Thursday, February 25, 2016

Happy Birthday, Rebel

     Everything is a writing prompt at the moment.
     If left to my own devices, I can make a story out of anything.
     Or, I can find a Tweet by someone I admire and read the article attached to the link.
     Written by someone like me, it tells the story of scientists who sit around scratching their heads with ideas of what to test in labs.
     My master's degree from the University of Virginia helped me figure out which scientists to listen to and which aren't so trustworthy. You can't get one of those in special education without learning the value of a meta-analysis.
     That wasn't my cup of Joe until certain things didn't match up between what I was being told to do at UVA and what I was legally obligated to do for my job. As a journalist, it didn't make sense.
     It was my least favorite class in the program but one that really sank in.
     Certain rules and facts didn't seem as black and white any more, especially the ones from my "other" undergraduate major, the one that came second and doesn't even make it on your diploma.            I was beginning to see journalism as the only possible choice for me because the other two suddenly appeared lame.
     My career, with it's bad reputation and few rules, felt very clean, compared to psychology and special education. That's when something dangerous happened:
     I wanted to find out what the real picture was even more than I wanted to teach.
     Unfortunately, it was a feeling that crept up on me slowly while others realized it much sooner. As a teacher and student, I was already asking too many questions.
     Principals and professors were giving me bad grades because I didn't fit in any more.
     The stubborn reporter didn't care and felt invigorated by the sudden attention, which made things even worse for me. She clicked her heels on the way out the door.
     Tired of sitting in dugouts and boring board meetings, she was ready for the real show, a story of her own. She had so many leads in her head, it was impossible to keep up with them at once.
     As a teacher, she was frustrated out of her mind, but as a reporter, her fingers were on fire, keeping her up at night, tap-tap-tapping on the keys.
     It was time to put on her News hat and go to the show. She even had a doctor's note, giving her permission, but what would be the fun in that?