Recently, I had a conversation with a working journalist. He pointed out I technically wasn’t a journalist any more – I’d left the daily newspaper business to start a career as a teacher.

I was speechless because, career-wise, I thought of myself as a journalist and a teacher.

I read news stories with a critical eye – did the journalist report the story in an unbiased way? I subconsciously look at the lead – was it interesting, balanced, eye-catching? I see incredible people around me and think they’d make a great feature story.

If you love what you do, that career becomes part of your life. One of the professions that stays forever is education. When teachers retire or leave the field, the educator mindset remains.

Many retired teachers, or even those who’ve left the profession, step in to teach if the opportunity presents itself. The enthusiasm and love of teaching is reignited.

Engineers are always going to be engineers. They have specific ways of doing things that are ingrained in their DNA. My husband’s an engineer, and he solves problems logically and efficiently.

Parenting is one of those careers you never leave. Even when your kids are adults, the urge to mommy is strong.

If one of my sons says he feels sick, the first thing I do is put my hand on his forehead to see if he has fever.

I’ve learned to let their wives take the lead, but it’s difficult to resist the urge to tell them to lie down on the couch and I’ll be right in with chicken-noodle soup.

My brother is a web developer. But he’s a gifted artist who has the ability to draw or sketch anything. We all love it when Jeff shares his doodles from staff meetings.

Mine are usually squares, lines or circles. His are portraits or poses of hands or faces showing different emotions and stages of life. He can’t stop being a talented artist – it’s part of who he is.

Musicians are the same. The people I know who taught music, played an instrument or sang on the stage will always dissect a musical piece.

They’ll either play the score in their heads, sing the songs or break down the artist’s method of creating beautiful sounds.

Just because they’re no longer strumming an electric guitar in somebody’s garage or in the high school choir doesn’t mean they stop being musicians.

Retired geologists will always search for interesting rocks, and theater directors will read a play or novel and wonder how they can block and stage the action.

If we love what we do, the career becomes part of us, second nature.          Realistically, writing a column for a newspaper doesn’t mean I’m a journalist. It means I’m a writer.

But in my heart, there’s a lot of chambers – journalist, writer, mom, photographer, seamstress, grandmother, sister, cousin, wife, daughter, grandmother, neighbor, traveler, secretary, concession stand worker, babysitter, chauffeur, friend.

If we’re lucky, what we do in life becomes part of who we are.

Working as a secretary taught me to embrace new technology.

Being a mom taught me love is unconditional. Patience is not.

Being a columnist taught me to look for lessons in little events, in people and in what’s around me.

A career as a teacher taught me we learn in different ways and at different speeds. If a child is reluctant to learn, look beyond the obvious. I learned to do that as a journalist.

I’m glad that trait is part of my soul.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald. 

Sometimes, life clicks into place. Events and people randomly cross your path and you realize the cosmic dice rolled your way.

Our granddaughter has talked about becoming a pilot for the past few years. She considered joining the U.S. Air Force to save money as flight school’s expensive.

Nobody in our family or hers had a career in aviation, and I wondered how she settled on this particular career. But she was constant – becoming a pilot is her dream.

A couple of weeks ago, I was at a meeting of women educators. The guest speaker was a young man who taught us how to build paper airplanes.

At the end of his presentation, his mom handed out a flyer about the Young Eagles Club®. The national group launched in 1992 through the Experimental Aircraft Association. Their mission – introduce young people to the joys of aviation.

Over 2 million youngsters have flown with the group since the club’s beginning. They also offer aviation talks, scholarships and education about the different types of aviation opportunities.

One of their give-backs is to offer youth ages 8-17 their first free ride in an airplane.

By chance, the local chapter was having their monthly meeting that Thursday in Brookshire. We couldn’t believe our luck, and we made sure we were there early.

The people running the meeting were knowledgeable and welcoming. They talked about their experiences flying and building planes and how excited they were to see so many young people in attendance.

An even luckier chance was the Young Eagles® free flight was that Saturday.

Early that morning, Kylie, her mom, brother and I met at the Houston Executive Airport, none of us knowing what to expect.

