The main reason why I didn’t pursue getting my teaching license after graduating from Ball State is because I had my daughter. I graduated from college on time, and my baby daughter was on stage with me at graduation. It was great. But after that, I had to quickly figure out something to sustain us. I couldn’t pursue a teaching license back then because I needed work.
I had a lot of odd jobs. I worked at Indiana University’s School of Nursing and their Learning Lab, where I checked out books. Then I worked at Hardee’s — first as a biscuit maker, then in the drive-through. I knew all 35 regular customers by name and by order. Then I worked at FedEx, for nearly 18 years as a district trainer at FedEx Office.
But at 55, I looked at myself and asked, ‘What do you want to be when you grow up?’ My second daughter was in high school, and I still didn’t have fulfilling, gainful employment. That’s when I took a job as a custodian and made a promise: I told them, ‘I’ll only be here a year.’ And I meant it.
I was the best custodian ever, but I didn’t plan to stay long. Exactly one year later, that door opened.
It started when a member of my church — Warren Terrell, the dean of students at Indiana Math and Science Academy — said, ‘I’ve got an opening for a K-2 reading interventionist. Would you consider it?’ I came in, interviewed, and got the job. I was excited about it.
Two days before school started, they called me into the office. I thought, ‘I didn’t get it. Something’s wrong.’ But the first grade teacher had turned down her contract—and they asked if I’d teach first grade. It was an emergency. I said yes.
About a month later, the principal came up to me and said, ‘Ms. Jones, I knew you were the right person for the job.’ That’s when I knew I was exactly where I was supposed to be.
I got an emergency teaching license that allowed me to keep teaching while working on my credentials. But at 59, I hit a wall.
I hadn’t met the minimum GPA (decades earlier) to go the traditional route for licensure, so I decided to apply to Indianapolis Teaching Fellows and their graduate program. Before I could even enroll at Marian University through the ITF residency, I had to pass part of the Praxis content exam. That was my first hurdle—and I cleared it.
Then I passed all three of my PreK–3 licensure exams on the first try. That’s something less than 1% of adults over 55 do. It was pretty cool.
My daughter and I entered the teacher residency program, Indianapolis Teaching Fellows, at the same time. We went out to brunch and made a pact: no one would know we were mother and daughter. We each wanted our own student experience. The program honored that.
She was 24 and good with tech, but I didn’t want to lean on her. My coach was amazing. I asked the ‘dumb questions,’ and she always had my back. I cried through the first three months — it was so hard. I’d been out of academia for 30 years. I didn’t remember how to write a paper or set up a lesson plan. And they throw you in.
I already had four years of classroom experience, so they assumed I had it all together. But I leaned in. I built community in my class — we sat on the floor every day in a circle so every kid had a voice. My students didn’t miss a day.
I missed only one day — when my father passed. But I kept going.
He was proud of me, and I knew he would’ve wanted me to finish.
I stayed at Indiana Math and Science Academy West for five years. The same person who connected me to that job told me, ‘You’ll probably outgrow us before you grow up through us.’ He was right.
I had more education than most of my colleagues, and after I completed my program, I had several offers. One of my former residency colleagues called me up and said, ‘Send me your materials — they need a first grade teacher.’ I got the job right before training began.
That role allowed me to stretch. I’ve always wanted to teach high-ability students — to challenge them to go further.
That year, I received the Outstanding Elementary Educator Award from Marian University’s Klipsch Educators College. I was sitting at graduation thinking, ‘Wow, whoever they’re describing sounds amazing.’ I had no idea it was me.
When they called my name, I nearly passed out walking to the stage.
I’m a student-centered teacher. My students know that. I let them lead. I once had a girl teach a whole math lesson to the class. She even said, ‘Make sure your paper looks like mine!’ — and the whole class cracked up, because that’s what I always say.
I had a student with severe asthma who kept falling asleep on Zoom from his meds. I got my COVID shots and went to his house to teach him from 1:00-3:00 each day. I’m still close with the family. I even spent Christmas with them.
And I care for kids in other ways, too. I help with their hair. If a student’s wearing a hat, I know that’s the signal. I have a drawer with labeled brushes and combs. They come into my room, and we do hair together.
Because when your hair’s not right, you don’t feel right. And when you don’t feel right, you can’t focus. But when you feel proud of how you look — when you’re proud of your crown — you can do anything.
I always try to help kids see themselves in powerful roles. During Black History Month, I dress up: Bessie Coleman, Madam C.J. Walker… I even have her doll. I tell their stories.
I dressed up like Dora the Explorer once, for a student who loved her.
I had a student with a big afro who loved a character named Marcel, so I recreated that outfit and gave her a matching outfit too. I wanted her to see that her natural hair is beautiful — something to celebrate.
I remember how my own mom made sure my hair was taken care of. I was a cheerleader and gymnast, and she always made sure I felt good before I left the house. I do the same for my students now.
Because when you feel good about who you are, you can do your reading, your math — anything. And that’s what school should help you believe.
–Alicia Jones
Teacher at Merle Sidener Gifted Academy
Indianapolis Teaching Fellows, 2022 Cohort
Indianapolis, IN
