Easily Excitable

Recently, Trey and I were riding around town as we waited on dinner: we’d called in an order for pick-up, and we had a little time to kill.

As we were riding, I pointed out different houses and named off the folks who lived in them: people from church, folks I knew in my formative years, and, of course, teachers and administrators. 

That was always a natural thing to me- knowing where folks live- so I’ve not thought much about it. Or I didn’t until Trey said something along the lines of, “Knowing where all your teachers live is so foreign to me.” 

(Look at Cochran teaching Memphis a thing or two!) 

The thing is, I knew where my teachers lived because we hung out in their neighborhoods. Or they were my neighbors. Or because my dad sold them their houses. 

It was timely that Trey and I had that conversation. 

We’re coming off Senior Week, which means the children have been heavily ‘rolling’ houses. For anyone who doesn’t know, that’s the term used to describe teenagers’ penchant for choosing a victim and throwing toilet paper across his house, trees, and yards. 

Our dog, Boone, likes to mark his territory whenever he’s in a new environment. It’s not dissimilar. 

I can’t say a whole lot, as I, once upon a time, also loved rolling. Only, I don’t remember rolling just a ton of teachers. There was too much lore about certain teachers waiting up to catch rollers.

For us, it was more about getting our classmates. 

At any rate, we rolled said houses based solely on memory of where folks lived. 

Now, the teens look up addresses on a website called QPublic. Back in my day, we had to know addresses by heart. 

I say back in my day. Things have changed. 

And these changes aren’t bad, per say.

For example, back in my day, when people wanted to fight, they set a time after school, and they met up on a dirt road to duke it out. 

The organization through flip phones and word of mouth? Really, it was something to behold. 

Imagine what could’ve been done, had those skills been funneled into more positive outlets. 

Again, I don’t advocate that those times were better. They were just different. 

Don’t you let people tell you kids are worse now than they were ‘back in the day.’ It’s not true. 

I digress. 

This time of year, though, has me thinking this: 

There’s nothing like being a part of a small town school system. 

For starters, I’ve got a connection to most all of my students. They’re kids I’ve seen grow up on Facebook. Or, closer to home, I’ve taught their older siblings. 

Or even closer than that? Their grandmothers taught me. 

That’s inter-generational teaching. It’s like being a part of a family tree where it’s hard to see the start and end of the ties. 

I remember when I first started teaching nine years ago. 

When I began my career, I taught with many of the teachers who’d taught me.

Talk about whiplash. 

Imagine my surprise when Mr. Ray Martin was one of the first people to greet me during pre-planning.

This man- this man who tried his darndest to get me to understand the unsearchable subject known as ‘ninth grade math’- was actually a real human being. 

Still is, last I checked. You ought to visit his antique store downtown. 

It was a shock when I got to know the coworker version of Mr. Martin: he’s just a guy who loves lunchroom chicken tenders, and could often be found with one hand clutching said tender, and the other in his back pocket, chopping it up with the lunch ladies. 

This was the man who, back in 2009, loved a parabola above all else? What?!

This is teaching in a small town. 

It’s an honor to teach in my small town.

I’m in room 2090, the previous home of Bleckley County legend, Mrs. Shirley Smith.

As a teacher, she was strict, but always fair. And I would argue she is one of the best teachers Bleckley’s ever seen.

Now? I get to each lunch every day with Mrs. Smith (and the rest of the lunch crew- lunch with my people is a lifesaver).

In the hallways, she and I talk about gardening, butterflies, reading, and the fact that our students have pushed us to the very edge of our patience. 

Back in the fall, she was trying out a new variety of pumpkins, and she even gave me one from her garden. 

How could you not fall in love with that kind of job?

naturally, I’m partial, but Cochran is especially dear to me. 

I believe it’s a special place, and based on the academic and athletic success seen across the school system, I’d say the numbers prove that out. 

Here recently, in the high school world? 

Our boys and girls track teams won the state championship. 

Our baseball team made it to the Final Four. 

The whole town has its chest puffed out about it (dang right we do). I count myself among them. 

Trey and I went to the Final Four baseball match-up this past week. 

Looking around at the fans, I saw kids I teach currently, kids I taught in the past, and kids I’ll one day teach (playing near the batting cages, of course). 

I saw folks I went to high school with. I saw people from my church. 

All in one place, there were people from just about every stage of my life. It was as if the whole community descended on the baseball stadium. 

It was surreal. 

Small town folks support their school system.

And just why is that? 

It’s because we’re loyal to our community, and we’re proud of the kids it’s producing. We are a one-school-system-wonder, and our kids are the legacy we’re all working and rooting for. 

The community rallies around the school system because those kids competing, whether academically or athletically, are either your kids or your neighbors’ kids. 

They’re the children of your insurance agent, your local farmer, your fourth grade teacher, your pediatrician, your favorite nurse.

I have to think that, to some degree, it’s the way things are supposed to be. A small town is the village it takes, and we take that village seriously. 

There’s so much good to be found in a small community, but that tops the list.

I love my small town. And I love the school system in it. 

May is a crazy time for us teachers, but it’s also a nostalgic time. Yesterday, we had the Senior Walkthrough.

I look at these kids, and it seems like no time at all since they were in my ninth grade class. The 14-15 year old version is no one’s best self, but as a ninth grade teacher, I count myself lucky, as I get to see the full transformation. 

As a teacher, there are moments when you get so angry you feel like you might vomit. Then you blink, and these very kids are graduating. And they’re MOSTLY different people than they were four years ago. 

I get nostalgic this time of year because I remember what it was like being their age. 

There were late-night rolling parties and pep rallies.

-The last home game and the playoff stretch where the crowds showed up.

-The senior week activities, the prom, and the bonfires.

-All the tears when each sport season ended, as you were hit with the knowledge that this was your last game.

And of course, there was the Senior-itis that hit. 

Then, there was the feeling of being on the edge of the cliff- the knowledge that one part of your life had ended. This part- the Pre-K-12 years of your life- was the long-spanning season where decisions were largely made for you. 

This brought on a mix of excitement, along with trepidation, as you weren’t really sure where things were headed after school. 

But, something I’ve learned from my small town? 

There are a lot of people who’re cheering you on as you move on to the next stage. 

There are a lot of people who hold you to a high standard as you move out from their midst. 

There are a lot of people who’re willing to help you, pray for you, and encourage you as you take that next step. 

And that? That’s the beauty of a small town. 

That’s the beauty of Cochran, Georgia. 

It’s the best little city you’ve likely never heard of. 

This time of year is always a little sad. 

Another group of kids walks out after their four year stretch of high school. We know each student, whether personally or by name only.

That’ll always be a little sad. But that sadness I feel?

I have to think that’s proof that people once felt that same way about me. 

How lucky was I that people loved me enough to feel bittersweet about my graduation- that they were happy I was moving on to the next step, yet cared enough to miss me a little on my way out? 

How lucky was I to grow up in Cochran, and how fortunate am I to be able to teach here, too? 

God has blessed me.