A Clean Slate

I painted one of our bathrooms today. Just a little bathroom, not even a powder bath (no sink); it barely took two hours. But I still feel accomplished, excited, renewed.

I love to paint. You can take a place that looks drab, old, murky, and turn it into something completely new. I love starting with just the vision of what it could be--this new place. You think about colors, patterns, maybe what decorations you could add. Then, after taping (I really hate taping), you start to transform. To me, half the fun is stopping in the middle, checking my progress; like watching a sunset slowly slide into the horizon, I can watch the old walls slowly disappear and the new room begin to take form.

Sure, some of it is the high from the paint fumes. And some of it is the zen-like groove I get: dip the roller, make some Xs, roll to blend sideways, then finish it all with a vertical sweep to smooth the wall. Repeat. But, mostly, it's the possibility. I can turn this place into anything I want. And, hey, if I don't like it, I can just start again!

I think part of me likes this about teaching, as well. Each new school year is like a room I've just painted. It's bright, fresh, new; now, what do I want to do with it? Each school year starts out with the possibilities of a great class, of hilarious moments, of teaching kids something that didn't think they would ever learn. Each year I have new techniques, new ideas, different plans for how I want to change things up. I can't imagine looking around at the same, boring walls each year, saying the same speeches, doing lessons the same way. Each year I have to pick out a bright color, a bolder way of looking at things, a different game plan that will fit with this group of kids. Like painting, teaching has a way of making the old new, of wiping out the bad or out-of-style decor from before, and giving me hope of what could be.

Sometimes, a project requires sanding, spackle, sanding some more, maybe even replacing some of the wood. Sometimes, a class requires breaking bad habits, molding better behaviors, maybe even completely changing a kid's perspective on his/her own way of maneuvering through life. But when you see the finished product, when you hear someone else say, "Oh, my, what a change," it's always worth the extra elbow grease in the end.

My father-in-law just got me a really cool present (a Miguel Cabrera plaque!), as a thank you for work I've done on the family cabin--painting being one of the jobs I've personally enjoyed the most. I also just got a thank you note from a former student, a girl I've followed from the time she entered my classroom at age 6 until her graduation, this past June. The plaque and the thank you note are sitting together, front and center on my desk in the living room, a reminder of how others can be affected by what I do. But in both cases, the thanks aren't necessary. The reward is sitting back and looking with pride at a job well done, at how a little paint can make a difference one stroke at a time.