This must be the place

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This must be the place

art theplace Yeah, it’s true.

I had originally planned to be a teacher. When I was thinking about what I wanted to choose to major in at college, I had shifted my attention to education. The idea of standing in front of a classroom of eager and impressionable minds intrigued me.

My mother was a lifelong teacher, still is in many respects. Fresh out of college, she started in 1970 as an “ungraded teacher” for intermediate children at Mooers Elementary School on the Canadian border in Upstate New York. “Ungraded” was the term used for special education before it was coined. From there, she taught special education at Northeastern Clinton Central School, where she remained for the majority of her 34-year career (besides a short stint at nearby Rouses Point Elementary School, my hometown).

So, as one can imagine, my upbringing revolved around the local educational system. Whether it was faculty Christmas parties or summer get-togethers, or getting a ride to school by my mom instead of the school bus (which changed once I got my driver’s license), I was front-and-center in the academic depths of NCCS. Heck, I’d already known all of my eventual middle and high school teachers before I ever set foot in their classrooms (many of which even attended my baby shower).

By the time I was a sophomore at Quinnipiac University, I had a strong suspicion that I’d pick education as my major. But, around that time, I’d also discovered something else — writing. After the “lightning bolt epiphany” hit me one day while reading Jack Kerouac’s seminal novel On The Road, I put my teaching aspirations on the backburner, jumping into my truck and onto the hard pavement of America, in search of people and stories, all that experience I felt one needed to become a “great writer.”

But, as expected, I still needed to find a way to make some money while I pursued this writing thing. And that gig came during my senior year of college, in the form of an after-school teacher position at a New Haven, Connecticut inner city educational center (just down the road from QU). At 21, I was assigned to a classroom with another college girl, where we had over 20 kids between ages 10-12, each day from 3 to 6 p.m.

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It was an incredible experience, one where I truly felt that the kids taught me as much as I taught them. A lot of them were from rough homes, or homes with a lack of father figures, so many of them latched onto me when I walked in (I was the only male on the faculty). I found myself in the classroom and on the playground, standing there in front of all these curious eyes, all wanting me to open up the box of knowledge they craved, and also knew was full of big ideas and fun adventure.

Following college graduation, I headed back to Upstate New York, only to find substitute work in the exact schools I once attended. Back to NCCS, but this time I was eating lunch with my former teachers and not finding ways to make their lives crazy in the classroom. And, once again, I’d be standing there, in front of the youth of tomorrow, who were always asking me questions, always wanting to know more…

“Mr. Woodward, do you have a girlfriend?” “Mr. Woodward, did you go to school with my mom?” “Mr. Woodward, do you like chocolate or white milk with lunch?” “Mr. Woodward, why do you have a beard?”

“Not really. Yes. Chocolate. Because I’m cool,” I’d reply, moving onward with the lesson plan.

And right around the spring of 2012, I had tempted the idea of going to graduate school, to pursue a master’s degree in teaching. But, just as my back was against the wall with a lack of writing opportunities, and I was filling out school forms, something happened — a job offer from The Smoky Mountain News, some 1,024 miles from home.

I took the job. And I don’t regret one day of that decision. Four years later, I find myself within the career I’d always hoped for, one of freedom and responsibility, where I can wander this great big world in search of people, places and things that catch my eye, only to be able to share those experiences with a plethora of readers just as excited and inquisitive as I am in my endeavors.

But, part of me still wonders about if I had pursued teaching, though it’d be in reverse if I had and wondered where I’d be if I chose writing. Such is life, eh? I still want to get back into the classroom at some point, but perhaps more in the realm of higher education. I’d like to take my travels and the things I’ve discovered as a writer, and share them with a roomful of students who are the age I was when the “lightning bolt epiphany” occurred. I’d like to show them the endless possibilities of themselves, and that there’s really no formula to writing, that the only thing to know is that to be a writer, one must, well, write, and also be honest with their readers. Someday.

Life is beautiful, grasp for it, y’all.

Hot picks

1 Brother Hawk (rock/blues) will play No Name Sports Pub (Sylva) at 9:30 p.m. Friday, June 10 and at The Water’n Hole Bar & Grill (Waynesville) at 9 p.m. Saturday, June 11.

2 A gala and benefit auction will be held from 5 to 8 p.m. Saturday, June 11, at the John C. Campbell Folk School in Brasstown.

3 The “Groovin’ on the Green” concert series at The Village Green in Cashiers will host The Freeway Revival (rock/jam) at 6:30 p.m. Friday, June 10.

4 A stage production of “The Complete Works of William Shakespeare’s ‘Abridged and Revised’” will be performed by Western Carolina University Road Works at 5 p.m. Monday, June 13, at the Fines Creek Community Center Gym.

5 Tipping Point Brewing (Waynesville) will host Scott Low (Americana/Outlaw) at 9 p.m. Friday, June 10.

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