Abstract:

 The toy collection Laura Reasoner Jones put together while serving as a preschool special education teacher is a potent reminder of the change she has made when she takes a technology-in-the-schools job.

Jones, L.R. (2004). All this stuff. Teacher Leaders Network diaries. Retrieved from the Teacher Leaders Network 11 Apr 2008. Link: http://www.teacherleaders.org/old_site/diaries04_05/LJ42_04_05.html

Full Text:

All This Stuff

It's very odd, this feeling that I will probably never be a teacher again. I don't know how to describe myself. People ask what I do, and I start by saying that I was a preschool special ed teacher, and now I manage a technology project. By then, their eyes have glazed over, and I can't say any more and know that I have their attention. I don't fit into the comfortable categories.

But more than that, this job change has had a major effect on my shopping habits, my leisure time, and my vacation activities. I hardly know what to do with myself. A couple of weekends ago, my wonderful husband and I went on a three-day trip to the Eastern Shore of Maryland, using the little mini vacation given to us by the school system due to the lack of snow this year. (It's a long story. Planning the school calendar has to be the most thankless job in the system, right up there with scheduling bus runs and drawing school boundaries.) We have many shopping traditions when we are alone together—we go to antique stores, we go to bookstores, and we go to toy stores. But now, two of those three pleasures have changed for me, and I am at a loss.

Toy stores suddenly have no charm. The only thing I could possibly buy now is new Playmobil, and the new line only comes out in August of each year. (Wow, now that's a Playmobil addict talking!) I wander around while my wonderful husband shops for his grandchildren, but I can't seem to get interested in new toys, games or puzzles. What's the point? I will never use them now.

Bookstores are the same. Although I occasionally buy books for myself, I generally just keep a running list to reserve at the library. The children's sections are no longer a draw for me; I can't afford to buy new books when I can't get reimbursed or deduct them from my taxes. And why would I buy them anyway? I can't justify buying expensive beautiful picture books that only I will read. So, I browse among the new adult books, but can only do that for a limited time. What am I going to do with my life?

And yet, I can't bring myself to sell, get rid of or donate all of the teaching supplies and toys in my basement. My friend Mary came over a few weeks ago to "shop the basement" and borrow some of my preschool toys; it was hard to let things go. I tell myself that I am being ridiculous, that I will never go back to teaching, and that I can't save all of this stuff for the non-existent grandchildren—neither Christie nor Julie is even close to being married, so we would be storing things for at least 10 or 15 years. Besides, I would never let anyone play with some of the toys I have—they are too precious.

Man, do I have a problem, or what?

Many years ago, a friend of mine who owned the used bookstore in town told me that I had to make up my mind: Was I going to have a book collection, or was I just going to buy books? After a great deal of thought, I decided to have a book collection, and I still derive a great deal of pleasure in finding old books for it.

I think I have to make that decision again—now, or at least soon. Am I going to say to myself that I have a toy collection, and treat this collection with the respect it deserves, or am I going to admit that my life has changed and move on, clearing out and starting a new life?

I think, what do other people do in this situation? If, for instance, a greeter at Walmart is promoted to department manager, does she keep her blue smock around on the odd chance that she might need to greet people again? If a farmer sells the farm, does he keep the John Deere in the garage so that he has something to fall back on? Or an embalmer--if she decides to move up and become a funeral director, will she save all her scalpels and hoses "just in case?"

I have set aside one week of my four weeks of vacation this year to clean and organize the basement. This includes sorting all of the children's books, all of the toys from 17 years as an itinerant preschool teacher, and all of the science and math equipment for the GEMS club. It means that I will have to make some kind of decision by the middle of July. And it is more than just a decision to either keep or get rid of.

If I decide to clear things out, I also have to decide between (a) 'taking the high moral ground' and (b) making a huge chunk of money. The phrase "taking the high moral ground" is used in my house to describe the person who orders the small salad with no dressing while the other diners order banana-pecan waffles with extra syrup and bacon. To take the high moral ground in this case would mean donating all of the books and toys to a suitable charity: a Head Start class or the Neighborhood Resource Center, for example.

On the other hand, I could go onto eBay and set suitable prices for a huge yard sale that I would advertise far and wide; I estimate a profit of more than five hundred dollars for a morning's work. But then I have another decision—keep the profits, or donate the money?

Or, I could just forget the whole thing and keep all of the toys and books for myself.

Who knew that the big job change in January would lead to such a moral dilemma?

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