Student Teaching Abroad (or 3 words that can make my mother cry)

To finish my Master's in Education (M.A.T.) I must complete student teaching hours. Generally speaking, that means they'll assign me to some local high school. There's certainly nothing wrong with that. Or rather, for the average person there's nothing wrong with that.

But I'm not and never will be the average person. I debunk the system all the time. I hate rules. I hate red tape. I hate program models and requirements. I want to do it my own way. Someone once said rules are meant to be broken. I believe that you cannot break a rule until you understand that rule. Then you know and understand when it is okay to break that rule. Rules exist for a reason. They exist for the people who need them, for the people who do not know how to safely cross the street. I know how to safely cross the street, so I'm not going to use the crosswalk or wait for the little green/white man to tell me to cross. So, I do things my own way.

So, student teaching. How are we going to make this a different and unusual experience? I know! I know! Teach abroad!

There are several perks to teaching abroad. First of all, it's an excuse/reason to live in a foreign country. Now, I have done a semester in England, traveled around Italy for 3 weeks, and visited all the smaller parts of the UK. I love traveling. I love living in different countries. And I love any excuse that lets me do so. Secondly, it gets me out of my hometown at least 4 months ahead of schedule. This alone is reason to go.

But that is also the reason that broke my mother's heart.

I got the idea in the first meeting of my second ED grad class. The professor of that class is in charge of a global program. She travels all over the world. Shortly after class began, she offhandedly stated that if anyone was interested in doing their student teaching abroad they should let her know. I lit up like a Christmas tree. It was brilliant. It was hope. So I let her know.

I knew this idea would upset my mother. She loves that I live at home, even if I'm rarely there. She likes to buy food for me and talk to me in person about my day and her day, and she likes to know that I'm in the house. So I knew this would not make her happy. I had said all along I was guaranteed to be home for at least a year and a half, and now I was attempting to cut it short.

She was making dinner when I came home. Dad was also in the kitchen, so that made it easy. One swift blow. "So I have a great idea! I'm really excited about it!" Often if I make it about how excited I am, they take my unsettling ideas easier. "But you're not going to like it," I added, trying not to catch them off guard. They mumbled back prompting questions about the idea. And then I spilled it. And then there was silence.

Suddenly the coarsely chopped onions became minced as my mother asked, "and where will you go?"

"Not sure. I have 34 countries to choose from. I'd like to go somewhere where the native language is English so I can concentrate on teaching literature."

"Somewhere safe?" My mother has this inherent fear of anywhere not in the US. She has this inane belief that the rest of the world is utterly unsafe. It's a little embarrassing at this point, especially since I'm such a world traveler and, knock on wood, have yet to experience anything truly unsafe or horrible.

"Yes, somewhere safe. Plus, this professor says she has had great success. Several of the students got jobs in the US immediately after finishing their student teaching. One student was offered a life-long position at the school abroad."

"So she never came back? That's what I'm afraid of. You'll never come back."

I tried to explain to her that this was only an idea, and that I had almost a year to think about it. The onions weren't getting any smaller. So I tackled it head on. "I love you, mom. I love being near you. But I hate being here. In this small town."

She brushed the onion pulp into the pot. "So where do I need to move to?" she asked. I think there were tears in her eyes. Sadly, I know for a fact that chopping onions has never made my mother tear up. Ever.

"I don't know, mommy. But as soon as I do, I'll let you know."