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  Winning that award was definitely the biggest highlight of my life so far. As with the other awards, the people around me were very excited about this wonderfully good news. This time, the congratulations and celebrations went on and on and kept getting better and better. It felt especially good after the recent experience I had had with the GRE. Tourette’s might win sometimes, but most of the time I still had the upper hand.

  As school started up again and I got ready for my second year in the classroom, I knew a lot of things would be different. First, I had an entire year of experience under my belt. Second, I would be starting at the beginning of the school year, not three weeks into it. Third, not only would I be teaching, I would also be taking graduate classes in the afternoons, so I was going to be very busy. Fourth, and best of all, returning to Mountain View was exciting because I knew so many people. My confidence level was high and I had a lot of new ideas I wanted to try.

  I also had the award—Georgia’s First Class Teacher of the Year. I still could not quite believe that I had won. Me! The downside was that all eyes would now be on me. The pressure was on. Normally, the expectations others put on me just made me have higher expectations for myself. Even though I didn’t always fulfill all the expectations, I was hard on myself about doing quality work and I tried my best. I had learned a long time ago that a person’s reputation goes a long way, and it should be something you feel good about. But now I was afraid that I would not be able to come close to fulfilling everyone’s high expectations of me. New teachers looked at me differently than teachers who had known me for a year. And the new students and their parents were all excited to have me as a teacher because I was the Teacher of the Year for the whole state. In addition to all that, our school was piloting an inclusion program for children with autism and volunteered me to have some of the children in my class. I hoped I could be everything everyone expected me to be. I knew I’d do my best.

  In September, the Marietta Daily Journal wanted to do a story on me winning the award and traveling to Washington, D.C. Once again I was skeptical, but after talking to the reporter I agreed to do it. This article ran on September 25, 1997, the day I left for Washington, D.C., and the awards banquet of a lifetime.

  I was allowed to bring along two other people. I had a difficult decision to make. At first, I really wanted to invite Jim Ovbey and Hilarie Straka to celebrate with me. If it hadn’t been for them, I would never have won this award. But then, I knew I should bring my mom, dad, stepmom, and brother, because they had all been so integrally involved in helping to make me who I am today. But that was two people too many. So I begged the event organizers to give me two extra tickets, and eventually they did. Yes, I’m not above begging! Our family had not been together in a long time, and what better reason could we have to celebrate?

  Also with the award came fifteen hundred dollars. I knew right away that I wanted to use the money for education and for my classroom. My first purchase was a video camera for my class. And my first official use of the camera was in Washington to video the exciting things we did. The students, administrators, and faculty in my school couldn’t come with me, but I could bring a little of the experience back to them.

  While in Washington, I met with Georgia’s members of Congress, who were Max Cleland, Newt Gingrich, and Paul Coverdell. Each was very nice and gave me a few minutes of his time. I had pictures taken with each of them and they all shared their delight in my award with me.

  Newt Gingrich was fairly busy, so I met him with about ten other people who were scheduled to meet him that day. We just formed a line and we each got a picture and moved on.

  I sat with Max Cleland in his office for about fifteen minutes and discussed my teaching experiences and education in general. While I was there, he gave me a coffee mug and a United States flag that was folded away in a box.

  I met Paul Coverdale on the Senate floor. He was busy that day trying to pass a bill that he had written. My dad and I stood outside the curtains of the Senate until he was finished speaking, and that was a thrill in itself. He didn’t have more than five minutes or so, but he did give me a letter on thick cardstock that stated that he had entered me into the 105th Congressional Record. I thought that was pretty cool. Next he gave me a flag that had been flown over our nation’s Capitol. Along with the flag came a certificate stating when the flag had been flown, and that it was flown in honor of me winning the award. This was not an ordinary flag; it was huge. In fact, it was the biggest flag I had ever seen. When I got back to my school and asked Jim if we could hang it up as our new school flag, he said he thought it was too big and wasn’t sure the pole would be able to hold it. Instead, I folded the flag and had it and the certificate framed. I treasure them to this day. We also met with people from the Department of Education and discussed current issues, and we visited the well-known landmarks in Washington, D.C.

  A huge reception for all the state-level winners took place on the last night. At the dinner, we saw a video compilation of all fifty winners and I knew I was in elite company. It was such an honor to be included. Previously, the people involved in planning the reception had asked me to choose the teacher I looked up to the most or who had influenced me the most during my school years. Sadly, I could not think of one teacher, but in a strange sort of way that made me feel good. In spite of everything, I had still done well. In school as a kid, all I wanted was what I saw every other kid getting: praise, a pat on the back, a sticker, a thumbs-up. Instead, I was either passed by or kicked out. I thought of all the people who had pointedly looked the other way in my presence, who must have wondered how I would ever succeed. But every time one of those people pushed me down or held me back, the situation just made me want to move forward even more. It was as if I got my positive energy from other people’s negative energy.

