you go on and i'll be happier.

Today, dear readers, I did a hard thing.

Today, I stood up for myself.

My friend, who has been in my life since we “dated” (I use that word lightly) in 2021…is no longer my friend.

Then again, was he ever really my friend?

We haven’t spoken since we had dinner (this was mentioned in the last post), and he left the last message I sent him on read for about a month. 

All I could think was…this is it. He’s ghosted you again…or he’s at least getting ready to do it. I’d sent his daughter a box of school supplies without a response that he received the package. I waited for a message…something…anything…to indicate that he was still alive. I’m sure part of this silence has to do with the fact that he’s dating again, which helped me come to the realization that he only thinks I’m worth speaking to whenever he’s single and bored.

He’s not single, so therefore, he doesn’t need me right now.

So, I sent a long message to him, knowing that it would either go ignored or he just wouldn’t care about my feelings. Long story short, I told him that I wasn’t going to put up with another ghosting (especially after the previous ghosting lasted almost a year), I said that I was putting myself first, I mentioned what I stated above about only being his friend when he’s single, I said that I was tired of the back and forth and being treated like a joke, and most importantly, that I hope he finds his happiness in this life. 

And I do. I truly do hope he finds happiness. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for him. Once upon a time, I naively thought I would be the one to make him happy. As I admitted, also, in my previous post…I was more enamored by him than he was with me when we met. 

To my surprise, he sent a brief message back, and claimed he wasn’t ghosting me…but that if this decision is what I wanted, then he and his daughter (whom I will really miss) enjoyed knowing me.

That was it. No acknowledgement of my feelings, no admitting that he was sorry for anything. Nothing. The same lack of communication from him…a true hallmark of our friendship. I didn’t bother responding back to him.

Friends, lovers, whatever…

I was a joke to him and I always will be. 

I don’t want to end what we were, contrary to what he might think. I just felt like I had no choice but to end it before I was hurt even more by him.  I was the one who tried so damn hard to keep us afloat. So for him to be so cold and dismissive…well…it is what it is. That’s how he acted when we dated…I shouldn’t expect him to act any differently in this case. I guess I had hope that maybe, just maybe, he’d be honest with me…but I was mistaken. 

I know that when his birthday passes this September, I’ll sadly still think of him and mentally wish him a happy birthday, since I told him I won’t message him anymore.

Same for his daughter’s in October.

But mine will pass in December and he’ll go on like he always has - and never take the time to wish me a happy birthday. Christmas will approach and I’ll spend it like I did last year before he decided to come back…with the people who truly do value and love me as I am. 

I’m sad. I’m heartbroken. I’m in tears. I’m riding out the emotions and I’m trying so hard to be strong so I can get through another week of school. He doesn’t care. He never did.

I’m going to take time for me and focus on my new school year, continuing therapy and navigating my relationship with my dad, making better dietary choices (I’ve started seeing a dietician), exercising more, helping one of my dearest friends out with her final wedding preparations before the ceremony in November, and completing my graduate certificate course work for teaching English Learners (this is being paid for by the county I teach in). 

I had an incredible first week back to school with my students and although I’m exhausted (there is no kind of tired like first week of school tired), I truly felt a spark again as I got to know my new pupils. They actually seem excited about learning history so I’m going to do my due diligence and be the best teacher I can be…and not channeling my energies into wondering if my “friend” gives a shit about me every day is going to help me immensely in giving my all to my career this year. I can’t wait to document more of my adventures this year with this group of kiddos…I really can’t.

I’ll always care about him. I’ll miss him and his daughter so, so much, but really, he and I don’t fit. We never did and I’m tired of trying to make us fit. So me ending it, as much as it pains me to do so…this is just all for the best…for both of us. 

I’ll use the words of the song inspiration for this impromptu blog post (A Fine Frenzy, “Happier”) to end my ramblings for today:

You go on and I’ll be happier. You’ll be gone and I’ll be happier.

Many happy returns. 

-kate.

coffee cup and i'm sailing out to sea

Y’all, I tried so hard to draft my Rome entry while I was still in Italy…but the trip kept me busy, so I did not achieve my goal in wanting to write as I was traveling. No matter - everything has been documented and I can’t wait to share the rest of my adventures now that I’m back stateside! I had an incredible two weeks in Europe and the travel bug has bit me once more…I’m thinking…Portugal? Summer 2025? We’ll see.

I feel like I do now have some energy to continue this site, at least, for the foreseeable future. The history I took in while traipsing across Europe did reignite my passion for learning and teaching. I, however, know that I do need to actively search for other potential career paths…and I have started to apply for openings on USA Jobs. My father (we’ll talk about him in a moment) may get what he wants after all and have a daughter in the civil service.

Maybe then he’ll finally be proud of me.

Personally, things have been strange since I’ve returned from Europe and many old wounds that I thought have healed are now reopened. Of course, I am still going to therapy, and at least I have that as part of my coping mechanisms, but I was not prepared for the emotional upheavals I’ve experienced this summer…

So what better way to decompress than by having story time with y’all?

To begin our story time, I received a phone call from my mother just before her birthday. This was during the week I had returned. I already had started the week adjusting from jet lag and recovering from my annual exams; the Pap Smear, unfortunately, exacerbated my pelvic muscles and I was bedridden for two days as I suffered through painful cramping. When I finally felt better, I decided to start going on daily walks to get my 10,000 steps in…and my body was grateful for this positive choice in attempting to get some exercise. During one of those walks, my mother called, and immediately apologized for what she was about to tell me.

Confused by her words, I stopped talking and listened to her.

Apparently, my mom and dad had an argument about how my dad can be racist towards Mexicans. My mom, then, accidentally used the wrong wording about how I also think he’s racist (side note: I have never said that to him). My dad got offended by this accusation, even though I wasn’t there in the room with them to defend myself. He told my mom that he was going to stop by my house to yell and give me a piece of his mind.

I knew what my mother was trying to convey to him regarding that statement. A few months ago, while I was visiting for Sunday lunch, he’d gone on some rant about (shocker) all the Mexicans coming in through my hometown of Laredo. I was taken aback by his offensive words, gestured to my mother and I, and said we’re right here. I never, however, told him in that incident that he was a racist.

When my mom made that phone call, I was planning to visit later during the week so I could celebrate her upcoming birthday. She and I both realized it would be best for me not to go to their house until he cooled off and she could get him to understand that she misspoke. She also advised me not to text her as he sometimes has her phone and sees her text messages. So, I spent that week frustrated with my mother, in fear of my father potentially coming to my house to tell me off, saddened by the fact that I wouldn’t be able to celebrate her birthday with her, and…mainly…

Heartbroken by the realization that, after thirty-two years of being on this earth, my maternal ancestry is still something that my father has not accepted. I texted my history nerd friends in our group chat about what had happened. They know my story; they have helped me work through my feelings towards my relationship with my dad throughout the years.

Lisa: Holy shit.
Me: She was angry at him for making Mexican comments and let the comment slip.
Keith: Sometimes the truth can hurt. Then one is apt to blame someone else rather than taking the responsibility of owning it.
Me: He has said hurtful things, don’t get me wrong. But I never actually said he was racist, my mom made a mistake in the heat of the moment…and now he’s super angry at both of us.
Lisa: It sucks you got pulled into it.
Me: So much for her birthday plans this week…I’m definitely not going over to their house now.
Lisa: Probably best to not.
Keith: Oh, I believe that. The problem is that many racists don’t realize what they are saying is racist.
Me: Nope and unfortunately he’s in denial.
Keith: How can someone be racist against Mexicans, and yet be married to someone with Mexican descent?
Me: Ding ding ding!

