The following is a guest post by Kathy McBroom. She blogs for teachers and Christians at Real Life. Real Faith.
Growing Tomatoes in Wintertime
This past summer my two accidental tomato plants produced some amazing tomatoes. I say ‘accidental’ because while visiting a nursery last spring with some friends, in a weak moment I bought two tomato plants. We were scheduled to leave for Haiti the following week, so I arranged for a friend to come by and water the plants. I wished the tomatoes well. At our house plants must have a will to live.
When we came back, all I could say was, “Wow.” It was like the plants had been watered with steroids. They were huge; some of the best tomatoes I’d ever grown.
I was advised to save some seeds as starters for next year. I did, and there is now a small bag of seeds hidden in a kitchen drawer. After I pulled the dead plants out of the planters, I noticed there was a section that was still alive. I plucked it off and stuck it in a paper cup. I added some water. And then that thing grew and grew. I moved it into a pot. It grew some more. So I repotted it. It is now November, and I am in unknown territory. The plant is huge, unwieldy. I’m out of my league with these tomatoes, unsure what will happen next and what I will do about it. But I can’t let them go. I’m all in.
I never meant to be a teacher. I was Miss Playful in college, not much direction at all. On a whim, I added an English/Secondary Ed minor and student taught. I assumed it wouldn’t last. Teaching, like growing tomatoes, was something I had fallen into without much of a plan. I didn’t know what I was doing. Then, like my tomatoes, something unexpected happened. I fell in love with the kids — high achievers, low achievers, and all those in the middle. I started spending hours planning, and still do even though I ought to have it down by now. The seasons that I was out of teaching, I was drawn back to the classroom. The bells. Schools lunches. Pep rallies. Homecoming.
In spite of never majoring in English, I’ve now taught it to high schoolers for nearly 23 years. I still find myself sitting in English department meetings and having no idea what others are talking about. But I have never been a quitter.
The kids have changed. I’ve changed. Education has changed. The emphasis on data and test scores and the constant game-changing is confusing, annoying, and frustrating. These days I am surrounded by younger teachers with sharper minds, but I’m not done yet.
Like that tomato plant out by my garage that grew to an astonishing size, I can’t seem to let it go. I can’t give it up.
Maybe it’s pride. Maybe it’s an overachiever attitude. Maybe it’s because even though I’m now over 50, I can still remember things that my teachers taught me. I like a challenge. I can’t say no. I can’t give up until I’ve given all that I have.
I got into teaching the same way I got into growing tomatoes — on a whim. But in spite of the constant challenges, I won’t walk away. I’ll continue to stretch, to grow, and to ripen. I won’t allow myself to wither on the vine. I’m all in.