  I also thought of the many teachers who had mocked, punished, berated, and embarrassed me. I thought a lot about them. And then I thought about the many nonteachers who had taught me so much: my parents and my family, Steve Mathes and his incredible wife and sons, Mr. Myer, and my friends at BBYO. I was the only teacher at the gala who did not select a classroom teacher to recognize as an inspiration, but I was very fortunate that I had had many people in my life who had inspired me.

  After the video presentation, each of us received an award. It was a pyramid-shaped prism of glass with a quote on the inside: It is the supreme art of the teacher to awaken joy in creative expression and knowledge.—Albert Einstein. It now sits in a place of honor, along with my framed flag, in my home.

  It was wonderful to meet the other winners from around the United States. Some taught at the elementary level, while others taught middle or high school. About half the teachers were my age, while the other half were older. We taught at different kinds of schools in different parts of the country, but at the same time we all had a year full of first-year experiences that bonded us together.

  When I went up to accept my award I felt empowered; I felt as if I were representing all the people who had ever been told that they didn’t have a chance—that they weren’t worthy. I felt I was representing not just people with Tourette syndrome, but everyone who had a disability, and I loved that feeling. It showed that the underdog could win. We all were worthy.

  Upon my return, I couldn’t wait to share my award and other goodies with Jim, Hilarie, the staff, the children, and my friends. I wished they all could have been there with me because it was their love and support that had landed me there in the first place. They had won this award as much as I had.

  I still couldn’t quite believe I had been honored for my talents as an elementary school teacher just a year after I had sat in so many principals’ offices and heard that my Tourette’s would be too distracting—that I would never be able to be a teacher. Now, I not only was a teacher, but I had been recognized as a good teacher on a state and national level. I felt very, very proud. And that was what the award really gave me—a sense of validation, of confidenc
e, of genuine self-esteem. I realized then, more than ever before, that those wonderful feelings were what I wanted most to instill in my students. Especially the outcasts, the loners, the losers, the social freaks—because many of the disasters that waited for them in the future could be avoided altogether if enough self-esteem could be inspired within them.

  As a teacher with Tourette syndrome, my first and foremost goal was—and is—to show my kids the awesome power that is created within us when we build steadily upon a worthwhile dream.

  REMEMBERING HEATHER

  THE MORE I GOT INTO TEACHING, the more I felt confident enough to bring my personality into the classroom. My students described me as a big kid, and in a way I was. My second year I brought my rabbit, Waffle, to school and let him live among my students. He was a huge hit. My second year I wore a tuxedo on meet-and-greet night. I had been raised to show respect by dressing up for important events—and the only thing more important to me than meeting my students was meeting their parents. My second year I was at ease enough on “field day” to cheer my students on like it was the Olympics. My second year I put a couch in the classroom, flanked by halogen lights, and I completely turned off the overhead lights to create a more soothing atmosphere. With Waffle, the big plastic bubble, the floor lamps, the couch, and the students’ desks grouped around the room, this particular second grade classroom had a comfortable, lived-in look. One day during my second year I had the entire class dress up as elderly people for a unit I called “100 Days, 100 Years.” We all dressed up like we were one hundred years old because it was the one hundredth day of school. Another time, I took the class to a Publix grocery store and got food donated so my class could make sandwiches to take to the homeless.

  My first-year students will always have a special place in my memory, but each class has its own character, and the batch of second-graders I got my second year was no exception. These kids asked question after question and wanted to know everything there was to know. They were rambunctious and full of energy, and I loved them all.

  Then my third year of teaching, I got “promoted” to third grade along with my second-year second grade students, so I was able to spend two consecutive years with them—and the rewards were huge. I knew them and their families so well, and got more satisfaction than ever in knowing I was helping them reach their potential and become lifelong learners.

  My silly hat became my trademark. I wanted my students to bond with books and reading in a way that I never had. I wanted them to associate reading with fun and laughter. So when I read to my students, I donned my tie-dyed hat à la The Cat in the Hat. My kids loved it. At the same time, I was looking for the children who struggled with reading, and then I tried hard to get them the resources they needed.

  One wonderful day I persuaded a trucker buddy, Darcey Owens, to come to school with her truck and let the kids get in it and honk the horn. They named her truck Big Red. We did a unit based on Darcey and her truck called “Where in the World Is Miss Owens?” and asked people to send us postcards. The students in my class actually became pen pals with Darcey, who drove all across the United States. When she was in town she would visit my class, and through those visits Darcey grew to love the kids as much as I did. The kids were thrilled when she brought them all toy minitrucks, replicas of the same model she drove. We got tons of postcards back from our little project, literally from all over the world, and we’d talk about the places the postcards came from. It was much more fun than just learning geography from a book. I told the kids that if we collected one hundred postcards by the one hundredth day of school, then I’d dance a jig on top of my desk. We collected the postcards, and I danced and watched as the children all laughed and thought it was the greatest thing in the world that their teacher was dancing on his desk.