EXACTLY. Like Keith said…why does my dad say these hurtful things about Mexican immigrants when he’s married to someone who is Mexican and, furthermore, has kids who are Mexican?

I spent the week grappling with my feelings. Some of my other friends were telling me to have a heart to heart with my dad about this incident. Those other friends, however, aren’t quite at the level of understanding that Lisa and Keith are regarding my dad. Those other friends don’t get that there is no such thing as a “heart to heart” when it comes to speaking to him. Part of me wanted to finally bring up the fact to my dad I know about the blood test his mother wanted when I was born to prove I was his daughter. My parents have always known my blood type (AB+). My sister, however, once asked what her blood type was and they told her they didn’t know it. She was upset that they didn’t know hers but knew mine. She pulled the they must love you more card.

For some reason, years ago, on my 26th birthday, this was the conversation of choice at my birthday lunch. I then started to truly wonder…why do they know my blood type and not my sister’s?

When we got home from lunch, my dad disappeared to take a nap. I found my mom and while we were alone, I decided to ask her about the blood type debacle.

She looked at me, with sadness, and said that if she told me, I better not tell my father that I’m aware. So, I promised her I wouldn’t say a word to him.

And when she told me…that’s when I realized…they don’t know my blood type because they love me more.

(You were mistaken, dear sister).

My paternal grandmother, prior to my birth…sometime during the summer of 1991…wrote a letter to my dad explaining that people should marry their own kind. She was not happy with his choice in a Mexican bride and had no qualms giving her opinion. When December arrived and my mother was about to give birth, she decided to come to Texas and (as I so stupidly thought when I was growing up) offer the family support during labor. To this day, I still have a photo of her, with us in our former Laredo home, documenting that same visit.

Only now I know she didn’t come to Laredo for genuine reasons.

On the day my mother was discharged from the hospital, my dad came to her room and told her that my grandmother wanted a blood test to prove his paternity. My grandmother truly believed my mother was a gold digger trying to trap my father into a marriage with an illegitimate Mexican child.

Me. I was the illegitimate Mexican child in question.

The blood test was performed. My dad didn’t refuse my grandmother’s request. My mother, probably mentally and physically exhausted out of her mind after having just given birth, acquiesced so they could leave the hospital ASAP. Blood test or not, I am my father’s child.

The birth of a little brown Mexican girl tainted my paternal family’s bloodlines, legitimately, and it was just something they were going to have to deal with.

Thirty-two years later and I’m tired of carrying this burden. I’m tired of not being enough for the men I date as well as not being enough for my own father. I’m tired of holding onto this pain of knowing that I was not wanted by my father’s family the moment my mother married him in the spring of 1991, simply because of my heritage. I’m tired of the past because it keeps messing up my present…and preventing me from having the future I so desperately want.

My father’s frustrations and narrowmindedness also translates into him not wanting to meet the men I date. I’ve said several times before, his refusal to meet any man I want to bring home has destroyed possible relationships from developing. Although I would be okay with keeping a distance and cutting off contact should he not accept my choice in a potential spouse, the man I’m with would also have to be okay with not knowing his future father-in-law. I would never expect anyone to convert to Catholicism on my behalf, but I would hope my faith would be respected. I would want any children to be baptized, of course, for the sake of saving their souls if God forbid, something awful happened to them in their youth. I’ve learned though, that my father still would not want to meet any boyfriend of mine, even if he was Catholic, because he would just find some other reason to dwell on as to why the man is not worthy of me.

Perfect transition then, to part two of story time!

My friend I once dated (the one who cancelled lunch plans before my trip) and I have had some interesting and open conversations about relationships. We’re okay now; we’ve discussed our disagreement about making plans/maintaining a friendship since I returned from Europe and are on speaking terms again. He once brought up that when we dated, he was enjoying the options online dating was giving to him and eventually concluded that perhaps he was taking too much advantage of these many options.

We had dinner this past weekend and he asked me if I had finished a book he’d loaned me about dating. I brought up that the subject matter in the book made me feel uneasy about the way some men approach dating; that they seem to focus on intimacy, which makes dating difficult for me. My goal is to date meaningfully…that just because I don’t want to be intimate, that doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with my decision.

I then, explained to him (yet again) that when we dated, I wasn’t trying to be intimate with him right away because I was simply trying to enjoy, you know, actual courtship…so obviously, we were both looking for different things when we met. He, however, had never been upfront about what exactly he wanted with me…even when I had asked where things were headed between us.

I also then explained to him that I hope he understood why it took me so long to process the end of whatever we were, and that was really, about the extent of our discussion. We found another topic to dwell on, enjoyed our dinner and beer and, as always, we had a nice time together. Clearly, we ARE capable of having hard, yet respectful, conversations while maintaining (I pray) a legitimate friendship.

After having had this talk with him, I realize now that I was always way more invested in him than he was in me. Three summers ago, I was catching real feelings for him…I was falling in love with him.

No, I’ll be brave and admit it now. It won’t change the outcome.

I was in wholeheartedly and unconditionally in love with him. I would’ve, back then, done anything to make him happy because I was so in love with him.

I know now, based on his admittance that he was having all the fun with online dating, he was not trying to date me “meaningfully.” He sure as hell was not falling in love with me! He could throw out every excuse he wanted to…my father, my faith, my health issues…

(In love with me? HA. He wasn’t even in like with me! Wow, I was so optimistic - gotta take off those rose colored glasses…am I right, y’all?)

Bottom line - I was never going to be good enough for him to be his girlfriend. I wasn’t someone he viewed as serious or worthy enough to be with in the long run. When we first met, he wasn’t focused on commitment and I was. I guess, all I was that summer was someone he was passing time with…to cure his boredom (and other things). At least, that’s how I’m perceiving it now that he’s told me that the summer we met was his summer of simply having fun with every single girl he matched with online. He claimed that he “cared” about me once while we dated…but I know that was a lie.

I was never special to him.

I was only one of who knows how many useless and worthless girls to him…a name lost in a sea of feminine names. I was trash, really, and he threw me away.

I was, and forevermore, nothing to him.

There can never be ‘what could have beens’ between us. I honestly fell in love, hard, and he didn’t even like me anywhere as much as I thought he did when we dated. At least I learned this hard and emotional truth this summer…although I wish I’d known it three summers ago…instead of placing all the blame on my father and my health as to why he left me.

No, he just didn’t want me in any sense because he wasn’t even thinking about embarking on a serious relationship that summer.

I wasted so much time praying and hoping for more from him…when I should’ve realized he was, from day one, never considering me for the long-term. I went home after that first date enamored and hopeful while he went home and probably asked out another girl on a date…without so much as a second thought of me.

Wow. Seriously, what a “come to Jesus” realization for me.

And even now I’ve only figured this out, on my own, with the limited evidence he’s given me: his admittance to how he approached online dating that summer we first met. I know that he’s probably never going to take ownership and point blank tell me the truth about his intentions/how he felt about me, apologize for how he treated me, or even admit why he came back after the 2023 ghosting (I wish he would just be candid for once…I think it’d make our friendship even easier to navigate, but again, I don’t want to risk pushing him away).

Three summers ago, he treated me no better than my teacher ex that I dated pre-Covid by letting me believe that that there could’ve been a chance…when clearly he had so many better options available to him.

And oddly enough, that statement is the perfect transition to the third emotional and odd moment that will conclude story time.

