There's a scene from my all time favorite movie, It's a Wonderful Life, that reminds me of myself in the morning. You know how the banister knob comes off in George Bailey's hand every time he walks up the stairs? That's me every school morning, except I'm not on the stairs, I'm in my garage.

I find myself running on autopilot most mornings before school. All routines are just that...routine, and they run smoothly. From making lunches and coffee to making breakfast and getting dressed, it's a smooth process, and there are no major mishaps...that is until I walk out the door...or at least try. I don't fit. My bag has banged into the same laundry room door so many times, that it, too, has become routine. I open the door with my right hand and continue walking into the garage as I'm reaching behind me with the same hand to swing the door closed. But as I straighten my path...boom. My school bag bangs into the door, stopping it from closing. I have to turn around...everyday...to close the door again.

I remember the blog I wrote a while back called, What's in Your Bag? There were so many funny responses about what's found in our bags, and it was comical to share in the misery of heavy bags and the ever so important items found within.

But the bag I'm talking about this time is my school bag, my 'magic bag.' It frequently weighs a ton, but I don't see how I can remove anything from it. And my George Bailey moment doesn't just happen with my laundry room door...it's every door. Upon arriving at school, I unlock the heavy front church door, hold it open with my foot so I can re-lock it, and then try to make it through. So many mornings, such as this one, I literally can't. My body, my laptop, my purse and my school bag are wedged in the opening. My feet keep marching through the motions, but I'm not going anywhere. As I rock side to side, slowly making progress through the jam, I feel like a pinball, racking up points. As soon as I'm free from that squeeze, gravity acts as the flipper on the pinball machine and sends me into orbit only to rack up additional points at the next door.

As I make my way down the hallway, parts of my wide load begin to downsize. Into one classroom goes a half loaf of rye bread. I like this brand so much that I wanted to share it with another lover of rye. Into another classroom I stop to drop off a heating pad and extension cord. One of my co-workers threw out her back and forgot to bring her pad to school.

So I'm a little more narrow by the time I reach my own classroom, and it's a relief to glide through the final door jam. I plop down my laptop, plop down my purse (my original mysterious bag), and heave down my school bag. Out comes my lunch, a quart of water, and an oversized folder with lesson plans and graded papers.

What? That doesn't seem like so much, so what's the big deal? It's probably not what I can see, but what I can't. I think I speak for all teachers in saying that it's the things we can't see that weigh the most heavily on our shoulders. A closer look into a teacher's bag would reveal its magic as there are items inside that include packages without shape and density.

If I, or any teacher, reached in blindly, I could pull out a shapeless bundle of compassion. The little people come to us with hundreds, if not thousands of unique situations found in their home lives. They come to us broken, chipped, scarred and hurting. It's not possible for all of them to receive what they need at home, so they're looking to us for self-worth, a pat on the back, and a simple hug or smile. Compassion doesn't have a particular shape or form, but it's easy to tuck in our bags, and easy to distribute. I don't know about everyone else, but it's the most simple of things that make me soar and believe in myself. A smile and a kind word can keep me running all day long.

And what kind of shape does the ability to demonstrate and teach integrity take? I don't know, but I think it could be accomplished by teacher after teacher, year after year, demonstrating right from wrong from the very beginning with the simplest of actions. It's a role model position that we, as teachers, have accepted. Today's world is tricky and difficult to grow up in. Dishonesty and corruption are masked in accessibility. Once thought to be wrong simply because it is, is now wrong only if caught.

And if you look closely in a teacher's bag, you will see the invisible pair of saddle shoes and megaphone that make up part of our cheerleading outfit. The little people come to us with hopes and dreams, but they need encouragement to help them grow and become more than just a dream. I've witnessed this first hand in my own home when listening to my son share stories of his teachers. He's a senior in high school, and some of his teachers have made the biggest impact on him simply because he feels liked by them. He knows they're interested in his activities and want to know of his accomplishments. Even now during prom season with the rage of 'promposals' floating in the air. The boys are nervous and have included some of their teachers for support and involvement. Boys are storing flowers and other items that are part of the 'big ask' in the classrooms of teachers they feel close with, but only with the promise to share the outcome.

And the final shapeless bundle found in my bag...found in all of our bags? Love. What shape does it take? What does it look like? Well, that depends. It takes the shape of every kind word, every caring glance, every thoughtful deed, and heartfelt concern. It grows and mutates to fill empty spaces where hurt lives. It attaches to compassion and encourages the warmth to be shared. It helps to create the lesson of integrity so a child fully understands and really feels that honesty is always the correct choice, even when no one is looking. And it demonstrates how to live, how to treat others, and how to live the Golden Rule, do unto others.

So what has my silver learned? It learns every day, and today I acknowledge the importance of teachers and their impact on the little people. My wide load bangs into door frames, and my shoulders and arms ache like those of all teachers. That's okay...that's more than okay. It's an ache I cherish, an ache that reminds me daily that I have the privilege to be involved in character development, and an ache that makes me proudly say...I am a teacher!

If you're like me and like videos, then feel free to click on, The Importance of Teachers Who Care. This is for my fellow co-workers and my children's teachers. Enjoy.

The Silver Side of Life