  For me, teaching was like swallowing—it came naturally. My classroom was like a miniature village, with everyone doing what they were supposed to—everyone staying busy and full of purpose. I was always on the lookout for fun lessons and themes to incorporate, but my teaching style never changed. I taught every child as if he or she were my own, and as if he or she were the only student in the class.

  I soon discovered that a funny thing happened when I taught—I didn’t tic very much. My brain was too busy keeping up with my students. The tics come out most when I am bored or uncomfortable or stressed, and at school that just never happened.

  But outside school, Tourette’s continued to make sure I never forgot it was around. I had recently met a friend, Adam Strohl, who enjoyed acting and was performing locally in the play Oklahoma! He invited me to see the show, but I was afraid I would disturb the audience, so I was hesitant to go. Adam insisted I come, so despite my hesitation, I did. It didn’t end up well. I sat with Adam’s family and a few friends. But just before the play started, the house manager came over and insisted that if I wanted to watch the play, then I had to watch from the sound booth because he felt I would distract the actors. I reluctantly went to the sound booth with a friend, as I didn’t want to make a scene and embarrass Adam on his big day. Later, Adam told me he was not happy about the situation; he had already informed the actors about me, and everyone understood Tourette’s and was fine with it. Then at a comedy club I went to about the same time, the comedian made me the brunt of his first joke, which I didn’t appreciate at all. So going out—going to events that you might take for granted—still was and is a little iffy for me.

  This is probably as good a time as any to talk about dating. In high school, most of my social life was through BBYO, and most of the boy/girl extracurricular activities were group events in which a lot of us went to a restaurant or a ball game together. So I didn’t really “date” until I went to college.

  How successful my dating life is depends on a lot of things—mainly, however, on how comfortable I feel. Often, that depends on how I’ve met my prospective date. If we have met through a mutual activity, such as supporting a social cause or attending a class, she will have more understanding of Tourette’s and how it affects me, because she’s already spent some time with me. If it is a spontaneous meeting at a party or through an arranged blind date, things are different. She will know I have Tourette syndrome, but probably will not realize all that that entails.

  Many times, especially if we meet under the spontaneous or blind-date scenario, I don’t get a second date. And that’s okay. The woman has to decide what she is comfortable with, and I certainly won’t be comfortable if she’s not comfortable. I usually make sure the woman I’m going out with knows about Tourette syndrome. The one time I went out with a woman and didn’t tell her about Tourette’s we both ended up embarrassed and disappointed. After that date, once again I decided always to be up front and honest: Tourette’s is part of who I am and my date needs to understand that.

  A few years ago I met a woman and we went out and had a pretty good first date. For our second date, she had tickets to a show by the illusionist David Copperfield, and even though in the back of my mind I knew this could be a problem, I agreed to go. The performance was held at the Atlanta Fox Theater and the audience was very quiet when we arrived—not a great setting for someone with Tourette’s. Before the show started, I discreetly found the stage manager and explained the situation. He assured me that my Tourette’s would not be a problem. As I did not want to embarrass my date, I didn’t tell her about my conversation with the manager.

  Not too far into the show, people around us began shushing me. Then the usher showed up and asked us to leave. So much for me not embarrassing my date. I told the usher I had talked to the manager, who had said my ticcing would not be a problem. Finally, after many whispered conversations, I was told that David Copperfield said I was disturbing his concentration. We were asked to move, but because there were no other seats for us—the event was a sellout—my date and I stayed in the seats we had. Totally stressing out, I wondered how much longer it would be until David Copperfield finished and I could go home. I was thoroug
hly embarrassed about the whole thing, and I’m not sure my date quite knew what to make of it. We didn’t go out again. That’s just the way it works sometimes.

  I may not love the dating process, but I do love getting to know someone on that level. I’m never upset, though, if I don’t have a date lined up for the weekend. I have had such an active social life since high school that it is a rare moment when I don’t have something to do with any number of friends. Would I like someone special to share my life with? Of course I would. But along with thinking that things happen for a reason, I believe the right woman will come along at the right time in my life.

  Even though the woman of my dreams has not yet arrived, I have been able to make one of my biggest childhood dreams a reality. Ever since I was a small child, I have wanted to play the part of a mascot. While the other kids would run to have their picture taken with Fredbird, the mascot for the St. Louis Cardinals, I used to say that I wanted to be Fredbird. You may recall that Dave, my roommate in college freshman year, was a mascot at Bradley; I always thought that was so cool.

  In 2000 a friend of mine from St. Louis, Kory Burke, was interning for the entertainment side of the Atlanta Braves organization. He was complaining one night about how his mascots didn’t show up on time and didn’t do all that good of a job. I thought about it for a few weeks and then told him I was very interested. As much as I loved teaching, I thought being a mascot would be the coolest job in the world. I figured I would do it for the summer and make some extra money.

  I knew I could do it, but I still had to convince the powers that be in the Braves organization. Kory paved the way and told his supervisor all about me. Kory and I had both been counselors in a day camp in St. Louis years before, so he knew me well. I know he had given me a glowing review, so when I walked into his supervisor’s office I felt like I already had the job.