I thought I had finally put my teacher ex in the past. We’d mingled at happy hours scheduled by our mutual work friends and had made peace (we’d shared a friendly embrace with each other at the last happy hour we attended). I found out that he’d been in a serious relationship for almost two years and even had a child with his partner! I was happy for him that he seemingly had matured and settled down. I was proud of him.

Just before I jetted off to Europe, I learned that he was cheating on his partner/mother of his child by actively using online dating profiles…

And that he, more than likely, may have roofied and taken advantage of a girl he took out one evening.

When I told some of my girlfriends and my mother about this, they all pretty much said the same thing to me:

Can you imagine if you had continued dating him? Can you imagine if he was doing this to you while harming other girls? Can you imagine how much worse it would’ve been had you married him?

As painful as it was to navigate the end of that ‘relationship,’ then yes, I can only imagine what would’ve happened had we continued to date. I would have been absolutely miserable…just like I’m sure, right now, his partner, who apparently has decided to stay with him (more than likely, for the sake of the child) is feeling.

And as awful as he treated me, I didn’t think he’d ever go that far as to drug and assault someone.

When I heard about what he had done…my mind finally…finally went back to the year that he and I dated.

2019.

Whatever happened that year seems like it was an eternity ago, especially because of Covid.

I then remembered an event that I experienced not long after we broke up.

An event similar to what he had just done to this girl he met through his dating profile.

An event that, while I have started to come to terms with it by writing it as a part of the novel I’m attempting to draft…

(Please note, some names have been changed but everything else is true).

…Is something that is, I think, preventing me from truly wanting to physically entrust my body with anyone I date…

…And is something, I pray, that one day, I can forgive myself for…although I know the Lord has already seen to forgive me.

But yes, that all being said, this has indeed, been a strange summer of emotions.

Dear readers, I’m grateful I’m able to unload and unfold my life here to you on this site. I’m glad I have this site as an outlet to help me cope. You’ve no idea how much your reading of these posts means to me. Thank you for supporting me through my ups and downs, my mental issues, and my uncertainties as to what I truly want in this life.

Somewhere, in all this mess, this passionate history nerd is wanting to come out and just true to herself again. I pray she’s still there in this mess. I know deep down, she is still there.

I promise, next post…it’ll be all about Rome. Until then -

many happy returns…

-kate.

P.S. The title of this post is a line from my new favorite ‘go-to’ song from one of my favorite bands, Ride (shoegaze experts extraordinaire). There’s just something about this particular line that soothes me…grab a cup of coffee, casually sip on your brew as you try to tune out the noise and chaos of the world while, at the same time, attempt to find and enjoy the stillness and tranquility that life can offer you - if you look hard enough.

I don’t know, at least that’s how I’m interpreting this line from the lyrics. Really, this song does calm my nerves and makes for excellent driving music!

benvenuto a napoli

I’m so glad I was able to get past my writing slump with the last two posts I created, and now that I’m finally on my trip, I have the inspiration and motivation to document all of my European shenanigans.

After a six hour red eye flight from Dulles to Dublin, and a three hour one from Dublin to the very tiny regional airport of Naples…Michelle and I are finally on Italian soil. The flight from Dublin to Naples was particularly rough…many crying children running along the aisle and less legroom, as it wasn’t on a plane meant for a long haul international flight. I managed to sleep for an hour on this flight, probably because I was determined to drown out the noise and chaos! 

Bright eyed and bushy tailed, patiently waiting at my gate for the first leg of my journey from Dulles to Dublin. Of course, I had on my Blessed Mother necklace and my Scapular for divine protection during my trip.

Upon landing in Naples, everyone immediately got up from their seats and pushed past Michelle and I…even though we were trying to be polite and leave our seats when it was our row’s turn. How dare we try to be nice…the audacity! One of the aforementioned crying children pushed right into me after Michelle and I boarded the bus that transported us from the tarmac to the airport. The Naples airport does not have jetways, so I felt like I was transported back to the 1960s as I came down the staircase of the plane and walked the tarmac onto the outdated bus. The parents of the child who hit me, of course, did not apologize for their child’s behavior, and seeing as I am not fluent in Italian, I couldn’t very well tell them off in their native language. I also didn’t want to cause an international crisis so early on my trip, so I rolled my eyes, and let it go.

Michelle’s amazing cousin Amy, whom we are staying with in her beautiful Napoli home, waited with us as we collected our luggage from the also equally outdated baggage claim. She then escorted us to our driver (yes, we had a driver pick us up from the airport), and he, bless him, placed all of our suitcases in the back of the van. During our drive to Amy’s house, he realized we are American, and his English was not so great, but I took it upon myself to pull out my translator app and with the realization that Spanish and Italian have many things in common, attempted to converse with him in Italian. I successfully managed to tell our driver that:

1. I’m Italian American on my dad’s side and my great-grandparents were from Reggio di Calabria.

2. It was early morning back home in Washington, D.C.

3. Michelle and I were on our summer vacation and we teach teenagers.

We freshened up at Amy’s house and then took a train into Naples proper. She drove us to the train station and pointed out the beautiful coastline and beaches. We parked the car and twenty minutes later, we were in the heart of Naples. My lack of sleep did not deter me from enjoying the city (I had caught my second wind) and we eagerly followed Amy along the cobblestone streets. We stopped inside, to my joy, a Catholic church; the Basilica della Santissima Annunziata Maggiore. This church, due to the rough translation of its Italian name, is dedicated to the annunciation, or when the Angel Gabriel arrived to the Blessed Mother and told her that she was to give birth to Jesus. 

I realized, due to it being 3 PM (this the time we visited) the congregants gathered in the pews were finishing one of my favorite (and most powerful) prayers, the Chaplet of Divine Mercy. This prayer is typically recited at 3 PM because this is the time that Jesus Christ died, so we use that hour to pray and reflect on his death and the sacrifice he made for us by dying on the cross for our salvation. I pray it every day, sometimes with my mama if I’m visiting her, and find so much peace of heart when I am finished with it. It truly helps me get through my day. Imagine my delight when I recognized the prayer, even though it was being recited in Italian. I blessed myself with some holy water and we continued our trek through the city. 

We decided we needed a pastry break, so I took the risk and ordered, in Italian, a pistachio filled croissant (un cornetto) and my goodness, the Europeans do not joke about the lack of additives in their food. My croissant actually tasted like real pistachio…because it was all natural and real pistachio. The pistachio filling melted in my mouth. I couldn’t get over how delicate and buttery the crust of the actual croissant was. Amy promised us even better desserts at another patisserie, so we kept walking, this time, in search of an actual dinner before we decided to enjoy more pastries. 

My first real Italian meal, pasta carbonara.

We thought we wanted traditional Napoli pizza, but our stomachs said otherwise, and we ordered pasta dishes at the trattoria we sat down in. I’m a sucker for pasta carbonara and let’s face it…Italian American pasta is not even close to real Italian pasta. The pasta carbonara that I love to order at the Cheesecake Factory, I’m aware, is not carbonara one would find in Italy. So, reassured by the fact that pasta carbonara was on the list, I decided to order it. I also saw, on the cocktail list, the classic Italian aperol spritz, and Michelle and I did as the stupid Romans did, and decided to order one. Because, when in Rome (Naples), right?

WRONG. 

The drink was incredibly bitter and dry. Amy told us that while the aperol mix is meant to be slightly bitter (and I knew this too after some preliminary research), our drink should not have tasted like that. She promised we’d find a better aperol spritz; that the bartender probably did not properly mix the aperol base with the prosecco. 

