My mother suggested many times that I should write about the experience of teaching. She said people didn’t know what it was really like.
I never did for several reasons. One, no matter how many ways I try to describe it, you can’t know until you’ve experienced it. Two, the media is full of teachers telling the truth and clearly, no one cares. Three, I’m censored before I even begin to think about it–teaching is one of the few professions that cancels your 1st Amendment rights.
However, today as I watched bleary-eyed teenagers stagger into my freshly cleaned classroom, I was reminded of the one and only good aspect of the entire career:
The people.
Parents have no idea how much I love their kids, even if I never get the chance to get to know them well due to large numbers or because the child is like me and doesn’t want to socialize. Just because they’re sitting in my room, being whatever they’re being, they have my eternal best wishes to become whoever they want to become. I want them to be themselves regardless of who approves or disapproves. It’s not an empty sentiment and it never ends. Ex-students who are now in their forties are still under the umbrella.
As for colleagues, I am convinced I’ve known the strongest, most selfless, and most compassionate people on the planet in this career. In a world where integrity is a forgotten word and people preach mindfulness without understanding the definition, I can rely on finding evidence of honesty and conscience among teachers and administrators I have known. They’re almost always masters of sarcasm because they have to be, which is an art form I appreciate more with each passing year. Maybe it’s a type of humor you can only learn and appreciate in the trenches.
With so much love involved in this job, people have asked me how I manage to hate teaching. True, the majority of human beings I’ve worked with and met have made the work bearable. It’s the faceless system behind (or maybe “above” is a better preposition) that makes the hours seem pointless, the labor ridiculously futile, and the goals unrealistic. I’ve watched teachers become paralyzed with responsibilities and stripped of authority, browbeaten to believe that our students’ problems are somehow our fault, and pushed into wearing martyrdom as some kind of medal.
Does the love make up for the thousands of dollars I’ve spent on my job, the senseless exploitation, the unpaid hours, the pay that never caught up with cost-of-living, the educational requirements that were never reimbursed?
No.
Does the love make up for the times I was threatened, assaulted, cursed, framed, harassed, insulted, or forced to endure situations that were against laws and/or contracts?
No.
People build treasured relationships in war and in prison that last a lifetime. Hardly a reason to love war or prison.
I’m simply claiming those treasures because I can. Memories of the amazing people will be all I take out of this career.
