After working 12 years of various retail jobs, I decided to return to school this year to pursue my dream of becoming a teacher. My first classes started on August 22nd, and my first semester wrapped up yesterday. A lot of people complain about school, but I’ve loved every minute of it. I guess loving school comes with the territory of wanting to teach.
This semester has been interesting, challenging, and fun. It started on the day of the lunar eclipse. I literally watched the sky go dark, waited for the sun to come back out from behind the moon, and jumped in my car to drive to my first class, Psychology. There I met one of the best teachers I’ve ever had, Dr. Tam. Here is a picture Josh took of me leaving for school that day. It’s an awful picture, but hey, memories. Gosh, look how dirty my car was.
After enjoying The New Girl, I wanted to read another Fear Street book. I looked at several, but eventually grabbed this book for $2.99 on Amazon and finished it in two days. While the price is what drew me to The Secret Bedroom over other available Fear Street novels, its plot kept me hooked; it was hard to put this book down! I might have finished it in a day if this wasn’t Finals week.
I can safely say that I am addicted to Fear Street now. While I have a soft spot for Goosebumps, these books are much higher quality than Goosebumps, and although I know I’ve read some of these in the past, I don’t have vivid memories of which ones, exactly. Maybe I’ll recognize them when I get to them; after enjoying these two books so much, I plan to read the entire series.
I vaguely remember reading Fear Street when I was in Middle School. I was more into Goosebumps by R. L. Stine, and then later, Animorphs by K. A. Applegate. I stumbled across this Fear Street book on Amazon about a week ago, and despite my promise to not buy anymore books until I clear some of my queue, I snagged this and dove in head first. Now I need to read them all.
This book was awful… -ly amazing. It had some laugh out loud stuff going on, some cringe-worthy teen behavior, ninja gymnastic stunts, and a dead cat in a locker. When you read R. L. Stine, you just need to sit back and enjoy the ride. Don’t ask questions. Don’t look for literary elements. Don’t expect everything to make sense.
I hope everyone had a good Thanksgiving! I wanted to update around that time, but just had too much to do. I went with Josh to see his family in North Carolina, and when we weren’t with them, I was working on my final English essay or studying Psychology. My semester is finally winding down. I just had my last English class tonight. I have my last Prob and Stats class tomorrow, my last Psychology and Spanish classes on Monday, and then Finals start on Tuesday and go through the following Monday. It’s kind of bittersweet; I had really good instructors this semester and am going to miss three of my four classes. We won’t talk about my fourth (I hate it, even though I have an A and actually excel at Math).
I talk about school a lot, so here’s something different! I want you to see more of my life. Like one of my nerdy collections.
I have known I have wanted to teach for all of my life. I have always loved school, and as a kid when people asked me what I wanted to be when I grow up, I answered quickly and distinctly: “I want to teach.” I’ve felt a calling, a tug, and when I’ve worked other jobs and put college on hold, I knew I was making a mistake. I knew I was delaying my destiny. I kept feeling the tug. I’m going back to school now to finally pursue my dream, and for the first time in my adult life, I feel like I’m where I’m supposed to be; I feel like I’m doing what I’m supposed to be doing.
When I was young, I lived in a children’s home. I lived in a cottage with seven other boys and two cottage parents. As you can imagine, I didn’t get a lot of attention. I was in Band and Dance, and I had various recitals and performances where I would look out into the audience and see parents of my classmates cheering their kids on. I didn’t talk to anyone about it back then, but it was defeating. I wanted more than anything to have someone in the audience there for me. I vividly remember one Band performance where one of my sixth grade teachers, Mrs. Lewis, walked over to me from somewhere in the bleachers, and let me know that she was watching me, and that she was so proud of me.