I was 14 when I learned that I could not follow my heart. Getting ready for college, I had many conversations with my parents about what degree would best suit me. “I’d like to work with people who have emotional problems,” I’d begin. “People who are getting over the death of somebody, or who are sad and don’t know why.” My mother would throw her hands in the air and ask in exasperation, “Why spend your life being around kooks?” She’d regale me with the story of her inner city childhood, unprotected from what she considered the “kooks” of New York City. “Those Armenian girls next door—what they were put through by that weird man in the subway.”
My father took a more logical tact. “You know honey, there are always sick people. You will never be without a job if you become a nurse.” Then he’d begin his well rutted story about how he wished he’d become a nurse after he got out of the army 40 years earlier. “Think about all the people you can help that way.”
But I still thought often about people with emotional or mental problems. A number of families in our community provided board and care for elderly retarded people. Church was an interesting experience, as I watched retarded people salute the pastor from their pews, jump up from their seats in the middle of the sermon, or attempt to help the deacons collect the offering.
“Why don’t you just be a teacher for retarded people?” my father asked. “Teachers always will have jobs, and besides, it’s a natural job for women.” I didn’t want a natural job for a woman. I wanted to be a musician, writer, or a psychologist. “You can’t make a living at any of that” was the all too common refrain at our house.
So I became a nurse. I knew I’d hate it from the first day that I learned in skills lab how to make a mitered corner on a bed. For this I’ve come to college? As soon as I graduated I started back to school so I could work with people who have emotional difficulties.
Tonight my students were a bundle of nerves as they faced their final exam. Even so, there were tears and warm goodbyes as they left the classroom tonight. “Thank you for being the best teacher I’ve ever had.” “I learned so much from you.” “This was my favorite class in my whole graduate program.” I’m a therapist educator, teaching them how to work with people who have emotional problems. The 24 year detour is over and I’m following my heart.