Over the course of the morning, we saw youngsters in groups of two and three head outside. Finally, we saw Kylie coming out of the waiting area. An older man with a smile on his face led the way, and he beckoned for us to follow him out to the tarmac.

We stopped at a blue-and-white three-seater plane. Mike, the pilot, showed Kylie and a boy the parts on the outside of the plane and what their function was. Then he buckled the boy into the back seat and Kylie into the front.

I know her heart was pounding and so were ours. We stepped back to the hangar, and the propeller on the small plane started whirling. With a wave and a smile, Mike started taxing down the tarmac to the runway.

There was a chance she’d get up in the air and change her mind – flying might not be for her. She could be afraid of heights or the ride could be too scary.

We watched the plane rise into a bright blue sky, and her mom and I both wiped our eyes as we walked back inside.

A half hour later, the plane touched down. When Kylie got out, the smile on her face was brighter than the sun. She said Mike let her take the plane up, and she was both scared and excited. Kylie said she was certain – she wanted to become a pilot.

She picked an unlimited path. Women pilots only make up about 6 percent of trained pilots, and scholarships abound.

Later that morning, her mom showed me a picture she’d taken of Kylie headed to the plane.

“She’s walking toward her dream,” she said and we both teared up.

Following a dream deserves encouragement, and Kylie’s got a supportive ground crew – her family, and now a group of flying enthusiasts who believe in making aviation dreams come true.

The sky’s the limit, dear granddaughter.

Soar.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

When my sons were in elementary school, these two commands came out of my mouth on a daily basis: behave and be nice.

When I had teenage boys, the words changed:  study and clean your room.

As an older adult, I realized how lame those phrases were.

Children don’t really understand what “behave” means.

At home, they’re allowed to run around in their underwear like they’re wild beasts.

It’s not until we explain the difference between what we can do at home versus what we do out in public that the word “behave” starts to make sense.

As far as “be nice,” they thought that meant to stop sitting on their brother. When they were teens, “be nice” meant stop drinking orange juice straight out of the carton.

They didn’t understand “be nice” meant to not do those things in the first place. “Be nice” meant absolutely nothing to them. Instead “stop it” usually did the trick.

I thought teachers explained the process of studying to my boys. “Study” meant on the day the teacher gave information, my sons should go home and rewrite what the teacher said.

They needed to do that every day. In addition, they needed to read their notes from beginning to end every night.

That way, they were reviewing the lessons at least 10 times before a test. There was no need to stay up for hours the night before the test.

Did they follow that advice? Not one bit.

I finally understand why they were at a loss when I said “clean your room.” To them, that meant gather up all the dirty clothes that were under and on top of the bed, thrown on the floor and shoved in the closet and dump them in one giant pile in front of the washing machine for me to take care of.

I should’ve been more. The phrase “clean your room” should’ve been replaced by a step-by-step explanation.

“After taking the clothes to the laundry room, go back to your room and bring all the dirty bowls and plate you shoved under your bed down to the kitchen.”

Then we could move up from clearing off the floor. It was time to “make the bed.”

Those three words meant different things to me and my teenager. “Make the bed,” in his mind, meant throwing a blanket over the wrinkled sheets.

To me, “make the bed” meant tucking the ends of the sheets underneath the mattress, putting the comforter over the sheets, putting the pillows on the bed and smoothing everything out.

We compromised. They were fine with unmade beds. I learned to close the door to their rooms.

It’s the same when we get to be adults.

“Do your best.”

“Keep trying.”

“Don’t give up.”

My best and somebody else’s best are definitely two different things. One person’s best might be to endure a boring, uninspiring job until it’s time to clock out. That’s the best they can do.

Another person’s best might be to find a way to make that boring, uninspiring job interesting. That’s the best they can do. Who am I to say who’s on the healthier path?

“Keep trying” was always frustrating for me. The first ten times I tried to do what you asked me to do, I failed. Why should I keep trying when what I’m doing isn’t working?

Wouldn’t it be better to tell me “let’s find a different way?” And then you help me find a better way?

The phrase “don’t give up” works when you’re learning how to ride a bike. The more you pedal, the more you find your balance, the more successful you’ll be.

There is one instance where “do your best” works for me. I’m going to do my best to be specific when asking myself or someone else to do something.

And learn to live with an unmade bed.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.