Desire

Back on a Tuesday in October of 2013 whose date is inconsequential, but whose events were life-changing, I hovered over a high school student’s Utah Proficiency test in a small, stuffed-away room at Provo High School. With state proficiency testing looming over every teacher and administrator's head like an encroaching storm cloud, my responsibilities as a volunteer had shifted from reading Charlotte’s Web with the students to becoming a test preparation drill instructor. Today, my sole responsibility was to ensure that all five English Language Learners accurately completed their demographic information and previewed the test directions. This was no small task because these students were confused by much of the terminology used to write the directions. And then, during that life-changing event previously mentioned, one student turned to me and said, “Ms. Johnston, if I can’t read the directions, then how am I supposed to pass this test?”

...

Flash forward to a day whose date is, yet again, inconsequential, but events will be life-changing. Standing before a class of thirty 3rd graders (90% of whom are on free or reduced lunch and 65% are English Language Learners) in another hot, stuffed-way, stuffy room, this time in South-Phoenix, I will write one word on the board: desire. I will first ask the students what a desire is and determine a working definition. Then, I will ask my students to apply their knowledge and determine what they desire most. One small girl with sun-bleached hair will say, “a Barbie doll,” while a black-skinned, black-haired boy will say, “a new video game.” For most of these cherubims, I imagine these, but also other desires. I imagine that one wide-eyed boy who went without breakfast will simply desire to have enough food on the table, while a freckled, red-head will wish for her daddy to find work.

I imagine that at some point during our discussion, one sweet pig-tailed girl will raise her hand and ask, “Ms. Johnston, what do you desire?” My answer will require no prompting, no pre-meditation, no second thought. I will turn to that sweet girl, brown-skinned from the sun like the Arizona dust outside the window, and say, “for you to have a good education.”

...

Today, I sat in several well-lit, climate-controlled classrooms at Brigham Young University, typing on my MacBook Pro. I listened as Dr. Child explained the five tenets of economic sociology, as Dr. Dahlin drolled on about strategic planning, and as Dr. Tanner reviewed the five fundamentals of teaching attending skills. I left my last class for the day and beelined it to the Harold B. Lee Library. I sat for three hours in another spacious, well-lit, climate-controlled room, still typing away on my MacBook Pro, transforming ideas into letters, thoughts into words, and feelings into sentences. I read from textbooks practically bursting with the knowledge they contained, and checked off a long to-do list of assignments. After tapping into the farthest reaches of my mental capacity, I trotted home, greeted by pasta and alfredo sauce waiting in the refrigerator, and got lost in the pages of a novel before passing out in my cozy bed to rinse, wash, and repeat this agenda tomorrow. For me, this is the daily grind of my collegiate career. For me, this is the muscle behind the meaning.

...

This daily muscling doesn’t bother me much because my education isn’t mine. It may once have been about all about me (like the time that I was a journalism major), but not after that Tuesday back in October of 2013. Since that day, I’m getting an education for that English Language Learner who couldn’t read the directions, for my future 3rd graders who are so poor no one thinks that they have a chance, and so many others I’ve had the privilege to teach. It’s why I made the decision to wave goodbye to the Brimhall Building and practically move into the Joseph F. Smith Building, majoring in Sociology with a minor in TESOL (Teaching English to Speakers of Other Languages). My college coursework is now all about paying-it forward, all about providing hope to other students who will come after me.

You see, I’m one of the lucky ones that 1) had the choice whether or not to go to college and 2) did choose to enter the hallways of higher education. You see, I’m spending these long hours typing away on my MacBook Pro, holed away in a quiet corner of the library so that I can get right back into that stuffed away, stuffy aired, classroom. Nothing matters more to me then laying a stepping stone in the pavement of progress for one more child to receive a good education. You could even call this my desire.

So, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve about reached my mental capacity of translating more of my thoughts into words, and I’m about to the point where I trot home and search out some cheesy alfredo in my refrigerator.

...

“To teach is to touch a life forever” -Anonymous