Emotions.

I have a hard time with emotions. Sometimes people say I'm stone cold. I never cry at the movies my friends do. When my sister was lying unconscious in a hospital bed, losing tons of blood, my mom was a wreck and asked me how I could be so calm. I remember just looking back at her, with no words. I never cried, I figured I would deal with stuff as it happened to me. When my mom told me my dad and her were splitting, I just rolled over and went to sleep. When my grandma died senior year of high school, I got up and went to school just like any other day, while my mom and sister grieved at home. They always ask me 'don't you have any emotions, deborah?'.

well I do, I guess I just never know how to use them. I don't know why this is, I guess I don't like showing vulnerability. I never talked my way through hard times in the past and I feel like this is the result. I also get in trouble at home for letting my emotions sit inside me and then blowing up.

anyways, I have a point to this post, I swear I am not just being emo (haha as this whole blog describes why I CAN'T deal with 'emo'tions).

I have been having so many doubts the past months as to why I am an education major. Biola actually made a mistake and put me down as a teaching major and I just never changed it. I didn't know what I wanted to do anyway and I figured this is the only thing I could do probably. So recently I have been dealing with the effects that I am just a teaching major because I didn't have anything else I could do. I listen to the other people in my major talking about how 'teaching is such a calling' and 'God called me to do this specifically', and I always think 'wow I am just doing this because I have no clue what else to do'. So that has been tough and sometimes I would be really into teaching, and other times I would literally be googling masters programs in different areas that I could look into after I graduated.

Anyways, the other night in my 'Methods of Teaching the Linguistically Diverse' class, my professor opened with a story about a teacher who hated a little boy in her second grade classroom. He smelled, he wasn't smart, and had no friends. She wanted to like this boy but couldn't bring herself to do it: she just didn't like him and made no effort to help him either. She would write 'poor work, better luck next time' on most his work. Anyways, she looked in his file and saw that his mother died of cancer recently and his father showed no interest in the boy. At Christmas time, the boy gave her a tacky bracelet and a half full bottle of perfume. All the kids laughed because the gift was so cheap, and clearly from home. The teacher thanked the boy, put the perfume on, as well as the bracelet. When class let out that day, the boy went up to the teacher's desk and said 'you smell just like my mom did now. and her bracelet looks great on you.' The teacher cried and cried because she realized this boy loved her, and she didn't like him all this time and made no effort on his behalf. From then on she spent days after school with him, helping him with his work. He went from failing to passing. She received a letter from him years later, saying he was graduating high school third in his class. Four years later she received a letter saying he was graduating college second in his class. And after that, another letter saying he is now officially a Doctor, and is getting married in the spring.' The teacher attended the wedding and has never been prouder of anyone.

As I read that story, tears streamed down my face. I realized I do have a soul, and I do care about children. I want to be that person for that boy. I realized God must have put me in this major for a reason, even if somedays I cringe at the thought of being in front of a classroom. I will always remember this story and hopefully will stop changing my mind so much.