“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.”-HENRY DAVID THOREAU
These words by Thoreau are transcendent. In 2019, I’d reached the point where I couldn’t take it anymore and retired. The continual stresses of life had become insurmountable. And so, I left education but, the profundity of Thoreau and Emerson’s teachings never left me and hopefully, never left my students. So, today, I find myself on the other side of that simple life having gone through its ups and downs. We all have a story. I wouldn’t be the person I am today without the experiences which are unique to me. I am now figuratively walking in the “woods” that Thoreau talked about that I once lectured to my students about but, knew I really wasn’t living. Every time I taught it I knew I was methodically, doing what I had to do rather than what I wanted to do. There are parts of life that despite how passionately you live it can become mundane. Now, before I go on you may be thinking, I thought this was a food memory blog, so, where’s the connection? I’ll connect it all–no worries.
I was always determined to teach Emerson and Thoreau each year despite its challenges. It was a sub-unit in Romanticism, known as Transcendentalism. It is however, difficult to teach 11th graders, since they still can be immature at 16 year old. Remember age 16? I do. My 16 year old birthday party was infamous! My best friend, Shelley and I had planned every last detail. Everyone from both high schools was there! I grew up in the 70’s. It was the age of “house” parties. People were packed in my grandmother’s living room, spilling out the front door all the way down the long sidewalk of the apartments while the music from Kool and the Gang; Bootsy Collins, and The Ohio Players blasted into the streets. The night of my party our biggest challenge was how long we could turn down the lights before Mama and Grandma found out while someone quickly changed the music from disco to a slow dance R&B song. Guys instinctively grabbed their favorite girl to get in a rhythmic hard grind or two before the lights were turned back on by the watchful eyes of my mother and grandmother.
When on summer vacation in Tennessee we went to our weekly Sunday night hangout at the local skating rink with its black lights, disco ball and a DJ on the mic. The crowds of cars surrounded the building. Our Dad would drop us off and sternly say: “Be outside by 11 p.m. or else! You got that, Billy?!” My brother was never on time. I think he lived to defy curfew orders. In the 70’s we were still trying to hang on to the hippie generation of the 60’s. My favorite outfit was a pair of wide leg hip hugger bell bottom jeans, mid-drift tube top accessorized by a pucca shelled necklace and a mood ring on your index finger. I loved my wide leg jeans so much that Daddy discussed throwing them away–something I wasn’t going to tolerate without a good verbal argument on my freedom to wear what I wanted! My jeans and my afro were the bane of my father’s existence during this time. Both were my silent rebellion against authority. In fact, I don’t know which Daddy hated more, the afro or the jeans. Eventually, my jeans mysteriously disappeared one day. I always thought either my brother or Daddy threw them in the trash. I never saw them again! If I broached the subject Daddy and Bill would look at each other, shrug their shoulders, mutter something and drop the subject. They took that secret with them to the grave!
As teens we watched “Laugh In,” Good Times, Sanford and Sons and “Bewitched” on television. Then there were variety shows like Carol
Burnett and Flip Wilson with his memorable character, “Geraldine” instigating antics and ending her skit with: “You betta watch out now, sucker! and “The devil made me do it!” My father always ended each day with a nightly dose of “The Late Show” starring Johnny Carson’s monologue.
We grew up in an age of meatloaf, mashed potatoes and canned English peas. Sunday dinners were turkey wings or baked chicken, collard greens, dressing and gravy. On weekends my best friend, Jane and I would walk to the local Dairy Queen in Daytona Beach, and devour a strawberry shake, a chili dog and fries while laughing about boys (who liked who) etc. When I’d come home from school Grandma Ruth would surprise me with a peach cobbler, or bread pudding for dessert, homemade biscuits baking in the oven, while fried chicken was frying in a black cast iron skillet on the stove. Life was simple. It was as good as it gets because what could be better than one of my grandma’s hot biscuits with a side of strawberry jam and butter? Whether I was in Florida or Tennessee, life centered around food.
However, food was more than sustenance. Baking and cooking have taught me patience. I still hate the lessons patience has to teach–and I’m still learning. For example, what does it really mean to live deliberately? Well, with intention–contemplatively, yet, intentionally. It’s a difficult thing to do. For it requires scrutiny and the right balance. Think about it, but, not too long, or it’ll lead to procrastination. That’s what happened to Thoreau in “Walden.” He went to the woods to think about his path in life. Ironically, he found that when he went to the woods he recreated that same “path” he’d been on.
As for me and my teaching career, I’d “mastered” my subjects. Whether it was in the field of law or literature. Whether at the post graduate level or secondary education. I had done what I had to do to survive it all. I felt I just couldn’t teach anymore–not another research paper, not another essay, not another unmotivated child. Educating and inspiring someone else’s child is (to say the least)– exhausting. You can’t do it without sacrificing a bit of yourself each time. And if it consumes you–if it takes your sleep or whatever, I found that you will either be left on the teaching battlefield for dead, eventually, or you’ll throw in the towel and walk away. I chose the later.
I recognize that at the end of the day education is a business. A service you give and others will take and take and take with only a scattering of rewards–if any–often without even a thank you in return. The better you are at doing the job–the more the people will take. I realized that in the end if I dropped dead from exhaustion the next day a substitute teacher would be in my place for however long, and well, “the beat [would] go on” (to paraphrase Sonny and Cher’s song). It was up to me to save myself from the consequences Thoreau warned about. So, for the first time in a long time I made myself a priority –no goodbyes, or retirement cake necessary.
I’d had this lesson in life shown to me by my own father. He gave his all to coaching and teaching children. He never got a summer vacation and lived meagerly off of a teacher’s salary. Bologna and pottage meat sandwiches were our summer’s diet along with left over lunches from the free lunch summer school recreation program Dad supervised. My dad ended up with heart blockages, heart surgeries and eventually died from a poor man’s diet. He was another stressed out teacher and I saw his path inevitably, as my own. So, while walking away is difficult — sometimes it’s necessary. When I could leave responsibly, I left to go find the person I’d left behind. I just didn’t want to become the person Thoreau talked about–to find out at the end of life, I had not lived.
The end will come to all of us whether or not we’re ready. The end may take us by surprise or with knowledge of our impending conclusion. While on this journey called life I have to be careful not to walk in someone else’s path or recreate the path that I just left. Subconsciously, that too, can happen–easily, because it’s habitual. But, remembering what really, truly are essentials–well, that’s the challenge. Society still tugs at you. Family tugs at you too, to live the way they want you to live. But, that’s what I’d always done for so long. It can leave you flailing, this way or that way, in the wind. And still–you’ll never be the darling of their eye so, you might as well, chuck it and live the life you want to live. When you find it–you’ll know. Just don’t give too much of yourself because it’ll never be enough. I know now, that people can be selfish and will take as much of you as you’re willing to give–they’ll do it politely, incrementally, discretely, circuitously, craftily, but nevertheless, intently. Know for yourself what’s essential and not what someone else thinks is essential. Make sure that the path you’re on is the path for you because walking in someone else’s path is impossible unless you share the same purpose (which you don’t). Finally, since retiring (I say with a sigh) I have the time to reflect. I can take the time to put my finger in the wind, in search of deliberateness.
COPYRIGHT © 2020 by Cheryl D. Sorrells–All rights reserved. No parts of this blog may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author, Cheryl D. Sorrells. Inquiries should be addressed to Cheryl D. Sorrells @ cheryl.bakes@yahoo.com
cheryl'sbutterbakesblog 