Elon. There I finished my quest for a teaching certification in social studies along with a lot more hours in literature, philosophy and religion. I had been living at home and commuting 30 miles a day one way. I graduated on Sunday, started substituting on Monday, and was offered a full time teaching position on Wednesday. I spent the next 18 years in the same school, under the same principal, but hardly ever teaching the same thing from year to year. I learned so much in my time there and learned so much from that principal. My second year of teaching, I wrote my 10th grade teacher a letter of thanks and kept his reply for the next thirty years. I am sure it is still in a drawer somewhere.
Along the way I had turned down six months of teaching in Tasmania (one of the huge regrets of my life), gotten a master's in English Education from Duke, served as club adviser, department chair of both social studies and English, committee member of local and state committees, and dedicated myself to my kids. Along with this I had entertained the idea of going into the ministry, but one Maudy Thursday evening it became very clear to me that my place was and still is in the classroom.
Married when I was 31 I spent the next years dedicating myself to my kids, my own flesh and blood kids this time. But I don't think I ever neglected the others during this time. Now I am a white haired, bearded old white man. I still love sharing stories and reflecting the light I see in eyes of my students. Now after not being in a place where I stayed for so long and had a safety net, I want to put myself in position to share with others. I only hope some one finds something worthwhile in what I share.