I look around my library and some days the chaos overwhelms me. Trying to keep up with 400 small, fast moving people is like trying to hold back the sea. Just when my castle of books is finally built, it's washed away by a wave of hands and noise. I crave order but I know that it will never be achieved. I set myself up to fail. But that’s ok.
I know I expect too much of them at times. They’re only kids, I have to tell myself. But still sometimes I wind myself tighter and tighter until I think I’ll snap. Then, just before I do, their small voices make me smile and laugh, and I can't help but come completely undone. They giggle and scream, say good morning to me in unison, and everything is forgiven and forgotten. I can let go of my need for order for a while.
These little people both frustrate and delight me; demanding answers to questions they've been holding on to since their teachers first spoke that morning. Some of them look like they are ready to burst, waiting in line for their turn.
I offer up a little bit of my soul every day. They take and take and take, and I go home weary and ready to sleep. But I don’t mind. I know I could never be anything else. My life, my job, both fulfilling.
“It must be nice to sit and read books all day.” I smile and chuckle, but inside I just want to punch you in the face. Your mocking tone shows your ignorance and I have to remind myself that you are an idiot and that what I do really does matter. You may never understand what I do, but as long as those waves keep coming; smiling and laughing, asking question after question, nothing else matters.