The Teacher's Luncheon

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The room was filled with joyous laughter and happy chatter, as teachers sat at tables in the lunchroom swapping stories, summer plans, while enjoying a delicious catered meal. In the background, music videos streamed across the wall near the cake table, and every now and again, a lively or familiar tune inspired several people to dance in their seats. The end of a school year almost always comes with a wonderful sense of relief (at least for me), that you've successfully navigated another year of shaping young minds, inspiring new dreams, and generally preparing humans, be the small or large, for what comes next...which won't always be pretty. One-hundred and eighty days of pouring the best you have into the minds of our future is tough work, no matter what anyone thinks about the process (...I am reminded of that foolish saying, "Those who can, do. Those who can't, teach", which is a completely ridiculous sentiment). Sometimes I still feel very new to this profession, even though I've been an educator, in some capacity or another, for eleven years. I can say, however, with confidence, that I have come to tremendously admire most of my colleagues, and always attempt to learn as much as possible from them. Today, they taught me a most unexpected lesson, in patriotism!

As I spoke to the teacher sitting beside me, the National Anthem (Whitney Houston's version) came up on the song playlist that was running in the background. Without thinking, I stopped and stood by my seat. The third grade teacher sitting across from me turned to me and asked quite sincerely, "Should we stand?" I wanted to kiss her, but held that desire in check as I nodded. Without question or hesitation, she stood. Not a moment passed before the entire cafeteria was silent, everyone standing, most of them with hands over their hearts...and in that instant, I feel more deeply in love with this group of educators than I already felt. These people, whom I've worked with for nearly two years...laughed with, vented to, and listened while they shared their own frustrations, every one of them payed their respects to our Old Glory and all she represents. Here was this delightful group, in this humble, rural place, a photo snapshot of typical smalltown America, pushing pause on their celebration and reminding me of why I am so very proud to BE an American. I thought of my military family, spread out around the globe, my Freckles at the beginning of her Navy flight school, and of all the people who are so very passionate about their pride for what America is supposed to stand for. I wished, in that moment, that the whole world could see and feel the power and depth of solidarity that permeated around that room.