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The Price of Education and Teaching: Part V

Coming to terms with loss.

By Martina R. GallegosPublished 7 years ago 5 min read
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Letter of admission and picture of dad,  R. I. P.

I knew I'd get in touch with my former high school teacher, and I was anxiously looking forward to it.

It was always great talking to her because she was always positive and encouraging; she had more faith in me than I did, and she always asked to keep in touch. I don't even remember spending time with my siblings, especially since they lived with different relatives, and now different cities as well.

Going back to university was very unnerving because some student had been harassing me around campus. I let many teachers, advisors, other students, campus police, and the campus newspaper know about the bullying, but nobody did anything about it. First, it was just one girl, but then her friend joined, then two male friends started doing the same thing. I began to have nightmares and was afraid to go to school or walk around campus and back home by myself. They were now bullying me everywhere, hallways, parking lots, right out of classrooms, and in front of students coming out of Chicano Studies classes.

I finally told one of my brothers who'd started attending the same campus. Once he walked with me to my car, and sure enough, the four thugs were right behind us and started harassing and making fun of me. My brother asked them to stop, but they continued. I just got in my car and left and didn't tell or ask my brother anything, but the bullying stopped.

I was finally relieved of that nightmare and could focus on school again. However, I saw the need to seek psychological help as I still feared walking to and from or around campus alone, but sometimes I'd drive.

The psychologist quickly referred me to a psychiatrist who was anxious to put me on meds before greeting me at first meeting, and that was the last time I saw that shrink. I also talked to the psychologist and told him to be careful who he sent students to.

One of my sisters had suffered from mental illness since adolescence and was getting worse; she felt she was losing the support of her medical team, and she was. I'd seen how "medical professionals" treated patients with mental illnesses. They dehumanized and treated them like worthless trash, and they didn't listen to patients or clients' worries, fears, or concerns. Practitioners discouraged patients instead of encouraging and making them feel useful and productive.

I think it was just at the beginning of a new semester when I got a visit from some police officers who asked if I knew such and such and who she lived with. I asked them to get to the point because I knew bad news was ready to spew, and sure enough, they told me my sister had passed away, and that somebody had called 911 just a couple of hours ago. They asked if she practiced any religion because they wanted to do an autopsy. I told them I wasn't exactly sure, she didn't believe in autopsies, and of course, they wanted to know why. I told them I'd heard her talk about reincarnation and was against the desecration of the body, so no autopsy was conducted.

My sister had been the life of the party at family gatherings. She made everyone laugh with her sense of humor and practical jokes, but she also hid a deep sadness in her, and the loss of her son to another sister didn't help matters one bit. But life had to go on. I I knew she'd want it no other way. I remember when she'd say, "I can't believe my dumb, or worse, siblings are college students." But then she'd say, "No, I'm just kidding. I'm really proud of all for working hard to go to school." And she'd have a good laugh because she couldn't understand where we got our "intelligence" from.

My sister's death sent me into a deep depression, and I felt I was spiraling out of control, so I returned to see my psychologist but refused to see the shrink again. I was aware I needed to be very careful about my thoughts, actions, and feelings on a daily basis and minute by minute, but I survived and graduated with my B. A. the following year. Now I'd have to finish my teaching credentials and knew there was a campus back home, so I decided to return to Oxnard after graduation. I also went back to work for Oxnard Elementary School District as a teacher assistant till I was ready to do my student teaching. OESD was happy to have me back, and happier that I was pursuing a teaching credential. I'd worked in the district for over six years before I transferred to the university, and they'd always been happy with my job and how I connected with most teachers, students, and parents. I also worked with bilingual, monolingual K-8th, and all classifications of special education, but kindergarten wasn't my favorite. I felt more comfortable with first to third, preferably second, but I never said no to an assignment.

After I finished the one remaining semester of my credential, I was ready to do my student teaching, but I had to find a Master Teacher because I didn't have an Emergency Credential yet. I ended up going back to the same district and school where I'd been a tutor for migrant students and found a Master Teacher in a 4th/5th combination class. The grouping made me nervous, but I did fine and got a great letter of recommendation. I finished the second part of my student teaching in my classroom after applying and getting an Emergency Credential. I'd actually applied for jobs at the three local districts, and all three called me back and offered me a job. I chose the one closest to where I live, only about three blocks away. Oops, my bad...!

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About the Creator

Martina R. Gallegos

Ms. Gallegos came from Mexico as a teen; she went to university, and got her teaching credential.She graduated with her M.A. June 2015 after a severe stroke. Works have appeared in Silver Birch Press, Lummox, https://poetry309.wordpress.com

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