Life on Anacortes Street with Mike, my two girls, and the most wonderful neighbors was delightful. In the seventies life there was a slice of Americana reminiscent of my own childhood days. My two daughters were definitely free range kids who played with neighborhood children all up and down our street. The doors to our home were rarely locked with kids coming in and out, sometimes even staying the night in unplanned celebrations for just about any reason. I was quite content with life but one serendipitous event after another made me more and more certain that I needed to complete my degree and become a full time teacher. 

By the end of the seventies I was working regularly at Do and Learn Preschool and loving every minute of my time there. I also had expanded my reach with children when a neighbor asked me to care for her daughter while she ran a business. Soon word of mouth gave me four more youngsters to entertain and feed while their mothers worked at various jobs. I was still teaching at my church as well. My days became incredibly busy and delightfully fun, but I wanted more than anything to return to the University of Houston to complete my degree and get started with my own full time job, Since my youngest was approaching kindergarten age, I would have time to attend classes and study without having to worry about daycare. Besides, everyone was finally in good health and I had learned from my many child centered gigs that I really did enjoy teaching and being around children. Every single day required me to be creative and I liked the challenge. 

I finally gave my regrets to all of the folks who had entrusted their children to me either in my home or at the preschool or at church. I selected my classes, paid the fees, and soon enough found myself hunting for a parking spot at the University of Houston, a feat that was even more daunting than any of my classes. I was enchanted from day one with each and everyone of my courses and approached them with a confidence and eagerness that had been missing in my younger days. I literally basked in the enlightenment from every professor and threw myself into the assignments with abandon. I was like a child in a candy shop who could not get enough of the fare that lay before me. Needless to say, the professors took note of my enthusiasm as well and became unofficial mentors who believed that I would surely thrive in a classroom. 

When I combined my natural abilities with the experiences I had gained in the years since I had last taken a class, I felt a sense that I would be able to tackle any challenge that came my way. I was juggling my home life with being a student and never missing a beat. I even managed to keep my mother on track with her doctors and medications. I welcomed new members of our ever growing extended family as my brothers and sisters-in-law made me an aunt over and over again with Daniel and Shawn and David and Ryan becoming my new nephews. I had rarely felt as excited about life as I did in those glorious years of balancing on one foot while spinning plates on my head. 

I was ready to tackle anything, so when the two nuns who had been running the religious education program at St. Frances Cabrini Catholic Church announced that they were moving, I accepted their offer to head the program for preschool through fifth grade. I was far enough along in earning my degree that I felt certain that I would be able to work full time, care for my family and finish my coursework without any difficulty. Somehow my insane belief that I was superwoman actually worked. So by the time I finally had my coveted degree and certification my resume was bursting with evidence that I was more than just a good student.

Unfortunately I began my job search at one the few times in the history of Houston when there was a glut of teachers. A noticeable dip in the oil boom that had made the city a behemoth left schools with more educators than they needed as people moved to greener pastures and took their children with them. The professors who had taught me even apologized for the lack of jobs for the graduating class. On the day of our commencement only one member of our corps had a job and she was the daughter of a local superintendent. They rest of us were still searching almost hopelessly for positions. it would be late in the summer before I had a contract in spite of my grades, awards and fully packed resume. 

I went to work in September of 1983, at St. Christopher Catholic School. The principal had called me for an interview on the pretense of looking for an English teacher for the junior high. When I arrived she admitted that she actually needed a mathematics teacher and had noticed that math was my unofficial minor. Since I had learned how to be incredibly flexible from the challenges I had already endured, i thought it would be fun to try my hand at teaching six different levels of math. Little did I know that it would become my forever fate because each time I made a move, every school always seemed to need someone to teach the math courses rather than English. 

I went to work as a mature and seasoned teacher. I understood my students and most of all understood myself. I dove into my lesson planning and even volunteered to sponsor the school newspaper and head the fledgling computer committee. I had already been in many trials by fire, so I found the many demands to just be all in a days work. Teaching six different courses would ready me for the future. Having exceedingly well behaved students would allow me to master my teaching skills rather than having to focus on classroom management. Working at St. Christopher’s ended up being a job made in heaven. My first official year as a bonafide teacher was a good as it gets. 

Meanwhile my own family was supportive of my dedication to my students. It would only be in retrospect that I sometimes wondered if it had been difficult for them to share so much of my time and attention with the hundreds of little souls who were to come. I had finally found my passion and it consumed me with unadulterated joy.