“And there's a million things I haven't done.
But just you wait, just you wait...”
~ “Alexander Hamilton”, Hamilton
For me, a calling is an intense belief that God requires me to embrace a vocation in order to make the world a better place. At one time or another, I have felt one of four callings: to become a healer, a soldier, a priest, and a teacher. Some times they have appeared strong and forceful, revealing an obvious path. Other times they have been subtle, even nested in other callings. Or, they have been all together hidden, emerging after years of contemplation. As I have grown older, I have begun to realize that each one of the original four can take on many forms.
Finally, as I enter the second half of my life, it has been made clear to me, I need to combine all four into a single path.
As a child, I spent a good decade diving into all things war related. I knew my warplanes, generals, and battlefields. My documentary watching included Vietnam: the 10,000 Day War, Victory at Sea, and old Russian recordings of liberated concentration camps. Hogan’s Heroes, Kelly’s Heroes, and the Battle of the Bulge, were my go to TV series and movies. And a camouflaged Marine Corp cap, for years, protected my head. West Point was a dream, boot camp a goal, and war, a necessary evil. Finally, when I was ready to take books out of the adult section of the public library, my first pile of books covered military uniforms through the ages, clandestine activities of the CIA, and a book on the Crimean War.
My childhood obsession with the military faded by the time I entered high school. And remained dormant throughout college. That is, until right before my graduation year. By that time I realized I did not want to spend a good deal of my early adulthood pursuing a PhD in history, and a lifetime afterward publishing articles about it, and teaching it to college students. The option of teaching at any other level never occurred to me. So, on the eve of adulthood, when I would have to find a full-time job and make difficult life decisions, I stood in the middle of a long road I had assumed I wanted to travel, but now realized was not for me.
So what did I do? I dug deep down into my past and pulled out a forgotten dream. Well, really, a calling. It was not until years later that I understood my childhood desire to join the army had little to do with patriotism, adventurism, or even civic duty. Within me was a strong need to give to other people. I actually enjoyed sacrificing a part of myself to inspire other people to feel safe, enjoy happiness, and achieve their goals, among other things. Two other forces further shaped this calling: my Catholic upbringing and my tendency towards idealism. Catholicism taught me that caring for the welfare and well-being of others was my moral obligation; my idealism convinced me that a mission was only worthwhile if I was willing to surrender a part of myself, including my life, in order to see it through. It was my childhood interest in all things military that persuaded me that joining the army was the best way to satisfy my call to sacrifice.
So, in my senior year of college, I was convinced that my life path lay on the battlefield. At least six years of my life would be handed over to the US government. I would serve wherever I was needed. Even if it meant dying in combat. I was prepared to sacrifice myself for my country. During the summer of my senior year of college, two years before 9/11, I marched down to the local recruiter’s office, and attempted to join. The story of that experience is best saved for another day. Just know that I was smart enough NOT to sign anything that afternoon.
However, there are many kinds of soldiers. Many forms of sacrifice. Ultimately, the Universe had other plans. Love called me away, and asked me to make another kind of sacrifice. And so I abandoned my plans to join the military.
But I could not shake the original calling. Two years after abandoning my plans to enlist, I signed up for a different kind of mission: teaching children, and helping a man keep his own dream alive. It does not matter how or where you teach— elementary or college, public or private, half-day or full-time—at the end of the day, the job requires you to put aside your ego, and allow the needs of the students to become your life pursuit. Every day you have to give a little of yourself. In addition, the private school where I taught was created by a man who believed modern education had failed. He wanted to create a refuge for children who struggled with the current school system. And like all other visionaries, he gathered around him idealistic young people who shared in that dream.
For thirteen years I sacrificed on two fronts. I gave what I could to my students. Stayed hours after school to provide extra help, or simply kept them company while they waited for their parents. Spent hours at home researching topics to discuss, writing up assignments and tests, agonizing over the previous day’s teaching blunders. Provided rides when necessary, and brought in food when required. Then missed them terribly when they graduated or left. Since it was a private school with no endowments or investors, I had to fill in additional roles without extra pay. Bathrooms had to be cleaned and floors mopped. A website had to be designed and maintained. One Sunday a month was spent recruiting new students; an entire summer month dedicated to administrative tasks. Every teacher had to cover after-school hours once a week. And every teacher had to assist in making sets, costumes, and props for the various stage events. Finally, because the space was rented, the last week of school was dedicated to repairing and repainting walls, stripping and waxing floors, cleaning the classrooms, and storing all the desks, chalkboards, and supplies for the next year. The teachers were expected to do it all.
And I did it all, because that was what I was called to do.
However, after surrendering thirteen years, the crusade was over, and I was needed elsewhere. It was not that my sacrifices were all in vain. Students’ lives were changed: we inspired them to find and pursue their dreams. Teachers bonded while creating beautiful and literate projects: art shows, theatrical performances, poetry readings, discussions about curriculum and pedagogy. Knowledge was expanded and shared, while skills were built and honed. There were plenty of good, positive, and joyful memories. Yet, the school had shrunk, the founder had a stroke, and I lacked the ability and resources to carry it forward.
No amount of further sacrificing would have saved that institution.
So, six years later, here I am, wiser and more intelligent, with new skills and better habits, and volumes of valuable life lessons. Although I never became the soldier of my childhood fantasies, serving my country on the battlefield, I found another form of soldiering: teaching. And while those thirteen years of sacrifices did not inspire reforms in the educational system, they did persuade me that teaching children was my calling.
Now, I just need to find a way to gather together my various callings, and discover the best direction in which to focus them.
(To be continued...)
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