So, we switched our drinks to Italian Fanta, which we thoroughly enjoyed because the Fanta is not the fake, bright and bold orange soda we’re used to in the United States. It’s still orange soda, but it’s made only with real and natural sugar and orange flavor. It tasted light and bubbly and was super refreshing. Michelle, who does not even like soda, loved the Fanta and has not stopped drinking it since we’ve arrived in Italy. 

Our pasta arrived and the carbonara was definitely what carbonara should look and taste like - creamy and decadent. I finished it quickly (I was starving from the flight) and didn’t feel as though I had a brick sitting in my stomach. My stomach was satisfied and content, not heavy and bloated. Amy attributed this again to Europeans not using preservatives and additives in their food.

Here I am in front of the famous Gran Caffè Gambrinus.

To walk off our meal, we continued to explore Naples. Amy insisted that we needed dessert and led us to one of Naples’s famous coffee houses, the Gran Caffè Gambrinus. This place was frequented by some of the most well-known literary icons like Ernest Hemingway, Oscar Wilde, and Jean Paul Sartre. I enjoyed eating a small pastry filled with a custard-like cream. Michelle had some sort of Italian donut coated in granulated sugar and took half of it home, as it was bigger than she had anticipated and wanted to finish it later. 

My custard filled Gambrinus treat!

Amy, Michelle, and I having our first gelato (notice the natural orange color of my beloved cantaloupe flavor).

We popped into some shops and took tourist photos at the spectacular Galleria Umberto I, but apparently, we still had dessert on the mind, because we kept talking about gelato. Amy made the executive decision to lead us to a gelato shop. I had my third dessert of the day and purchased a cup of gelato. I was craving more of a sorbet/fruit based flavor and was allowed to pick two flavors for my small sized cup. I’m always happy with lemon, so I picked the limone, but was surprised to see, of all ice cream flavors: cantaloupe. I do love me some fresh cantaloupe, but of course, had never had it in ice cream form, so I selected the melone as the second flavor. These two flavors combined were delightful. The lemon was good, but the cantaloupe was a game changer. In that moment, I thought of my mama and how much she also likes cantaloupe…and wished that she was with me in Naples so we could enjoy some gelato together.

We felt the exhaustion kick in and Amy led us back to the Napoli train station so we could take the local train back to her neighborhood. We went grocery shopping and picked up some snacks (of course, we bought a Fanta). We spent some time conversing and relaxing before we retired for the evening. One refreshing shower, a melatonin, and a comfy bed later - I was passed out and slept for a wonderful twelve hours.

Me, with the more superior aperol spritz I drank my second day in Naples.

We spent the next day relaxing and taking it easy. We booked our train tickets for Rome. Amy took us out for a quiet meal nearby her home (this time, I ordered gnocchi and thought of my papa, as gnocchi is his favorite dish). I had a superior aperol spritz at this restaurant…it tasted like I imagined; citric and easy to drink, with just the right amount of bitterness. There was a gelato shop three doors away from the restaurant…so naturally, we went there, and I had two separate scoops of gelato. One scoop, apparently, was not enough. My first scoop was a crunchy black cherry with some chocolate. My second scoop was classic pistachio. That evening, we had an earlier night so we could be well-rested for our Rome excursion.

Day two of a gelato run (here I am with my second one I purchased - the pistachio). Michelle’s a fragola girl…strawberry!

So, I’m safely in Italy. It’s been an adjustment getting used to the time change (six hours ahead of Virginia), the lack of American comforts (no regular trash service, Italian bluntness, no ice, and no central A/C), but I’m happy to be here…focusing on me…and fulfilling my European bucket list items. I’ve kept in touch with my family and my friends who actually want to speak to me, posted my major tourist moments on Facebook, and still have a few days left here in Italy, before Michelle and I take a flight to Paris and meet up with Lisa and her younger daughter.

Next up - you’ll read about our crazy Roman adventures at the Colosseum, Trevi Fountain, Holy See (Vatican) and our navigation of the Rome Metro. 

Until then…

many happy returns,

Kate

i need your grace to remind me to find my own.

Three days. Three days.

THREE days.

And then, I’ll be sitting on an international flight bound for a quick layover in Dublin (low-key kinda wish I was staying in Dublin on another Irish adventure, but oh well) before I arrive at my final destination of Naples, Italy. Michelle and I will be making Naples our home base for about a week while we traipse all around my “fatherland” and get in touch with my paternally inherited Italian side of the family. We’ve got a day set in Capri, the Amalfi Coast (ahem, Pompeii), potentially Florence (hello, Michelangelo’s David), and of course, a day dedicated to the beautiful city of Rome, with stops scheduled at the Colosseum and, where every Catholic dreams of going…Vatican City and St. Peter’s Basilica. 

Will I meet the Pope? Probably not, but still, just to be in the Eternal City…the center of the Roman Catholic Church? I can’t believe my return to Europe is just in a matter of days…but indeed, it is.

We’ll spend some down time in Naples proper, enjoying Neapolitan style pizza and hopefully basking in the night life (and maybe meet some charming Italian men) before we then board a plane to Paris/Charles de Gaulle for a quick layover in Paris. This is where Michelle and I will rendezvous with Lisa (and her daughter) before we go to our final final destination - Normandy. Lisa, Michelle, and I booked a day excursion in Paris; we’ll hit up the Louvre, Sacré-Cœur (French for the “Sacred Heart” of Jesus) of Montmartre Catholic Church (my mother already said to try to find her a rosary here), the Eiffel Tower (this is where we will probably act like idiotic Americans abroad taking gratuitous selfies), with a cruise along the River Seine to end our day. The next day, Lisa’s picking up the rental car, and we’re going on a road trip to Normandy…with a pit stop at Versailles!

We booked a charming airbnb in the commune of Port-en-Bessin-Huppain within driving distance of the major D-Day sites. On Sunday, we’re going to the D-Day Experience museum in Carentan - 

Cue Captain Lewis Nixon’s quote and uppity French pronunciation from Episode #1 (Currahee) of the epic war mini series - Band of Brothers (and duh, I’m rewatching the mini series to, you know, help me historically prepare myself for my visit):

“Airborne’s [101st] objective, gentlemen, is to take the town of Cah-rhen-tahn, or Carentan, thus linking Utah and Omaha into a single continuous beachhead.”

I’ve been waiting like, forever, to use that quote, and I fully intend to use it once we’re in Carentan for the museum visit. You can listen to it in all its Ron Livingston deadpan delivered glory since I decided to link it here (to the exact minute of the quote).

There will, of course, be other quotes from the book/series to use as we make our way through Normandy.

After the D-Day Experience, we’re going to drive over to Omaha Beach to see Lisa’s other, older daughter, perform with her high school band for a performance in honor of the D-Day 80th Anniversary commemorations. 

We will also be doing a day trip to Bayeux, where we will hopefully see the legendary Bayeux Tapestry, which tells the story of the conquest of England by William the Conqueror, and also visit Mont Saint-Michel (Saint Michael). I’m keeping my fingers crossed that we drive over and visit the Pointe du Hoc and Sainte-Mère-Église (Holy Mother [Mary] Church). Sainte-Mère-Église was the first town liberated by the Allied forces after the invasion…it’s a must-see for any World War II history nerd. 

On our way back to Paris to catch our departing flights, we’ll most likely detour to Rouen, and then it’ll be time to head back to the States.

