My Envelopment as a Teacher, Part One: How I Got My Teaching Degree

I first decided to pursue teaching when I was a junior in high school. At first, I considered Journalism, but I decided that wasn’t for me. Looking back now, I’m not even sure exactly why—except that I shared a story I had written with some second graders (their school was on the hill above my high school building) that year—and they loved it! I loved their enthusiasm, the questions they asked—just being with them, and I thought to myself, I could do this. I recalled how I’d “taught” neighbor kids in the past—making up little lessons and practice exercises for them; and I also recounted how I’d held “school” with my dolls and stuffed animals from the time I was little. Teaching seemed to be in me.

After graduating from high school, my biggest event on the agenda was getting married. We planned to move from the coastal region to Corvallis, where I’d been accepted to Oregon State University. I never considered any other college. It was where two of my cousins had attended, and a third—my senior classmate, Tricia—would be going with me. It promised to be fun!

My first year at OSU whizzed by, and I struggled in some of my classes, receiving D’s in two of them. One was due to lack of understanding—and not even knowing what questions to ask; the other was due primarily to lack of attendance (it was an early-morning history class). I felt a bit beat up by it all, but I still wanted to be a teacher. Byron had begun attending Linn-Benton Community College and suggested I transfer there. At first, I saw that simply as confirmation that I wasn’t cut out for university—in short, a failure. But the more he talked about it—how the instructors were so helpful, class sizes were manageable, the campus had a welcoming feel to it (not to mention being much smaller)—the more I decided it might be just the ticket I needed to get me back on track. 

While at LBCC, I completed a three-week experience called Sophomore Block. There was a small Christian school at the church we attended at the time, so I asked the Block advisor, as well as the teacher of the classroom I wanted to help in, if I could complete my training experience there in his third, fourth, and fifth grade class. Some of it was observation, but some of it was interactive, and I had to plan and conduct a certain number of lessons. My supervising teacher, Steve Bittner, told me I was a “born teacher.” I wasn’t so sure I believed him, but it did give me the motivation to keep at it and pursue my teaching degree.

After about a year and a half at Linn-Benton (which I loved, by the way), I transferred back to OSU. I gladly retook my history class and got a B this time. But doggone it, I still had to take one more of the series of dreaded math classes—the one I’d gotten a D in. I put it off as long as I could, but my final term I had to take it—Math for Elementary Teachers. It may not sound so scary, but it required a type of learning I’d never had to do, involving determining several possible ways of solving a problem and then choosing one of those by which to find the answer. The concepts were foreign to me—my brain was not wired in such a way! I knew I was floundering, even though my math-brain/also an elementary ed major friend, Kim, helped me over and over. 

The College of Education would be offering a one-year Master’s in Teaching program the following year. Only fifty applicants would be chosen. One consideration factor was specified courses…another was grades. A screening interview was another hoop in the process. My main worry was my math class. I went to my advisor to see what, if anything, I could do. I was working hard but failing exams. Somehow, as I later came to understand, she went to my instructor and persuaded him to make sure I got at least a D in the course. To this day I don’t know if I earned the “D” I ended the term with or if it was an act of mercy. Either way, it got me in the door. 

Being directionally challenged, I was struggling to find the school that had been chosen as the interview site. I was feeling quite panicked and praying that God would somehow come to my rescue. This was before cell phones and GPS’s, of course. I managed to find it but arrived a few minutes late. I worried that would look really bad and be a mark against me, but I took a deep breath and dove into the interview. The professors were gracious and didn’t seem too concerned about my late arrival, so I took it as a good sign. I left the interview feeling I’d done my best…but would it be good enough?

About a week later, I received word that I was indeed one of the fifty chosen for the Master of Arts in Teaching program. So shortly after graduating with my Bachelor’s, I began summer courses for my Master’s. My friend Kim was also one of the fifty. Some were doing the secondary education track, but most of us were elementary. We became known as the elementary ed cohort. I was actually part of something that had to do with education. We were tomorrow’s teachers—it was thrilling!

My teaching internship began in September. I was placed in a kindergarten class with a seasoned, very matter-of-fact teacher…and I was utterly terrified. Each day it became harder and harder to go; each day I made some sort of mistake or error in judgment that seemed to upset this teacher. She was supposed to be a mentor…but what I needed was a friend who could also be a mentor. After a month of feeling like I just didn’t fit with this person, let alone in a kindergarten class, I told my major professor what was going on—how I was sick to my stomach every morning and couldn’t really connect with the classroom teacher or level. 

There was hope. There happened to be an opening in a second grade class at a different school. I went to meet with the teacher. She was welcoming and laid back—she didn’t seem to have unrealistic expectations, and she didn’t make me feel at all inferior. It was refreshing. I signed right up.

But soon there was another reason to feel sick to my stomach. In October I found out that I was pregnant. We had planned on me teaching for a few years before starting a family. And my due date was supposedly in May! What if I couldn’t finish my program?! Again my professor, Barb, was understanding. She was excited for me and assured me that things would work out, even if I was a few weeks shy of full completion. Huge relief swept over me. I knew my mentor teacher would be supportive as well—she had grown children, and I had learned that things didn’t ever really shock or flap her. 

Teaching while pregnant, though, had its definite challenges. I had to do three supervised lessons, create units, and develop a plan for classroom management. It was the latter that proved to be my downfall. My mentor teacher, Jan, believed in natural and logical consequences. There were several kids in the classroom with moderate to severe behavioral/attentional issues. Before I started my internship, I thought one could simply make kids behave—I learned it wasn’t quite that simple. One lesson, in particular, resulted in my mortification. I couldn’t get control of the class, and Barb was watching. It was awful. I thought for sure I’d be kicked out of the program and never receive my teaching credential. Barb had to finally step in and take over. Completely devastating. She was kind, but she did let me know that it was a serious problem.

From then on, I worked hard on classroom management…but never felt that I fully got a handle on it. And then, in my seventh month, my mother had a thyroid storm and ended up having a psychotic episode. Not only was I very pregnant—I was basically just in survival mode…and now I’d lost the mom I knew. The person I went to see in the hospital I simply didn’t recognize. As an only child, the weight of this hit me really hard. It was hard to tell up from down, but I prayed fervently. And I got through the school year, my due date having been upgraded to June 25^th. The kids in my class threw me a wonderful surprised baby shower.

I applied for a few teaching jobs, but now that I knew a baby was on the way my heart wasn’t fully in it. After turning down an offer to teach in Lakeview, Oregon, we decided I would stay home for a while. Byron would quit school and work full-time. 

A week after walking in my Master’s ceremony, I gave birth to Kristiana Lorraine Kephart. My heart was immediately captured, and I stayed home with her for ten months. But we needed more income. So I finally resorted to applying at a local preschool. It wasn’t what I wanted, but there was a daycare on site for Kristiana, so I could be close to her. 

I got the job but after a couple months began to have conflict with the management. I had an unruly four-year-old who was getting the best of me at times, but the rest of the time we had remarkable interactions. I had had some great successes, such as robot art, the brownie train, journaling…but at this point, I was not living up to expectations. After three months there, I resigned, feeling like a first-class failure. Maybe it was a good thing I hadn’t gotten a teaching job—I probably would have botched it anyway.

Perhaps there would be more opportunity for both of us elsewhere—in a bigger city—not Portland proper but perhaps the Beaverton area. We made a risky decision to move in with some friends and embark on our first real adventure since having Kristiana. That’s when I started running from the teacher in me.