School: It only makes sense in hindsight

At times, it is hard to connect with the other teachers, because I'm actually closer to the students' age than to their age. I hear things like, "Last night, my husband cooked this great meal for my kids and me..." and I can only respond with "My boyfriend works nights, so I had hamburger helper and watched game shows with my cat." So usually I just don't say anything. I'm done pretending I'm older than I am. And being close in age to my students comes with its benefits, too.

For one, it wasn't long ago that I was in class. Actually, it was last year. I sat there, tired, bored, squirmy, and not completely focused on what I was doing. I had stuff going on my life that I couldn't 100% leave at home, and so focusing on work was not always easy. And I was going to school for my career. How can I expect a student to sit quietly for eight hours, in classes that he or she does not even care about? It is, of course, my job to inspire students and lead them to igniting their own fires for learning. But if I can't be expected to be perfect, in a class based around my very passion, Can I expect students to do the same in a subject they don't even like?

No. Of course not. Not that I don't have high expectations, but I do think this is something we have to keep in mind. It helps me with that whole "not taking things personally" that I am constantly working on.

What's interesting is that school is one of those things that you don't fully understand until almost ten years later. I was an honor student. But I wasn't a good student. I rarely read for class. If you're a former teacher reading this, I probably didn't read everything I was supposed to. And I am very sorry, because years later, I read those things for the first time -- and regretted my own childish ignorance. The first time I was assigned The Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner, I blew it off. I had been out of town the week we read it, so that meant I didn't have to read it. Duh. But then, in a college Romanticism class, I had to read the poem again -- even if it was really the first time. It was incredible. I wanted to go back to that high school student and smack her for depriving herself of such an amazing piece.

I remember sitting in seventh grade as the teacher drilled into our heads that CALL OF THE WILD IS ABOUT CAPITALISM AND "PASS THE BUCK" IS A THING AND THIS IS IMPORTANT AND PAY ATTENTION ALREADY!!! And I hated every Jack London moment of it. Symbolism was so stupid. Why not just say what you mean? And what if the author didn't want it to mean anything? And why do I need to know this, it's not like I'm going to be an English major or anything (Oh, the irony).

And writing the question. Oh, God the torture. Are teachers crazy? Do they actually think this works? I swear they just like to watch us write for no reason (and I liked to write!)! I hear my students saying this today, and I can almost see little middle-school me, awkward, insecure, bored, and so so frustrated at the tediousness of it all. Does this even matter?!

Yes. Yes, childhood me. Yes, students of mine (until Monday, that is). Yes it matters. The sad thing is that you won't realize this for years. I wish there was some way to communicate this to students, that we are not making this up, that you really do have the potential and you really can do better, and that writing the questions actually helps you to remember and study your work, and that literature is beautiful, and Coleridge is a genius and symbolism and metaphors are sometimes the only way we can communicate. But there is no way to show a person their future. I also wish I could tell past-me to learn to balance a checkbook, to stop leaving her stuff everywhere, to clean her room and practice maintaining a space. But regrets are pointless, and all we can do is work with the present. All I can do is insist to my students that this does matter and hope that they can find this out for themselves one day. All I can do is hope that one day they will re-read what they missed or find within themselves an insatiable curiosity for something.

I've always been one to tackle the impossible, to chase horizons, to push boulders up hills all day, even if they're just going to come back down at night.

-----

Also, I made a decision about yesterday's crisis. I got a text message from the teacher whose class I had been chosen to cover, the one I worked so hard to get all year. She's being put on bed rest and needs me to start next week. I can't in good conscience leave a pregnant woman, on the verge of delivering her first babies (yes, babies) just because more money came along. I know I need the money. But I talked all last year about the snake-like classmates I had, who, if told that getting a job meant cutting off someone's head, would pause only to locate the nearest hardware store and axe-handling gloves. I'm not a cut-throat person. I have to cling to my morals; I want my students (current and future) to be able to see an example of compassion. I tell students every day to never make another person's life harder than it is already. This value means nothing if I'm not willing to demonstrate it myself. Plus, I've wanted this all year. It seems stupid to walk away from it.

Well, crap.

I don't want to write this post. I don't want to write it because I don't want this problem to exist; I just want to pretend I didn't know about it and continue with my original plan. But apparently that's impossible. Apparently I, unlike everyone else from my class have to be dragged through hell and back before I get a freaking job. Which is unfair, because -- and maybe this influenced by how much America's Next Top Model I've been watching, but -- I feel like I wanted this job more than almost anybody in that class. But whatever. It's not going to be easy, sure. But does it have to be impossible?

Alright. I'll back up. I'll humor you, remind myself that you, the three or four people who read this have no idea what I'm talking about.

Remember this? Remember that whole "two schools have a long-term sub position at the same time, and I'm in a crisis about which one to go after, because I can't pick both?" Well, turns out that the jobs weren't at the same time. In fact, one was, and is, right after the other. I have two days left in my long-term job at one school, and guess who the second school picked? No, not her. Me! Hooray, and stuff!

Except that it would be a celebration. If not for what I learned today. This morning, I was told that there was an opening at the school where I am now. An opening that starts...yesterday. And that it's full-time, that it will last through the year and on into next year. I'd be the "reading connections" teacher, which sounds like a lot of fun! When I found out, I was all squirmy with excitement and squirmy with guilt at the idea of bailing on the second school, especially since I worked (and nagged) so hard all year to get there.