Two weeks seems like forever…and the trip anxiety right now is real. I don’t want to say goodbye to my family, I am apprehensive about leaving my house and my comfortable bed, I’m scared that Ike and Mamie will forget all about me, I’m nervous about my luggage and the long haul flight…and I’m disappointed about the way I left things with my friend who came back into my life. We were supposed to have lunch, but of course, I’m the one who suggested to hang out and have this meet up in the first place. He finally gave me two days we could make this happen, and I went with Saturday. Then, he tells me he can’t do Saturday due to some house stuff, but can do Friday evening for dinner. Okay, cool. 

Friday evening dinner then somehow became Friday at 3 PM for lunch. Fine. Whatever. 

Then, Friday afternoon, he tells me he can’t even do 3 PM due to some work stuff delaying him from leaving his house. When I asked him why we couldn’t just move it to the evening (as he’d already earlier suggested via text), he told me why (he was going on a date) and I just felt like, once more, that I’m being taken for granted by him. All I wanted was to see him before I left. That was it. One lousy dinner. And there I went…making the plans, trying to accommodate him…but yet I’m the one who was passed over and forgotten about. 

He already accused me once of still wanting to be with him.  

And while that ship has sailed…a long, long time ago…I just thought maybe, after all this time, he at least valued my friendship enough to at least keep his word, especially since I’m leaving for awhile, and just wanted to say my goodbyes. Especially after I decided to try to trust him again once he returned at the end of 2023 and ended his disappearing act.

I don’t ever want him to think I don’t want him to find his happiness. Of course I do. I want nothing more than for him to be happy, and find the girl of his dreams (and I would hope he wants me to be happy too), but right now, it seems like it’s all going to be at my expense. Here I am, trying to make things easier for him and his schedule…like a friend should, and yet, he couldn’t even be bothered to take into account my schedule. I’ve been running around getting my trip details set and packing my suitcase, all while trying to finish this insane school year, but I still tried making time for him and worked with his schedule.

Let him be angry, let him think whatever he wants about me, let him think I’m a bitch like he thought I acted as to why he stopped talking to me the last time. I don’t care. I’ll never understand why he does this to me…why he doesn’t understand how I feel. Why he even came back. It hurts. I want to trust him, I want to rely on him as my friend, and it’s like I’m burdening him and asking for too much. I hope he knows that I’m sorry, but I also hope, this time around, he will finally understand how I’m feeling.

So right now, I’m going to use this time and this space away from him and focus on my historical adventures. I’m going to go off on this epic trip of a lifetime with people who do value my friendship, who don’t take me for granted, and will be by my side as I finally fulfill this dream of mine. 

Maybe, just maybe, this trip is what I need to revive my heart…my passions…for living, breathing, loving, and teaching history. I may not have the love of my life accompanying me, but the way this trip is happening, with Lisa and Michelle, is more than I could ever ask for.

I pray to God that this trip will save me from this slump I’ve been in…and I put it all in His hands. If I’m meant to live this life solo, then I only hope to spend my time now by exploring the unknown and making my own adventures with the people I love most in this life. So I’m taking a moment here to thank you, dear Lord, for these blessings you’ve bestowed on me…and I’ll try not to take this life for granted.

I’ll be bringing my laptop with me, and hope to find downtime to blog and write as we make our way through Europe, so please…stay posted for updates, Band of Brothers themed quotes, and all the amazing pictures. 

many, many happy returns…

-kate. 

moratorium.

I have been contemplating what to say for a new post for a while now…and I realized just today, that I don’t know what to say. For once, I have no desire to say anything. I don’t feel compelled to continue my website, at least for the foreseeable future. I don’t feel like talking about my teaching career, or the excitement I get when I teach history to my students, or even the joy I receive when I get to geek out at a museum or historical site.

No desire. Whatsoever.

And I don’t care.

Right now, I’m trying to come up for air and survive. 

Recently, I lost a friendship with the guy I had dated a couple of summers ago. I was optimistic that we could forge a friendship, and all seemed well for awhile, but then, in January, he fell off the face of the earth once more, gave me no indication he was done with being friends, ignored my text messages, and did not acknowledge anything that I sent to his daughter. I think, honestly, that’s what I’m more disappointed about this friendship ending…that I don’t get to have a friendship with his daughter, even though he promised me I’d always be able to maintain one.

Losing this friendship, with no explanation, has impacted me more than I thought it would. I know we weren’t meant to be together in the romantic sense, but I had hope for a friendship…and I thought he did too. He’s gone. His daughter is gone. And I have to accept that, even though it’s been difficult to do so. I remind myself every day that they do not belong in my life anymore and I did what I could do keep the friendship going.

This, combined with the facts that:

• My reproductive health is still affecting my day-to-day activities

• I’m tired, but can’t pinpoint why I feel so tired (thyroid, maybe?)

• this past week, I finally realized that my relationship with my father is a detriment to my personal life, and my anxiety/depression, while better than it has been since I have a therapist, still needs better control.

I could go on a tangent about my father, so I’ll give you the Reader’s Digest Version:

Nothing and no one makes him happy. I will not subject a future, potential boyfriend to my father’s beliefs, attitudes, behavior, and temperament. I don’t want this future, potential boyfriend ending a relationship with me because of my father (much like the guy mentioned above had done when he ended it with me in the Summer of 2021).

Simply put, I just want to feel better…in some way…whether it be physically or emotionally first…but I don’t know exactly how to make that happen. But I know that continuing to blog about the topics and career that used to bring me happiness isn’t going to help me feel better…since I can’t even find a silver lining in teaching history.

It’s sad for me to admit that I’ve lost the spark of loving to teach history.

But at least I’m being honest with myself.

I can’t say if I’ll come back to this website. I can’t decide if teaching is going to be my future.

I’m lucky, right now, to be able to make it out of bed every morning and find some solace during this difficult, uncertain time, in my faith.

So, I’m going keep doing that for now, and place this site on a moratorium.

Pray that I find some relief and come back sooner, rather than later, before I lose all momentum.

Many happy returns…

-kate.

remember the maine (and to hell with spain!)

I’m detouring back into historical territory for a bit only because on Monday, I finally get to kick off my favorite historical unit with my seventh graders…wait for it…

The Spanish-American War, American Imperialism & World War I.

(Or, my favorite alternative name for World War I: “Frenchies in the Trenchies!”)

Let the meme usage commence…

Anyways…we had a major snow storm that prevented us from returning back to school after our winter break “officially” ended. We should start on time this coming Monday, which means I only had to shift all my lesson plans ahead a week.

2022 Goals: At this point, I’m optimistic I don’t lose any more school days to the weather and will be able to maintain this calendar…

This is the unit, I think, where the kids really enjoy the lessons, only because of the introduction of modern warfare and when we have our discussions on the “fake news” of the 1890s - “yellow journalism.” They are able to connect yellow journalism to “clickbait” pretty easily. Two years ago, I had my students create a (school appropriate) modern day “yellow journalism” headline on an index card before they left class after we had our yellow journalism lesson.

I had some pretty awesome Hearsts and Pulitzers in 2020…

I didn’t think such a simple “exit ticket” would result in some of the weirdest and hilarious headlines I’d ever read. Apparently, one student claimed that I would be “doing a bunch of backflips in front of the school” and another student said I was giving out “free Starbucks in the parking lot before school.” My friend Lisa, apparently, was “giving out free ‘Fs’ after school.” I proudly displayed their “headlines” outside of my classroom, much to the amusement of other coworkers, as some of their names were also mentioned. I really can’t wait to see what headlines my students create this year!

