Sally Huggins Toner

Happy New Year!

It’s what my mother taught me to say at the end of every August from as early as I can remember. I’m a teacher’s kid, you see. And a teacher. The beauty of what we do is that every year is a chance to reinvent ourselves. We never lose the excitement of shopping for school supplies, picking out new pencil boxes, freshening up our magic markers. Every August, after two months off, I unlock the door to a clean classroom. Every August, at the end of the month, I will greet five or six classes of new students. Every August, on that last night before the first full day of school, I won’t sleep a wink. The night before the first day of school and Christmas Eve have always been the two guaranteed sleepless nights of the year. My outfit, carefully chosen, lies draped across the chest at the foot of the bed just like presents I haven’t seen wait under the tree.

Okay, it’s not all enthusiasm. I also, starting about beginning of the August each year, start having the stress dreams. Those who have taught know them. You’re trying to teach a lesson, and the kids are swinging from the rafters. No one quiets down to listen to your wisdom, no matter how hard you try, no matter how much you shout. Someone may be trying to start a fire in a desk in the back of the room.

Oh wait, that actually happened my first year teaching middle school.

It’s been a busy summer and a productive one, for which I am most grateful. I spent time with family in North Carolina, New York, Boston, and Georgia. On that Odyssey in the land of peaches, I actually drove a VW Bug, the same make of car my father crossed the state in with my mother 50 years ago. (I think my car was in a little better shape than his, from what my mom says.) I taught my nephew how to play gin rummy and checked out an arcade in Chinatown with him and his sister, proudly watching him navigate the One Line. I wrote my other nephew a poem and got to see the first garden he ever planted. I toured the House of the Seven Gables and stood in the cemetery where Giles Corey refused to rat out his friends.

I made art. My first published collection, Anansi and Friends, came out the first week of August. For those of you who are interested, it’s available on Amazon here , Barnes and Noble or Finishing Line Press itself. I also completed a collaboration with my friend Morgan. She’s a brilliant visual artist, and the exhibit, still hanging in the Jo Ann Rose Gallery at Lake Anne, Reston, is called Finding Home. Again, for those interested, it’s there for another week. This collection of oil paintings and accompanying poems addressing legacy, place, and rebirth began another summer years ago. I first fell in love with Morgan’s art when were neighbors, and I helped her set up a booth at the Lake Anne Farmer’s market on Saturday mornings. She’s in Arlington now, but the stars aligned, and we were able to bring her work back home. I have spent a good part of 2019 writing words to go with it. So incredibly fun.

There will be more motion in the school year to come. We have two seniors, one in high school and one in college. Because of how recruiting works, we are fairly certain that Second Born will be heading to San Diego this time next year. Her older sister will graduate in December, and, if all goes according to plan, will apply to grad schools in performance early this spring. By this time next year, we should know where she will be as well.

That’s the thing, though. If I’ve learned anything in almost half a century on this planet, it’s that things often DON’T go “according to plan.” In fact, they rarely do. At times, that capriciousness of circumstance breaks our hearts, for ourselves and others. Trauma is real. Grief is real. People often don’t get what they deserve, for good or for bad. But, as Fitzgerald says, “We beat on, boats against the current…”

You had to know I’d get Gatsby in there somewhere, didn’t you? I mean, come on…it’s the first novel I have taught every year for…um…a while.

What we’ve learned. Or, “When I was_____, I learned____.” That will be my first day activity this year. (And if any of my future students are looking me up on Twitter and find this, and it spoils the surprise, I am very sorry…and you need to get a life.)

“When I was____, I learned____” was an activity we did at the Bridgewater International Poetry Festival in May. We were asked to choose a specific incident of learning and compose a prose poem using that scene. I have been mulling around adjusting that and meshing it with Maya Angelou’s ten point piece “I’ve Learned” to come up with something for students to consider as they begin the year. None of us comes into a situation a blank slate. We all have educational experiences, positive and negative, that shape our view, sometimes holding us back but hopefully, with a little reflection, helping us to move forward. To me, that’s what learning is. Moving forward.

So I’m posting my version of “What I’ve Learned in my 40’s”—the model I’ve come up with to share with my classes. The last line of Angelou’s poem rings true for this veteran educator.

“I’ve learned I still have a lot to learn.”

So let the learning begin, for all of us.

And Happy New Year!

In my 40’s, I Have Learned…

By Sally Toner

1. Balance is a fluid thing. If you lock your knees, you’ll fall.
2. You should watch a sunrise with a child whenever possible.
3. We can all leap higher than we think.
4. Anger is okay, but what we say in anger rarely is.
5. We all need a squad.
6. Hair grows back.
7. I come from high places, low places, and everything in between.
8. While cleaning up our messes, we must remember there’s always something we did right.
9. It’s never too late to fall in love…or to learn to surf.
10. Blood, and everything else, flows better when I unclench my fist.