So then I talked to the principal of the current school. Found out that the job is NOT full-time; it's just an other long-term sub. Buttttt there are two important things to consider, and the two reasons I didn't immediately say "Forget it." One: The job is for the rest of the year. So guaranteed pay, every day, until May. I did not even try to make that rhyme. And Two: The current school pays so much more. I know it's not about money. I'd do this for free if I could pay my bills, get married, travel, and start an adult life somehow. I love teaching. It's not about the money. But when I'm guaranteed not to be working all summer, when I have no idea how to pay back my student loans, when I want to not be so freaking stuck in advancing to a Real Adult Life -- yeah, it does kinda matter.

But it's not like I can take this job and just tell the other school to find someone else. I'm supposed to start in as little as two weeks. And that job would be guaranteed until April. So not as much, but still nice. And if an opening comes up at the second school (Which is, for the record, not even a mile from my house), I want to be number one on their list. I don't even want there to be debate about where my loyalties are -- and if I bail on a pregnant lady that will definitely cause debate.

But can I just walk away from that much more money? This upcoming long-term job is all I've wanted all year. I've been campaigning and lobbying and reminding and poking and prodding every chance I've gotten, just to make sure that they knew I wanted it. Yes that other candidate had the kids last year, and yes that other-other candidate had those same kids earlier this year, but you should pick me, because I WANT IT MORE! And I did. Do. Still do.

I can't decide if this is one of those instances of "you get what you want but still want more, when are you ever going to be happy, just take what you get" or if it's more like "ooh look! A better opportunity!"

If it was an easy decision, I would have made it already.

IS it an easy decision?

What I wish I could say in my Cover Letter

It's January and I still don't have a job. Actually, right now I am long-term subbing, so I can't really interview for anything (and all the jobs are starting...yesterday. Awesome.). But that aside, I have been on a lot of interviews. A lot. And still nothing. In a way I'm not bothered, because that means that the people who haven't called me have felt that I would not be a good fit for them (or them for me). And I guess that means they save me from being miserable at a job where I don't fit. But when will I find the Cinderella Job? The right fit?

You know that moment in movies where the main character stands up in front of a large group of people and delivers a passionate speech (usually in a courtroom... Why are so many main characters being convicted of things)? That's what I want to do. I've been warned against entering an interview room and immediately asserting that I will be their best candidate all day and here's why. And I'm not going to. But I want to. And this is what I would say:

I have wanted to be a teacher since I was in second grade, and I forced the dyslexic boy down the street to learn to read. There was something about this moment -- this sharing of my love for books with somebody else -- that picked me up, shook me, and turned me into a compass pointing due North to my life as a teacher.

It's funny to me that I took so long to answer the question of what to teach. I was a recess reader, a secretive gym class writer, a student who interrupted class once to show the teacher a new story. I was terminally uncool, and I didn't care. The other kids had their makeup and their dances and their premature crushes on twenty-year-old celebrities. I had more. I had anything I wanted. Magic, flight, time travel, talking animals, families similar to mine, families different, worlds both fanciful and futuristic. And what I didn't have within the pages of a book I could create if I wanted it. I lived trapped in another world, but I was anything but a prisoner.

To think that such a job exists that I could share this transcendent joy with someone else -- to teach a student how to find solace in words -- this would be (at the risk of becoming a Disney princess) a dream come true.

In my teaching, I aspire to instill a love of learning in my students -- a drive that makes them into lifelong, voluntary seekers of information, of truth, of beauty. I believe this is possible (though not easy) to do for every one of my students. However, schools today are not set up in a way that is conducive to such inspiration. Large classrooms where the overlooked middle continues to blend and disappear, lesson plans designed around standardized tests, and isolated approaches to things like grammar and vocabulary do not light a fire in students. How can I say this with such certainty? Because I, as a student, was largely a product of such a system -- and I did not have the fire that I value so much today. There were teachers who made a difference -- absolutely -- but always by bucking the system, if ever so slightly. No teacher who recites standards and lives out of a workbook can inspire a student. If you want students who chase after learning, give them something to learn that matters! In my temporary classroom of seventh graders, we are reading The Giver, and every day I love to watch my students fight with their own perceptions of "normal" and "utopia." They are learning. They aren't filling in bubbles, they aren't copying definitions. They are thinking. They are talking. And they are learning.

Can I control a classroom? This is a trick question, as I believe that a true learning community, in a way, can control itself. When students are genuinely pursuing knowledge, chasing that magical spark, hoping to add to their own fire -- it is bound to be chaotic. But I want chaos. I want a discussion that I have to silence because too many students are eager to share their ideas. I want students to love the classroom so much that acting out would be seen as a waste of their precious time. And in what fantasy land would I find such perfect students, I know. Students will need guidance to achieve this level of self-directed learning, but I believe, wholeheartedly, that this is absolutely possible.

I admit that, if you talk to other teacher candidates, you might find someone more experienced than me. Someone who knows how to play the game better, someone who doesn't distribute copies of their cover letter with "Cover Letter" typed in the header. There will be someone more bureaucratic. Someone with kids of their own, who can bring that "seasoned parent" aspect to their discipline. But I promise you, as hard as you look, you will not find somebody who will love what they do as much as me.

Yes, I am young. I am rather small in stature, and occasionally even middle school teachers (when not fully looking) mistake me for a student. But I love this. I love Language. I love writing and reading and teaching and I love working with adolescents. I wish there was a word I could use other than "love," without looking like I discovered a thesaurus for the first time, because I feel redundant. But if I have to be redundant to get my point across, so be it. I have been a temporary teacher for a few weeks, and I practically ache inside to have this life for real.

I know, one day the right school, the right fit, will find me. But you just read my manifesto. Does such a school exist? If so, where? if not, why not?