I taught for over forty years, from kindergarten kids to university seniors.
I always knew I wanted to be a teacher. I used to say that If I had gone to medical school, I would’ve been a medical school instructor. It was clear to me from the beginning that I loved teaching. I even played school when I was a young child, complete with my desk, my roll book, and folded “test papers” held together with a rubber band. It was my passion to teach.
I majored in French at Tift College and later added higher degrees. In my heart, I was a teacher. Along with my teaching, I realized that I loved and cared about my students. A few weren’t always easy to like, but the K-12 students were kids, changing and growing into adults. The college students were trying to find their way, though they were sometimes a little lost.
Several times I was privileged to take a group of high school students to France, often with another destination or two added onto the itinerary: Belgium, England, Switzerland, Italy. I enjoyed the trips as much as my students did, and I knew I could never teach them in a classroom all the things they could learn by actually being in France, visiting famous landmarks, eating authentic foods, meeting people, and experiencing the French culture.
Flying was part of the experience. For many years, I was afraid to fly, but one day I decided I couldn’t sit in my rocking chair in my house for the rest of my life (in my twenties), so I set off with my students on adventures, too many to list. Maybe I’ll write about them one day.
But a few of my students who packed their bags brought along their fears, too. I sat next to a high school student from my class. She was afraid as the plane began to taxi for take-off in Atlanta. It was her first time to fly. We held each other’s hand as the plane lifted off. Some students were afraid of heights. For many, this was their first flight or their first time to leave home.
We all made our way safely across the Atlantic twice—to France and then back home, our minds filled with memories to last our lifetimes.
On another occasion, my group of students included my son Zach. Our travel company changed our flight plans at the last minute. On our way to Paris, we flew from Atlanta to Minneapolis, then to Detroit, and on to Paris. On our way home, we flew from Paris to Detroit and then on to Atlanta from there. On our fifth leg of the flights, as our plane rushed down the runway and lifted off in Detroit, one of the engines sucked up a huge bird over Lake Michigan.
One of my students asked, “What just happened? Did we lose a muffler back there or something?”
I kept a composed face and said, “It was probably everyone getting lunch ready…”
Suddenly the smell of roasted fowl drifted through the cabin.
At last, the pilot announced over the intercom, “I’m sure you heard that noise. It was a bird that flew into one of our engines. We’ve determined that the plane is safe for our flight, and we’ll continue on to Atlanta.”
When the flight attendants brought the lunch cart, we were having salad.
I encountered other challenging moments. On one trip, from Boston to Atlanta, we flew through turbulence. Triplet brothers were on that flight. On another trip, mysterious water dripped out of the ceiling on a student. Lights in the cabin blinked on and off. On all of those trips, my students became my children, and I felt responsible for keeping them safe.
My overall observation of the flights was this: Whether I held a frightened student’s hand or assured my kids that the bird incident wasn’t serious, they somehow felt safe because I was there. Madame Taylor was with them, and I would keep them safe. Everything would be okay.
Madame Taylor was pretty unsettled herself. I had students onboard, including my son, and there was absolutely nothing I could do to save anyone.
But I had another observation, the best one. I watched them work through their fears. We went to the top level of the Eiffel Tower. They flew through their fear of flying. They stepped away from America and saw a different part of the world. They visited world-famous museums and landmarks. They conducted themselves with good behavior and respect.
It was my honor to be a part of helping them to know that there’s much more to the world than where they lived. A mighty big world.