I love introducing the Spanish-American War with some hilarious Mr. Betts parody videos. These videos got me and my coworkers through a challenging virtual year. The kids claimed they “hated" how cringey the videos were, but I loved laughing at their reactions on Zoom (at least, those who kept their cameras on), and later, they secretly admitted that they loved watching them whenever I played one during class. Needless to say, Mr. Betts created an amazing parody summing up the Spanish-American War to One Direction’s “classic” hit: “What Makes You Beautiful.” The students usually do a two day document based lesson (DBL) on what caused the explosion of the USS Maine, but since we’re pressed for time, and they just finished one on John D. Rockefeller, I decided to shorten it to a historical assessment of thinking (HAT). With a HAT, they are still given historical sources to make a decision, but it’s only one source and they are given two questions to respond to. A DBL, on the other hand, consists of three sources and four to five questions for each source. The HAT will be a perfect way to end the Spanish-American War; they’ll have just enough time in class to finish it…and if they complete the HAT early, they will get to read this article about the theory if World War I was caused by Gavrilo Princip eating a sandwich. This will help the students shift their focus to the second half of this unit.

More than likely, they’ll get a little bit of John Green’s Crash Course (episode #28 - American Imperialism) to summarize everything during and after the Spanish-American War…and only because I really want to hear him admit three things:

1. that ‘Remember the Maine, to Hell with Spain’ became a 19th century “meme.”

2. that American Imperialism looked like all the other imperialisms (British, Spanish, you name it).

3. that Hawaii would eventually receive statehood because “white people…and also pineapples.”

Then we’ll start World War I with focusing on the ‘powder keg’ of Europe during the summer of 1914…because World War I will not make any sense if we skip over the “MAIN” causes of the conflict.

Cue Mr. Betts and his parody of “How Far I’ll Go” from Disney’s Moana.

Austria, Italy, Germany - Triple Alliaaaaaance! Things getting hot - the Triple Entente!

Then, after watching a perfectly summarized History of World I (in One Take) courtesy of History Bombs, we’ll (hopefully) do a recreation of the alliances of Europe on the eve of World War I. The students will be split into representatives of all the major players in Europe - they will have to send messages to each other as they try to join the alliance that will most benefit them before war breaks out. They’ll also need to be able to successfully label a 1914 map of Europe - they were warned that maps were going to go beyond American borders at the start of the school year, so we’ll see how well they do with their European map annotations…

I wish I had more time to talk about the British war poets during this unit, but I may be able to embed Wilfred Owen’s Dulce et Decorum Est when we have our lesson on the weapons technology of World War I and get to the section when we discuss chemical warfare. The poem focuses on Owen witnessing the death of one of his soldiers via a gas attack, so I should be able to make this work. This also reminds me to wear my Wilfred Owen t-shirt for the lesson that day.

Side note: If you’re interested, you can listen to British actor Christopher Eccleston (the Ninth Doctor - and my favorite - from Doctor Who) recite Owen’s poem recorded during the 2013 Remembrance/Veteran’s Day commemorations.

Although I mentioned to a friend that my favorite lesson to teach during this unit is the weapons technology, I truly also enjoy teaching about the home front of World War I. The kids get to learn more about how minority groups and women responded to the war effort. We get to talk about, arguably, the coolest unit in the United States Army - the Harlem Hellfighters and their acts of bravery…and unfortunately, how their efforts weren’t recognized until years later. The role of women, working in dangerous munitions factories and as nurses, cannot go unnoticed, especially as this would set the precedent for them doing the same duties (and beyond) during World War II. The British documentary series Great Britain and the Shaping of the 20th Century has a fascinating segment about the munitions workers known as the “Canary Girls” or the “Girls With Yellow Hands” - as featured in Episode #3: “Total War” from 30:14 to 36:25, but the entire series is worth a watch! These ladies were exposed to instant death if they mishandled the TNT (stories of explosions in the munitions factories were commonplace). Long term effects were everything from infertility, their hair turning red, and their skin color turned yellow - hence the nicknames I mentioned above. Their work, however, was crucial to the Allied war effort; they truly did help win the war!

My sweet little Pershing…

The unit is wrapped up with a little Stalin, peace, land, bread, and an introduction to Communism, the entrance of the United States thanks to the Zimmermann Telegram (the students will also get the chance to decode the telegram as a unit project worth 80% of their grade), General John J. “Black Jack” Pershing (and my cat’s namesake), the “100 Days Offensive,” the armistice, and of course, the really awkward peace process (Fourteen Points, Woodrow Wilson, Treaty of Versailles, and the failed League of Nations) that would only set the foundation for World War II and the rise of totalitarian governments in Europe - here’s looking at you, Third Reich.

They’ll have two days of turning in missing assignments and working on their study guides and Zimmermann Telegram projects in class before their unit test review day. I always give them a review day - Kahoot is what I typically use for the review game, but I may recreate my Spanish-American War/Imperialism/World War I review questions on the Blooket platform instead (although I don’t know if I will be able to handle the louder chaos that ensues whenever Blooket is used instead of Kahoot).

And then, before I know it, my favorite unit will come to an end, I’ll stream the episode called “Boom” from the History Channel series America: The Story of Us, and it’ll be time to learn about the Roaring ‘20s. This unit is never given enough time, in my opinion, but as you can see, I try to pack a lot of lessons and topics into the curriculum. This is where I’m able to justify talking about European influence, my concentration from grad school if you don’t know this about me by now, and how it would impact America’s rise as a global power at the start of the 20th century. This is the time period I’ve studied in great depth, and it’s one that I’m always “brushing up” on throughout the year. I remember one of my students last year telling me it became her favorite unit because of how happy, passionate, and animated I was when I taught it.

I’ve been in a slump at school and at home, so admittedly, I am really looking forward to teaching this unit - if only to find some temporary happiness during this insane school year. I’m glad I got the extra week off after winter break. I remember crying on the phone to my mother last weekend, admitting to her that I did not have the heart or courage to return to another few months of crazy behaviors, TikTok challenges, unmotivated students, and sheer uncertainty.

So let World War I, despite its grim topics and major devastation, spark some life in me. I will not let any of my students or my personal problems take away from the joy that teaching this unit brings to my heart. Just writing this post discussing my goals and plans for the unit has already vastly improved my mood.

Monday, I’m ready for you.

End of second quarter, I’m ready for you.

End of the worst school year ever, I’m ready for you.

Check out my Twitter account over these next few weeks to keep posted on this unit’s activities if you’re interested! Until next time (and I swear, that promised post on the literature side of things I mentioned last time is on its way)…

much love and many happy returns,

-kate.

life is worth living.

The basic reason for loneliness is that man today has divorced himself from both love of God and love of neighbor. - Bishop Fulton Sheen

Feliz año nuevo, y’all! I hope everyone reading this had a blessed and joyous New Year’s holiday!

I thought I’d start today’s post with a little advice from American bishop Fulton Sheen. In fact, the title of this post is a tribute to the eponymous television series Bishop Sheen hosted in the 1950s. The church I attend gave us a Christmas gift in the form of a book. It’s called The Wisdom of Fulton Sheen: 365 Days of Inspiration. There is a quote by Bishop Sheen for every day of the year. I was glad for the gift, as I am always on the search for daily Scripture/religious words to get my day started. The words quoted above is the entry for January 1st. It spoke to me, particularly, because these last few days of 2021, I’ve been having an interesting philosophical and religious debate when it comes to what we believe (or don’t) believe in - especially if is the “make or break” of a potential romantic relationship.

