Old Dog, New Job

imageWhen I was six, I cried each Saturday it was my turn to be the goalie.  I was terrified by the thought of missing a crucial save and letting my twirling, booger-picking teammates down.

When I was seven, I sat on the stairs and wailed when my parents signed me up for kid pitch softball, terrified I’d let myself down swing by swing.

New roles and responsibilities are not my bag.  I get scared shitless, give myself hives (or shingles), and finally get fucking going.

Next week I start a new role in my same school.  From Reading Specialist to Literacy Coach.  I am creating the job, the framework for the work I will do. I will be an agent of change for many who do not wish to change.  I will mentor, consult, cajole, and coach.  I will be asked questions I don’t yet know the answers to.  I will see teaching practices I abhor and will need to remain positive and focused on incremental change.  Teachers, parents, and most importantly children will rely on my ability to do my job well.  And my husband and daughter will need me to not bring my stress home.

It’s basically shit-ass scary.

But I say, “Be damned impending hives!” I won’t be that six year old, snot running down my chin for fear of failure.  I will be the woman – thoughtful, positive, fearless – that I’d like my daughter to see.  And I’ll prepare like a mother fucker.

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