What I Teach?

What I teach is never as important as why I teach. The answer is simple:

To inspire and instill hope in someone's child. I know it's a bit arrogant or perhaps even vastly supreme of me to think I can actually inspire anyone, including a child, but it's true. Sure, I teach drama because I love and respect the craft, but I also don't expect any one of my students to be anything more than an average person with an average life. Still, I can't shake the nagging feeling that maybe I am making a difference, however small and modest, in someone's child. Someone who drinks. Someone who is abusive. Someone who doesn't deserve this child.

I thought at one point in my early motherhood years that I could and would raise a son who was every parent's dream child. A son who was handsome. A son who was likable among his peers. A son who was smart and talented. A son who would say "no" to all things bad and harmful. But I made some mistakes and I will list them below for you to agree or disagree with, as you wish:

1. I thought a belief in God could replace any religion.
2. I thought telling him he was handsome, likable, smart and talented would make him so.
3. I thought letting him push the envelope of rules and authority would help him understand his boundaries.
4. I thought loving him was enough.
5. I thought providing a clean, safe home to live in would make him feel safe and secure.

See? I say these are mistake because today I learned something about him that crushed me...deeply. And while I look back at my own teenage years and realize I crushed my mother as well and still turned out successful, as a mother I feel like a failure.

In time, I'm sure, the true testament of my guidance, love and support for him will slowly reveal itself. But for now..for now I must hide my tail between my legs and lick my wounds.

Of the Angels

My middle name is starting to grow on me. It is quite unique and even ethereal..."Maria de los angeles" which literally means "Maria of the angels." No, it doesn't mean I'm from LA. It just means I'm different. Complicated. Not easy to say. But for years I hid in shame that my name was so ethnic and in this constantly morphing world of immigrants and exotic cultures, I finally have accepted my full name. Here it goes:

Jeannette Maria de los angeles Alfaro Herrera Incera Vargas.

Whew! I'm not even including my ex husband's (Peterson) which I changed to Hershberger, my husband's last name. I guess my name sort of reflects the many lives I've led and that's okay. Oh-kay.

Okay?