Since my days of babysitting are no longer in full swing, I decided I needed to do something to have a little money flowing. I decided that becoming a substitute teacher would be the best fit for my personality and schedule. I jumped through all the hoops and hoped this would work out and be something I really enjoyed. My first day as a sub was at a middle school, and it just so happened to be the one that my mom works at as a teacher. Sure enough, I was right across the hall from her, so that was memorable. My day went so well. I could figure out the math, and the kids did not scare me off. I thought that if I could make it out alive after a day with middle schoolers, I would be brave enough to try high schoolers the next day. I had my fingers crossed for my second day to go just as smooth as the first. My worst fear was them not taking me seriously because I was only a few years older than them, and who knows what kind of circus would erupt if that ever happened. Luckily, the students did not give me any hassle, and everything was going well. That was until my last hour. It was a fun class, and there was a group of boys that I could just tell had lively personalities. Nothing was getting out of hand, but at one point, one of them kept wandering around the room and was making a big deal out of something. “What is that smell?! It smells like gas leaking from somewhere,” he announced to the entire class. Now, the other boys are playing off of this, and I smelled nothing. They continue trying to convince me of the smell. I got up to investigate for myself. The room I was in happened to have a stove, and my first thought was “some punk played with the stove and is messing with me.” Still, I am not smelling anything, but about the time I make it halfway back to the desk, it hits me, and it hits me hard. Talk about getting an instant headache. At this point, nothing has been announced over the PA system. These boys are trying their best to get me just to let them go for the day and are informing me of what other teachers in the building are doing. Confused as to how they are getting their intel, I asked them and regretted it because they quickly waved a Snapchat video in my face of their friends from the opposite side of the building standing outside. I rolled my eyes and was quick to tell them that I have no authority just to let them go. This is where the part that stunned me comes in. In the most dramatic theatrics, a boy comes up the desk where I am standing and exclaims, “Mrs. Corne Junior! We are putting our trust in you! Mrs. Corne Junior! There is a gas leak, and I am not dying today!” I laughed hysterically at this display of flattery or whatever you want to call it. Out of the many things I could have been called by high schoolers, I took this as a compliment. Many in this class had previously had my mom as a teacher, and for them to like me and call me her junior, I felt like I had won the day. Soon, the powers that were dismissed us for the day early, and no one was harmed in the making of this story. I made my way to meet my mom at the middle school (since we carpooled), and I could not wait to tell her and the other teachers who were circled around while we waited for that building to get cleared out too (because of a leak). Everyone had a good chuckle. Since that day, I have been called that here and there from the other kids who heard about that day in Spanish class. It was determined that the leak was not coming from the property after all, but it was worth it to earn the nickname that stuck. Stay Curious, Kayla ©Inquisitive Perspectives 2018
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I said not that long ago that I was pursuing Speech-Language Pathology as a passion first and a profession second. As compelling as that sounds, the passion I have turned somewhat to panic when the reality of meeting my client was upon me. Of course, I had the knowledge base to help me here, but at the same time, this is someone’s kid in my hands. Over the winter break, I diligently organized a binder full of resources and materials. Since I did not know what type of client I would have, I was stabbing in the dark and hoping something I pulled together would work for me. My parents supported the efforts and gifted me a monogrammed bag that is now known as my therapy bag that carries all my supplies to and from the clinic. From the outside looking in, one might have thought I had it all together. Surprise! I did not. During our first clinic meeting, we were assigned our first client. Some of my prep work would be put to good use, but I still had many things to do before my first session. Some of my best ideas come during those hypothetical situations when they will never be executed, and nothing is at stake. The night before my first therapy session had me in a pinch. For all the times I was given a fake client file and asked to come up with therapy ideas and best approaches, I could crank some out, but when it came time for the real deal, I was coming up short. After a few hours had passed and some frantic texts were exchanged, I regrouped and was as prepared as I would ever get for my first therapy session. Walking out of the session, I felt good. The things that needed to get accomplished got done, and I could begin to better plan out the rest of the semester. It also helped that my kiddo is super sweet and likes to talk. What more could a speechie ask for?! After everything was said and done that night, a thought came to my mind. The session that took place that night was my one and only first client. I will never have a first session again. I mean, I will have many first sessions with new clients, but this was the big first that nothing will ever compare to during my career. It is a crazy feeling to know from that night forward I will never have the same butterfly feeling or jittery excitement of having my first client. That thought hit me hard. I took one giant step towards my future, and it made me proud of my fourteen-year-old self for choosing a career path that I would grow to love. I still have a long way to go before I ever get good at what I am doing, but this is a start. I still have degrees to earn and years of practice ahead of me. The old saying is “choose a job you love, and you will never work a day in your life.” I think I am well on my way to having this feeling. This does not mean I will not have to work hard to achieve the things I want to achieve, but it does mean that I will cherish the days when I am deep in a career and have an overflowing caseload. A lifetime is ahead of me as I embark on this adventure towards real adulthood and Speech-Language Pathology as a profession. Reaching the status of being perfect is totally unrealistic in the realm of speech for both the client and clinician. Learning will forever be in my job description. I would not have it any other way because for as long as I am living the speechie life, I will be a work in progress. Stay Curious, Kayla ©Inquisitive Perspectives 2018 |
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