It was a hot day in July, the summer after Sandy’s first year of teaching. Sandy was sitting on the backyard swing with a diary in her hand.  When she got her first job as a teacher, her mother had given her the diary to record “all those triumphant teacher moments.”

Sandy had gone to college not really knowing what she wanted to be or do with her life.  Growing up, she had wanted to be a writer, a psychologist, a lawyer… But when Sandy’s friends who wanted to be teachers talked about what they wanted to do, their faces seemed to light up as they talked about making the world a better place.

However, the first year of teaching was not as enchanting as she had thought it would be. The first entries in her journal were usually brief – Sandy was too tired to write much at the end of the day.

         September 7 - Teaching is harder than I thought it would be.

October 1 - I got my first teaching check today . . . was it worth it?

October 10 – I can’t change these kids’ home lives – how can I expect them to do homework, when there is often no support?

November 8 -  I’m not sure I’m cut out to be a teacher.

As she leafed through the pages on this lazy summer day, Sandy could see the faces of her 30 third-graders:

         Paul sat right by her desk – even that didn’t stop his constant talking! But she had sent a note home every day to let his parents know.  Sandy had worked hard at being consistent. 

Connie, cute as a button, never did one piece of homework.  And Sandy had worked so hard to get her parents to help, but they wouldn’t even return her phone calls. 

Sitting quietly, almost invisibly, in the back of the room was Jane wearing the same dress she had worn all week. Did she ever smile?  

Michael sat to the left of her desk, a sweet little boy, but when he read aloud, Sandy got impatient – he called so many words wrong!

Sandy sat back and remembered how many times she had climbed, frustrated, into her car at the end of the school day, nearly crying tears of frustration. She tried so hard to be a good teacher, but it didn’t seem as though she was making a difference of any kind, let alone a difference that would make the world a better place.

But halfway through the diary, Sandy noticed that her entries had become longer. They focused less on her frustration and more on the kids themselves. 

Sandy began reading:

            January 10 - Paul controlled his talking so well today that I sent a note to his parents telling them about his good behavior.

February 12 – I found out today that Connie’s parents are getting a divorce. I’m not going to keep calling. Instead, I think I have a plan, a way to help Connie with at least some of her homework before she leaves school . . .

March 8 – Jane came up to me on the playground and whispered in my ear that her Daddy had a new job.  She was smiling.

March 25 – When Michael was in reading group I noticed that he was always able to answer my questions. It’s when I call on him to read

aloud that he stutters, and his hands even shake.  What can I do to help him?

As Sandy turned to the last page of her diary, a piece of paper fell onto her lap. It was a note from one of her students that she had tucked inside, sometime earlier that year. She unfolded it to read:

         Thank you, Teacher, you made my day happy.

Sandy smiled as she realized:

Teaching was not only about making the world a better place, it was about making their world better, day by day.

Thank you, teacher, for making your students’ days happy.