What the...How did I become an ENGLISH teacher?

So, once upon a time while I was at BYU I had a decision to make. I had to decide between majoring in English or Social Work. Here's the breakdown of how the two competed with each other for my affection:

Year One: My first semester of school was spent taking classes I thought would be fun, like astronomy and archaeology. They were fun--but they were also harder than I thought they'd be. Science fascinates me! I'm just not good at it. When it came time to register for classes for Winter semester, I spent a bunch of time flipping through the undergraduate catalog, trying to figure out what I might want to major in. English had always been an option, and was probably the most obvious since it had always been my favorite subject. Still, I thought, why not throw caution to the wind and try something new? I literally flipped to the social work page and was a little entranced. I vaguely remembered "social worker" being on the list of suggested professions on one of those personality tests they made me take in high school. That, and florist. So, I decided to take the intro to social work class. I was a little captivated--it was all about helping people. Like getting paid to be a service missionary, or something similar. Yep, that's me. Throwing caution to the wind--with social work.

Year Two: I started taking some of the prerequisites for getting into the social work major. It was in this second year that I met my Arch Nemesis (no, not you Dax), i.e. Physiology. It wasn't even the class with the cadavers. It was just the plain old Human Biology class, where you go in and talk about the human body. You had to get a B to get into the social work major. Even with all my stinking studying, I still got a C+. Really? =[ English wasn't looking so bad, especially if it meant I didn't have to retake physiology. I spent winter semester taking creative writing and social problems.

Year Three: I decided to focus on English. I had decided to at least get a minor in English, so I figured spending my time taking English classes wouldn't be a total waste, even if I decided to brave Physiology again.

After Year Three, I went on a mission. Yea for missions! And Chileans! Especially ones that no longer live in mines! I decided while I was on my mission that I should take another stab at Social Work, even if it meant retaking Physiology. I mean, we're supposed to aim high, right? And I really felt like Social Work was the way I was supposed to go.

Year Four: I went back to school in the Spring of '04. When I was registering for classes, I realized there was another social work class that I could take without having to be in the major: Family Interaction. I took it. Since it was Spring, there were only about eight of us in the class, if I recall correctly. I was the only non-major student in there. And I loved it. I was sad that I might have to retake Physiology again....BUT WAIT!!!!! When I looked at the requirements for entering the program, they had changed the one referring to Human Biology. You no longer had to get a B!!!! You just had to pass the class!!!! And I HAD passed that class! Muahaha. It's sad that I had to wait for them to lower their standards in order for me to get in. And that's all I'll say about that. When I asked my Family Interaction teacher for a recommendation into the program, he put me through a pretty dang rigorous questioning period to find out why I wanted to be a social worker. Then, at the end of the conversation he said something like, "Well, I am the Dean of the School of Social Work, so if I recommend you, you're pretty much in." And he did. And I was.

Year Five: I spent the rest of Year Four and all of Year Five blissfully taking social work classes. I'd already taken all of the classes I needed in order to get my minor in English. Two goals down.

However...I had started writing. Sort of. I snuck off to writing conferences. I kept a notebook in my bag, a habit my creative writing teacher had taught me, and wrote down interesting snippets. And more. It was my outlet.

When I went back to San Diego and lived at home, I found myself mysteriously assigned to grade papers by my High-School-English-Teacher-Mother. I guess I shouldn't say "assigned" because she paid me for it. I gave in and became a de facto teacher's assistant. And trust me, I decided then and there that grading papers--especially if you're looking for grammatical errors--is not fun.

Year Six and Seven (of school. There was a two year interlude where no school was attended. Unless you count social work/writing conferences.): I went back to school and studied social work. At secret, dark hours of the night I would hide in my room and write things, just to loosen the tension of all the other social-workey things I need to study or write or do or counsel about. Hey! They finally learned how to work together! I would also try desperately to read non-social work related books. But let's be honest, sometimes my brain was just tired. I got through half of a bunch of books, because I didn't have time to finish them. I did finish a lot of young-adult fiction, because that's what my brain could handle.

And now, here I am in South Korea. I was told I would mainly be teaching social welfare classes, but find myself tied to the English department because of a lack of teachers. I teach eight English classes a week, and one Social Problems class--and I'll be honest, I miss counseling a lot. I've even volunteered to help out the English Branch with one of the church's counseling groups, if I can. =[ My two loves are fighting again. I really wish they would stop butting heads against each other.

Anyhow, I think it's ironic how I try and push English out of the way of Social Work and make it stay in the hidden corners of my world, and it just keeps popping it's head out in unexpected places, like my current job.

And they lived Happily Ever After.

I felt like they were both appropriate =]