Coming home

My daughter periodically has meltdowns over how much she hates Canon City, accompanied by tears and insults about how racist, small-minded, and oppressive this town is.  She doesn’t believe that once upon a time, I felt the same way.  I was just like her.  I couldn’t wait to move away and never come back.  I did the big city thing—Boulder, Denver.  I did the East Coast thing—Boston and the Cape.  I did the  South for graduate school—Virginia.  I did a thousand acre ranch in the middle of nowhere.  I did a stretch in Alamosa, which I realize was coming home without coming home.  And a short stint in the mountains, which was as close to Deliverance as I ever want to get.  No matter where I went, I always came back to Canon.  I didn’t call it home, just the place my parents were.  So in 2001, when I found myself in an impossible situation as a single mom of a seven year old and expecting a baby under unbelievable circumstances, I returned to Canon, because mom and dad were always my salvation.   I took a job at Canon City Middle School, which brought irony to a full circle.  I was back in the town I wasn’t crazy about, working at school that I had bypassed by going to Catholic school, and about to be a poor, single mother of two.  Not how I pictured my life turning out when I left town in my hot little Mustang at eighteen.

I started at Canon City Middle School (CCMS) when I was six months pregnant. I was one of the younger staff members at the time, which is saying something considering I was in my thirties.  Most of the staff was seasoned and solid in their lives and careers and they took me in like orphaned puppy.  No one asked questions; they just made me feel warm and welcome.  Inwardly, I was freaking out about all the chaos in my personal life, but I could forget about it at work, because I was having so much fun.  The kids were okay, but my colleagues were a blast.  They were always coming up with ways to play pranks on each other. Lunch time in the lounge could sometimes be so loud and boisterous that someone would have to shut the door.  I met or reconnected with some women that fall that have become life long friends, mentors, and inspirations.  Maria was with me the night Darian was born.  Karen offered me her gentle spirit.  Glenda fed me every day and had a giant baby shower for me.  Kathy brought me a giant gift of laughter every day.  And Carol sent me flowers on the behalf of the entire staff while I was in the hospital.

After Darian was born, she became a fixture in the building.  Everyone held her and looked out after her from the custodian to the principal.  By the time Darian was two, she was wandering all over the building because she knew who had candy or toys or who would read books to her.  CCMS became my family and for the first time I started to appreciate Canon City for more than just being a place where my parents lived.  I started hiking and biking the trails around town with Maria.  I started shopping and eating locally and met some great business owners and waitresses.  I learned about running into my students and their families at the grocery store and always being prepared to be friendly and courteous.   I met James at CCMS; even though our relationship began much later, the seeds of our friendship were sown that year working together, sharing laughter and frustration over eighth grade trials, tribulations, and triumphs.  And I teamed with Jill, Deanna, and Christie.  It was the first time in my life that I felt like I had sisters.  Christie was the organized one; the level headed one; that one that could handle it all.  Deanna was like having a little sister, but a smart little sister who could make me smile and inspire me with her passion.  And Jill was flat out funny, and crazy and kept everything real.  The four of us were juggling careers, motherhood, dating, marriage, and managing to teach middle school kids, but we gelled and had a blast for a few years.

Leaving CCMS in 2010 was a choice and not a choice.  Our district was facing cuts and I expressed an interest in teaching art at one point.  I pretty much had been told no, because I wasn’t elementary endorsed and the existing secondary art  teachers weren’t going anywhere, anytime soon.  However, when the restructuring came down, the HR director pulled me out of my classroom and took me into the auditorium to have a private conversation and let me know I was moving to elementary art.  At that point it didn’t feel like a choice, but I was excited about a chance at something new.  I loved the elementary kids right away.  They were so adorable and said funny things, but working in an elementary building as an elementary teacher was a culture shock.  First off, as an art teacher I was kind of on my own.  I didn’t have my team to hang with in the mornings, or eat lunch with.  There were no pranks or inside jokes.  And my janitors didn’t call me “kid,” and come tell me jokes.  And one of the secretaries was flat out mean.  I called Sheri, the CCMS secretary in tears one of my first weeks, because the elementary school secretary told me not to ask her any questions, and that I should figure things out by myself.  And staff meetings were so professional and boring.  The chairs were in neat little rows, and no one made jokes, or said WTH, or WTF when the principal said something asinine.  There were no big, raucous parties at each others’ houses with dancing and DJ’s and I didn’t have my girls anymore.  However, art and elementary kids were a much better fit for me.  And I’ve grown to love and appreciate the buildings I work in now.

I didn’t realize until my parents died how my school family has grown.  Almost every single person at both my elementary schools did something for me in the days, weeks, and months after the car accident and while my son was missing and in crisis.  And as the trauma has continued through my cancer, my school family continues to be supportive and caring and nurturing and a driving force in getting me through all my personal challenges.  This week one of my students wrapped a piece of string around his neck, really tightly.  I looked over and he was turning blue.  I ran over and grabbed a pair of scissors, but the string was too tight, but I realized that it was just wrapped, not tied, so I started unraveling it and was able to loosen it quickly and the color started returning to his face immediately and he was okay.  Me, not so much.  I mean, seriously. I signed up to teach art, not save someone’s life.  How in the hell did that even happen?  Of all the things I’ve experienced, that might have rattled me more than anything.

So I ended up at my old teammate, Jill’s, retirement party last night.  I thought about drinking because it’s been hard to get the image of that little boy’s blue face out of my head, but I’m still recovering from my damn colon infection and I’m not much of a drinker anyway.  When I got out of my truck, someone shouted my name from the house.  His voice carried all the way down the long driveway, to the road.  It was sort of like being on Cheers.  James and I laughed.  Jill was celebrating it big, as she should, and most of the old crowd was there, even if there were a few missing.  There were new people too, who have become part of my life since leaving CCMS.   The party was like coming to a place where everybody knows me and loves me.  It reminded me of coming home.

Canon is my home, even if Mom and Dad aren’t here anymore.  Darian is right—this town can be racist, and small-minded, and oppressive.  But so can anywhere else in the world.  It’s really about attitude and choosing how to fill your life that makes the difference.  Seventeen years ago, I might not have wanted to be back, but I found refuge here.  I am so grateful that I live in a place where so many people have touched my life and shown me love and warmth and acceptance.  I’m grateful for my school friends, past and present, every day.  They build me up and help me face all my challenges and remind me what love really is.