How we Met

“Sweet exhaust.”

The first words I ever said to my future hubs. Most men would be shocked by this coming out of a girls mouth but my future husband…stared at me like I was crazy and kept talking to the head coach who I was coaching with at the time. (ok, maybe he said thank you before continuing his conversation.) If you remember I needed that adult job. So I started out as a field hockey coaching while substituting at my hometown school.

I had no idea who he was and he had no idea who I was. I was just complementing some guys car.

December 7th, 1941. The date of Pearl Harbor.

December 7th, 2012. The date I was pulled from one substitute duty and thrown into a history class.

If sports, college, and my mother taught me anything it was to face something head on as best as you can. I had zero idea how to teach such an important date in American History not to mentions I had about 10min to prepare. All I knew about Pearl Harbor at the time was Hawaii, WW2, USS Arizona, and the planes. That for me, was enough to work with. I got started forming a 45min lesson as soon as the principal opened the door to my classroom for that day.

A few moments later that guy who had the sweet exhaust walked in and offered help. Apparently it was my turn to blow him off and said “I’m good” without making eye contact (or so that is how the hubs tells this part of the story). At the end of the day the principal came in to see how things went. By the end of the conversation I was the “long term sub” for 8th grade history. A subject I was not a fan of as a student.

As the year unfolded I knew I was going to need some help. Even just with supplies for projects. I needed to know where all these things were so I didn’t spend all my sub money. I also was presented with the opportunity of staying in this position. I just needed the correct certifications. At that time all I had was k-12 Health & Physical Education. I needed to take the history praxis if I wanted a job for the following year. That was the adult thing to do, right? I knew I was going to need some help. The only help in this small town school…that guy with the exhaust. He was the other history teacher. He knew how to study for the test. He knew where the supplies were. He knew how to work the copier. He was my shot at making this job work. I hated to admit it…but…I needed help.

Everyday his planning period lined up with my planning period. He always ended up wandering into my room to ask about the lesson I was teaching, his former students, my studying for the praxis, and whatever else he could come up with to stay in my room. The 8th grade students caught on to what he was doing. I had other plans for my life still so I didn’t pay much mind to what was unfolding before me. As any 8th grade student would they started to pleaded Mr. Cramer’s case. Any moment they could they would tell me about how nice this Mr. Cramer was and how I should just date him. It was that simple in the minds of 8th graders.

He is nice + you are nice = just date him.

I would politely remind them that was not my plan and redirect their wandering minds back to the lesson. (This group of students still thinks they were the reason we ended up together. I have so many “you’re welcome” cards saved from this group of kids.)

One particular lesson will always stand out in my mind.

Civil War flags.

Yes. You read that correctly.

I broke my students up into small groups. There were to create their own flag that represented their “state” and then we were going to hit the fields outside and send messages back and forth. The kids needed to decipher the messages and take note of how difficult this was without a war going on around them. As the flags were drying this Mr. Cramer guy found his way back into my room to see what was going on. I explained the lesson and then also explained a life predicament I was presented with the day before.

I was contacted by a friend down south and said they knew of a school looking for someone right out of college to revamp their Health and Physical Education program. That was a dream come true for me, minus it being in Florida. I reached out to the school and was waiting for them to respond for a phone interview. Mr. Cramer sat down and took that all in. He then create two flags. One that said “Obligationville, NJ” the other said “Florida”. He then made me list out all the positives, negatives, and possibilities that each represented (keep in mind by this time I did pass my praxis and was lined up to essentially get the job I was currently a long term sub for). I honestly don’t remember what came of that conversation but I do remember thinking I’m going to go for it and see what happens.

The interview was great but as the process continued there was a money concern and I was turned down. So Jersey won. And with that, apparently a happy Mr. Cramer.

Yep. Still have the flag. No there is not a real town called Obligation, NJ…

Yep. Still have the flag. No there is not a real town called Obligation, NJ…

The year of train cakes, flag lessons, pi day, baseball games, battleship races, mining for gold, and new friends…a year that was full of #everydayadventures came to an end. And with that the potential of staying on as a teacher next year.

My interview was a little unconventional but a success. I was put up to the board as the recommendation to fill the 8th grade history hole. I didn’t go to that meeting. I didn’t want to be sitting there if I didn’t get approved. A full time job would be great but if I didn’t get it I would just move on and keep figuring things out.

But. You know who did go to this meeting.

Yep. Mr. Cramer. That guy with the sweet exhaust. That teacher who tried to offer help Dec 7th. That teacher that kept showing up in my room. The guy who made the flags.

My phone dinged.

And with it a text that in time changed all of my truck bed camper day dreams.

“Congrats you are the new 8th grade history teacher…expect the unexpected.”

Sure I was happy. We all need that first job but it wasn’t my intent to land a husband. I just wanted a job to help students discover their health & fitness goals like it took me so long to discover on my own (that is a 200 pound story for a different time).

I didn’t want to get married. Simple as that.

Or so I thought.

I was off for an adventure I didn’t plan. An adventure I didn’t expect.