I am a teacher. A pedagogical wizard of Gandalfian proportions.
I spend my days (and several evenings) from August to June grinding my brain to teach ten and eleven year olds the finer points of reading, writing, and history.
Some days my profession is incredibly rewarding. When a child who has struggled and struggled with simple paragraph construction and suddenly one day, after weeks and weeks of one on one and small group teaching and writing, suddenly gets it and creates an independent paragraph on his own and flashes me a victorious grin, teaching is rewarding.
When a student goes to her home and and talks to her parents about all we are learning in civics about the Constitution, and the parents send me an email telling me they have never voted before in their lives but because of how inspired their daughter is, they will for the first time be exercising their right to vote, teaching is rewarding.
When a parent writes me a note, thanking me profusely for teaching her son writing, telling me that he has absolutely hated to write, that is until he took my class, and now she can't get him to put his pencil down, teaching is rewarding.
When a student I had in my history class several years ago comes to visit me, now a sophomore in college, to tell me that she wants to be a history teacher because she remembers how much she learned to love history with me in fifth grade, teaching is rewarding.
But there are other days. Days when a Mel Gibsonesque rant bubbles just below the surface and the desire to leave my classroom, walk out to the faculty parking lot, open my driver's side door, squat down and repeatedly slam my own head in the car door until grey matter leaks out of my ears or I lose consciousness, is so strong that I give my car keys to a colleague and instruct her not to let me have them, no matter how hard I cry, how loudly I curse, or how much I defame her mother.
Days like this...(click the link below, then patiently wait for the thirty second commercial to end)
Seinfeld Teaches on SNL
Can't you just see my head exploding into a thousand tiny little pieces?
Being in Dance Education, I can begin to relate to your post. Thanks! -Westie
ReplyDeletehey, what about when former students send you papers at eleven oclock to read?? lol
ReplyDeleteYour blog always makes me happy, so I'm giving you an award.
ReplyDeleteClick HERE.
My special needs kid may have been one of those students who sent you screaming into the street. But, you also sound like you would have been one of the good ones who took the time to get to know the kid and not his label.
ReplyDeleteKeep up the good fight, you never know when you make a profound difference in a kid's life.
I remember those days.
ReplyDeleteYes, I can see your head exploding. It's not pretty! :)
ReplyDeleteBut, there's a difference between good and bad teachers, the good ones keep hanging in and that makes all the difference. I have a feeling your students will call you a good one. Keep up the good fight, students need teachers like you. But keep the aspirin and antacids handy, just in case you have "one of those days."
Are you back in school yet?