On May 24, 2007, I sat on the stage at Towson University Center, wearing my commencement garb and my 1967 Towson State College ring and watching my nine interns from the Master of Arts in Teaching program clutch their diplomas proudly.
I had come full circle.
I am from the generation that was taught to change the world, to avoid being drafted into the Vietnam War. I made it to the era of No Child Left Behind. When I received my degree in The Glen, a wonderful wooded area on Towson's campus, Earle T. Hawkins was the school's president. Now his name is on the university's Hawkins Hall.
In 39 years with the Baltimore County public schools, I taught English in grades seven through 12, became an English department chair and evolved into an administrator. Last year, on July 1, I retired as principal of Pikesville High School, loving the public school education experience and wanting to prepare the next generation of teachers at the university level.
So I went right on teaching, returning to the institution that had trained me, becoming a full-time lecturer in the Towson University MAT program as well as a Professional Development Schools Coordinator in the Howard County public schools. In these roles I have had the opportunity to attain my dreams of preparing educators, gaining a better understanding of the making of a teacher.
To my interns last year - who were born a decade or more after I started teaching - I used to say, "I'm retired but not retiring." At times I probably scared them with war stories, surreal vignettes starring at-risk kids and my passion for teaching. It is important that they understand the way school culture works and how you can survive it. I figured out early that one of the most helpful strategies in teaching is having a sense of humor.
One day, when I was about my interns' age, teaching eighth-graders at the former Hereford Junior-Senior High School, I was chewed out by the head librarian for wearing unprofessional dress - I had been sporting school colors, featuring a white Irish linen blouse and a maroon miniskirt. A popular senior athlete rescued me. "Leave Mrs. Hardin alone," he yelled. "We need good teachers." My eighth-graders reassessed me and began paying more attention to our mystery literature unit, "Not For The Timid."