During the sermon of Christmas Day mass, my priest advised the congregation to try to “find peace in our hearts,” even after another chaotic and frustrating year since the pandemic started. His words moved me to tears. Since the summer, I’d been trying so hard to let go of bitterness from the failed “relationship” I’d placed so much faith in. I knew I wasn’t angry anymore, even though I’d been led to believe by the guy that he didn’t want to be with me for my health reasons. So, for my own peace of heart (and because I missed the dorky history conversations he and I had), I sent a “Merry Christmas” message to the guy who ended it with me this past summer. I went to bed with a lighter heart that evening, only to wake up the following morning to see (much to my surprise) that he had replied.

words of wisdom for 2022.

For the next few days, we were texting on and off. He admitted to failing to convey the reason why he couldn’t end us in a better way. Apparently, he had never dated a religious girl and realized he didn’t see us working out in the future. I admittedly called him out - I never hid my Catholicism from him the entire time we dated. I asked him why did he even bother continuing to see me - especially after things became more serious - when he was aware of my faith? My emotional attachment began - he opened up my heart once things took off, only to take it away so abruptly and unfairly, despite knowing my religious affiliation. Although I’m glad he told me the truth about why he ended it, (even though for months I blamed myself and my health problems) it still doesn’t mean I’m not struggling to process this new news - he knew, from the get go, that my faith was an important part of my life, and he continued to carry on, instead of ending it before I became too emotionally invested.

So, of course I’m still hurting over his actions. I don’t think he realizes just how much I’m hurting. I don’t know if he cares that I am still heartbroken.

I, however, bravely made the offer to be friends. I told him I respected the fact that he has his work, his life, his child, and his own dating. I made it clear that I would never want to be a burden to him, but I also told him that I wasn’t going to be doing all the work in a friendship; that one-sidedness was out of the question. Like I said in my previous post, I have some pretty awesome friends whom I would not want to do life without. I’m done with fair weather friends who sure don’t mind taking advantage of my kindness, but won’t return favors whenever I need help. Or, at the very least, respond to text messages within a 12 hour window. The people in my life are in my life because we all give and take when it comes to our friendship. I’d love to be able to cultivate that with him, even though we ended pretty terribly, because I know God put him in my life for a reason.

I keep asking God: why? Why did you bring someone who, on paper, seems to check all my boxes of what I’m looking for in a partner (intelligent, funny, handsome, historically and even politically similar)…except for the biggest box of all: religiously? I remember telling my mom over the summer that yeah, this guy seems to have almost everything I’m looking for…but I’m not sure where he stands when it comes to his faith.

I remember her being happy for me that I seemed to had found someone who was able to make me smile again. I know she would have wanted to meet him. She remembers how long it took for me to say I’m ready to date again after the guy from two years ago broke up with me. She thought he was something special, then, since I had decided to keep seeing him.

…And then I remember us deciding not to tell my dad I was dating someone….because we both knew that even if he was a practicing Catholic, my dad would find some other reason to say I don’t want to meet this guy. I was worried my dad would use the guy’s divorce status, or the fact that he already had a kid, against him. Or hell, even his tattoos. Anything. No one…and I mean no one makes my dad happy (not even me) and I am still hesitant to date again. I would never want to subject anyone to my father’s criticisms. Like I’ve said in the past, I’m still navigating how to improve my relationship with my dad. Only when I know I’ve accomplished that will I feel better about introducing a potential significant other to him.

So…I’d like to think that God put this guy in my life as a reminder that I am not lonely - going back to the quote from Bishop Sheen. I have my love of neighbor, if you will, because of my wonderful friendship circles. I’ve certainly had my moments of being “alone,” but the fact that I have my love of God means that although I don’t come home to a husband, I am not lonely because God is always with me in my house and in my heart. God is forever by my side, even if I cannot physically see Him. My faith, my prayers, and my belief are what help me realize that God will be in my life. Bishop Sheen, then, is saying in his quote that, without both love of neighbor and love of God, we may find ourselves feeling more loneliness in our lives. As much as I yearned for the relationship to work out, once again, God didn’t abandon me, even though the guy did. My lack of a significant other doesn’t mean I don’t have my “neighbors” who love and care about me. I have love of neighbor and God and I am blessed to have both. Love isn’t defined as only from a husband or wife, or your bloodline. Love comes from everywhere.

…still waiting to do our ‘tropic thunder’ movie night, y’all!

Even in the shape of three dorky history nerd teachers (pictured right).

Even in the form of three intelligent and relentless “work moms.”

Even from eight courageous, beautiful, and lovely ladies I’ve known as far back as middle school and as recently as three years ago.

Even from the four-legged friends - especially three furry, fuzzy, and adorable cats I’ve mentioned several times in this blog.

And, maybe, just maybe, even from the ashes of a summer romance gone horribly wrong.

My New Year’s hope is that you all (like I’ve been able to) will find your peace of heart in 2022 - and for the rest of your lives. Whether you have love of God or not in your life, my New Year’s prayer is that you all at least find your "love of neighbor,” in any way you define love of neighbor…and that you don’t take your neighbors for granted.

Be prepared for a post of my continued forays of teaching literature to a group of middle school students who don’t enjoy reading - coming soon! Posting today on New Year’s Day just seemed to be the perfect opportunity to reflect on life before I return to writing all things historical and/or educational.

much love and many happy returns…

-kate.

in three days i'll be out of here (& not a day too soon)

Hello dear readers,

I remember when I received an offer to transfer to a different middle school just this past February. I had been incredibly frustrated with administration problems and was, to be honest, tired of having to work in the same building as my ex-boyfriend. Two years of no conversation, icy and judgmental stares from his end, and inappropriate gossip (also from his end) that had been spread to the staff (luckily, no one believed his story) was enough for me to say I’m out. 

A new middle school was projected to open in the county I teach in for the 2021-2022 school year. I submitted my application for transfer, and soon enough, I was asked to interview for a history position. The interview, really, felt more like an easy conversation - when I was asked to discuss about a proud moment as a teacher, I excitedly talked about Lisa and I taking our History Club in the fall of 2019 to lay a wreath at Arlington National Cemetery’s Tomb of the Unknown Soldier - and the next day, I received an offer from HR to teach combined 7th grade US History II and Language Arts. 

I wasn’t sure how I felt about the split curriculum, as I believed I was interviewing only for a history position (Language Arts, of course, is my second passion). My mom encouraged me reach out to the principal and ask about the split position before I decided. He was extremely gracious and full of helpful answers, and with his promise that once enrollment numbers increased the second year the school was open that I would only teach history, I gladly accepted the offer! Lisa also interviewed and received an offer. As nervous as I was at the idea of moving to a new school and having to begin again, I knew that having a fresh start would be (of course) challenging, but welcomed. Since it was a new school, every staff member would be no better or worse off than me - we were all at square one. At least I knew Lisa would still be by my side!

I shared my good news to my colleagues once my acceptance became official on my new school’s Twitter feed. I was thrilled to finally say, after two years of trying to make it happen: I’m leaving. What a mic-drop worthy moment that was when I told administration about my plans for the new school year!

