As the 2004-05 school year dawned, so did my second year of teaching. All summer I had been worrying about whether I should continue in education. To me, it seemed that I hadn’t offered much to those struggling students who had all but given up hope of achieving something meaningful in their lives. They were almost afraid to want something, because … what if they never got it? I decided to give teaching one more year. Just one. If I did not see evidence that I should continue, I wouldn’t, I decided. That fall, I came to school with a new lesson plan: goal-setting. I realized that I had built my entire life on the stones of small goals. Some of the kids at Fossil Ridge High School could not even think of a personal goal of their own. So I let them in on one of mine.
“I am going to shake the hand of the president of the United States,” I told them on the first day of school. They rolled their eyes and groaned. One kid laughed out loud. “Watch me,” I said, turning to pin an 8X10 picture of George and Laura Bush into the corkboard at the front of the classroom. It was a photo of the two of them on the ranch, leaning against a fence. I had ripped it from one of my mother’s free RNC calendars that morning. I wasn’t sure that I would meet the president. I just wanted my students to watch me make a goal, to see me unafraid to want something.
That spring, the ball was rolling, though it took me by surprise. I won Fossil Ridge High School Teacher of the Year along with one of my colleagues. Two months later I won Keller District Teacher of the Year, and decided that was the evidence I needed to continue teaching for one more year. Just one. The following year I was named Region XI Teacher of the Year and then Texas State Finalist, and by that time, the students who first heard of my presidential goal were no longer laughing. They were whooping and hollering with hope. As far as they were concerned, if there were a possibility that I was going to the White House with all of the other state teachers of the year, they were going to be in D.C. in spirit.
A week after my panel interview in Austin, I was giving a literature test in my classroom. The phone rang. When I received that memorable call from the Texas Commissioner of Education, announcing that I had won Texas Secondary Teacher of the Year 2007, I almost fainted. One of those sophomores asked if this meant they would not have to finish their tests.
“It’s due at the end of the period!” I barked, laughing.
The rug was ripped out from under me when I learned that Texas, in all its legendary “bigness,” has two teachers of the year, not just one, like the rest of the states and territories … and only ONE of us could go to the White House. Now, someone should explain to me why there is a shortage of chairs in Washington. I even promised not to eat anything and only drink water. No dice.
My dear friend and Texas Elementary Teacher of the Year 2007, Dana Boyd, had the honor of enjoying the Rose Garden ceremony and gala that year. I wouldn’t have had it any other way. She is amazing. But I will admit (and she knows, because she had to put up with my whining, right Dana?) that at the time I was quite jealous. I wanted to go, too. It did not make any sense. Fifty-seven or so teachers (not just the states, but Puerto Rico and the Virgin Islands and such) went to a presidential gala and ONE teacher stayed in her Virginia hotel room, watching TV with a delivery pizza in her lap. It wasn’t right.
But it taught me the most important lesson of all: PERSEVERANCE and PATIENCE are the keys. They should be an essential part of any goal-setting curriculum, anyway.
Last week, my high school alma mater, Fort Worth Christian School, held their annual fund-raising dinner, which I was thrilled to attend, because I knew George W. Bush would be giving the keynote address. I thought this finally would be my chance to shake his hand. I dared to get my hopes up again. That is, until the secretary to the school president said there was “no way.” Security would be too tight, she said. I felt another wave of disappointment, but determined to enjoy every minute. Finding my assigned table in the farthest corner on the front row of tables, I was just glad I had an unobstructed view of the podium.
When they introduced the president, he walked in (with his secret service entourage) through a door very close to where I was seated. The instant, and I mean, the INSTANT he crossed the threshold into the dining room, he looked me in the eye. Later one of my friends said, “Whatever! He wasn’t really looking at you! It was like what happens when you think the eyes in a painting are following you.” Um, no. That’s creepy. This wasn’t creepy. He just looked at me and grinned. Something on his face said, “Get ready, kid.” He winked. I looked around. Was he really winking or was it my imagination? Had he really been looking at me? Do you know HOW MANY times I have waved back at someone in a grocery store, only to have them run right past me to the person who is standing behind me? That is my daily story, y’all.
I sighed. No sooner had the ovation settled down, when the big screen lit up with my face. I froze. Several weeks before, a cameraman had come out to my classroom to capture a few shots of me teaching for a recruiting video for the school. He also had interviewed me about the school and how it influenced me and prepared me for a career. For a brief moment, he had me talk about being Texas Teacher of the Year. Of course, I told a little bit about my goal to meet George W. Bush and my great disappointment to miss out. Those clips were the ones that played suddenly on the big screen in front of 1000 people. Then a voice hammered over the microphone, “Nika Maples, the 43rd President of the United States, George W. Bush, invites you to join him at the head table for dinner this evening.”
“Shock” is not the word.
I could barely make it through the crowd without collapsing, I was crying so hard. Even though I was escorted, the trip across the dining room seemed like a trip across the vast Sahara. I thought we would never get there.
When I saw him, my hand shot out, almost involuntarily. He ignored my outstretched hand, reached up and took my face into his hands. It was only a second, but he looked me in the eye with a smile so big it was almost a laugh. No, it was definitely a laugh. Then he hugged me and kissed me on the cheek.
This is the only decent picture taken that evening (in the others, I look like an overly emotional troll … the president looks great, though). This photo captures the moment we both sat down. He turned to me and said, “Do you feel like you were just thrown into an icy ocean?”
That was exactly how it felt. I couldn’t catch my breath.