As the final months of my term dwindled, I started feeling more bittersweet about my decision. My colleagues, even teachers whom I rarely encountered on a daily basis, stopped by my room and told me how much I was going to be missed. And their well-wishes sounded genuine, you know? They weren’t the generic oh, good luck to you, we’ll miss you messages. I didn’t think I’d made that much of an impact at my school (administration not appreciating my efforts made me truly believe I was replaceable), but based by how many people were taking time out of their day to stop by and say something kind...I guess I was mistaken. The fact that, during the Year of COVID, they risked social distancing to visit my classroom and tell me that my presence...my cheerful demeanor, sparkling and optimistic eyes (yes, this was verbatim commentary from a colleague!) and never-fading smile...was going to truly be missed. 

If they only knew how much I faked that smile during most of the school day. These colleagues, making these lovely comments, were definitely not teachers who were close enough to me to know about my struggles with anxiety and depression...and the fact that I still see a therapist. 

I, however, simply smiled back and thanked each person who came by to spread some positive vibes.

My history nerd team (Lisa, and our “work dad,” Keith - we kept our fourth Musketeer, Thomas, in the loop through group chat while he was on active duty this past year) knew the truth behind my fake smile and positive demeanor - they were aware of my more personal reasons to transfer. Lisa, of course, was also saddened at leaving our school, but her reasons were not fueled by a broken heart. She had more reason to be frustrated by the administration than me. She wasn’t quite as torn up by the transfer, then, as I was. 

Keith was devastated that “his girls” were seeking greener pastures, but both he and Thomas were thrilled that a better change had been bestowed on us. Lisa and I were going to miss Keith terribly - he was, really, the main reason we didn’t want to leave, so we decided to get him a “parting” gift (as if he could quit us; he lives in Lisa’s neighborhood and I saw him quite a few times this summer). Keith, though, because he is probably the sweetest person in existence, had a similar thought and gave us parting gifts on the last day of school.

Lisa: I’m not crying, you’re crying!

The prospect of leaving my ex behind, for good, certainly outweighed all the emotions I was feeling about saying goodbye to the school I started my career at - it was time to move on with my life. 

I remember I made a Spotify playlist, filled with songs about farewells and accepting change (and accepting our past mistakes) a couple of days after I accepted the offer - when it truly hit me that I was leaving! One song particularly resonated with my feelings after I had processed my new life change - (so much in that the lyrics are the title of this post) - Supergrass’s underrated hit, “St. Petersburg,” from their 2005 album, Road to Rouen. I added the song to the playlist, and once a day, during my drive to work, I listened to it, relating more and more to the lyrics as the time came closer for me to say goodbye to my final year at that school.

I mean, when I accepted the new position, it was more like in one hundred days I’ll be out of here, but hey! It was the sentiment of the song - and not a day too soon - that I could identify with. Three days, a hundred days...it didn’t matter. It was time to go as soon as my contract ended. 

June 8th, 2021 - three days before my last school day on the 11th - you bet I blasted “St. Petersburg” during my morning commute. My three day mark had finally arrived.

But if I could’ve left on that three day mark, I totally would have. 

I spent all summer, trying to fall in love again (and failing miserably - and I am not surprised), visiting my friends, cat sitting Patton, Pershing, and Millie whenever my parents went out of town, getting interior improvements done at my house, eating all the ice cream at my local ice cream place, in and out of the hospital and many doctor’s offices for follow-up appointments, teaching summer school (ca$h $$$), going to a post-COVID concert (Green Day and Weezer with Lisa...could it get any better? Rivers Cuomo, is the man, by the way!), growing closer with God and reading more scripture, and daydreaming about my first day I’d be allowed to set up my literally sparkling brand-new classroom. 

That day finally arrived a couple of weeks ago on Monday August 9th.

And it still smelled brand-new as I eyed every empty wall - a blank canvas just waiting for me transform into art...so I could make it my cozy home away from home. Out came all my history and literature posters from storage, many many Command poster strips, pocket laminator, glue gun, and my trusty Cricut, armed with fresh rolls of vinyl and my amazing collection of cardstock. I went in to school, before the work week started, to begin my decorating. My mom even came in with me one day to help me organize all the supplies she’d gifted me after she retired from teaching at the end of the COVID school year. She was so impressed by the state-of-the-art building and technology. You could see the pride in her eyes - my daughter gets to cultivate her career here - as we walked around the school. It felt amazing (and reassuring) that at least one of my parents is genuinely thrilled with the life choices I have made so far. 

I promised myself, after the guy from the previous post left me, that I would (as I usually did after a heartbreak) dedicate my energies even more to my career.  What did he matter, really, I kept asking myself as I lovingly arranged each poster to the walls. He can go ahead and hate me, I said, as I tacked twinkle lights to one of my dry erase boards to make it look more festive. Let him be happy with someone who can give him what he wants, I repeated out loud as I ran Cricut project after Cricut project with my MacBook. My true love of teaching and learning had never abandoned me - it shaped me into the weird and awkward girl I am now, and I’m not ashamed. I hope, should I ever fall in love again, that the man I meet will understand that my passion and heart truly do belong to teaching. I felt safe, once again, ensconced my little classroom corner of the world, ready to embark on my fresh start. I deserved a fresh start, and there it was, literally staring me back in my face in the form of a newly constructed classroom. 

Desks and chairs have been arranged, my technology has been plugged in, (my new docking station is incredible) although I’m still waiting for my new SMART Board to be configured by our IT guy, the teacher work week ended just this past Friday with so much food (seriously, a breakfast or lunch was provided every day!), new school swag (I lost count of how many t-shirts I was given), tons of positive energy, and, of course, socialization with my new colleagues (although, I will admit, I have stayed by Lisa’s side throughout the entire time...she also, like Keith, can’t quit me), and most importantly, my classroom is ready for my new students. 

My anxiety is rising, only because it has been a long time since I’ve actually, you know “teachered.” I haven’t been in front of more than six students in a physical classroom since March of 2020. What is classroom management now in a post-Zoom only world, I ask you? Nervous is an understatement, but I met some of my students and their families at our Welcome Back event during the work week. I loved seeing the excitement and joy in their eyes at the prospect of returning to a regular school year...especially in such a stunning new building. 

So, yeah. I’m nervous, but in the best way possible. 

This is God’s plan, unfolding right before my eyes. Maybe I still don’t get to have the opportunity to fall in love and start my family. Having the chance to open a new school, with my best friend at my side, teaching my favorite topics, and working for an administration who truly treats us like a family? I can’t take my life for granted right now. Sure, like I said last time, the shoe dropped in my love life when he finally decided to leave me. Maybe this new school thing is too good to be true, but then again, would God really drop another shoe and want me to be unhappy in both my personal and professional life? Can we really have it all?

I’d like to hold onto hope that one day, I can have a fair balance of a fulfilled personal and professional life. Sacrifices must always be made, but I know I’m willing to be flexible should I have to choose having a family over my career. A supportive husband, though, would allow me to have both, if I truly wanted to be a working mother. For now, I don’t have to think of that possibility. I’m a long way from a marriage, let alone having a child. I get to focus on being the best version of me. I will continue to fight my anxiety and depression waves. I will nurture my teaching career. I will regain my strength, get more answers to my fertility questions, and start my physical therapy in September so I can have more energy to be on my feet all day and fit in exercise. I will, most importantly, strengthen my relationship with my faith and take care of myself. 

It’s about time I finally fulfill that last promise. 

Be ready to see this history nerd in action - my post featuring my first week (& classroom pictures, but you get a sneak peek of my door - sponsored by Cricut - today) is coming...as well as a reflection on how I feel about teaching Language Arts again. Click on this Twitter link (or my Instagram) and follow my new adventures there too!

Many happy returns,

-Kate