First Quarter

How in the HELL do I care more about that kid than you?

'The mark of the immature man is that he wants to die nobly for a cause, while the mark of the mature man is that he wants to live humbly for one.' - Mr. Antolini, The Catcher in the Rye

Innocents I suppose - so no names. I know one kid who has a very shitty life. I probably will never see him again. God bless and I love you buddy. One more cup of trail mix for you kid. Today was probably the best day I have had all year in terms of buy in, and from the class I least expected. I still love and hate this lunatic profession the same as I did two months ago, but I can see progress and it makes me happy. I love teaching, because it sucks. If my job was easy, I would be bored - like the last 13 jobs. I lie like a dead dog on an old rug sometimes, but this shitty ass job is my favorite. My money is half gone before I get it, just like you; my loans are duanting, like yours, my feet hurt like yours, my head often hurts like yours, my job often swings up and down in a day like yours. I bet though, in your job, you never read stories that make you want to cry, not only becuase of the content, but because of the incredible talent of a young woman who grew up speaking another language and her abiltiy to tell a story period. And then you call a mom you already gave up on in order to just inform an adult of detention and end up beginning a relationship that you never expected that god help me helps that knucklehead.

Who becomes a teacher on purpose?

I delete posts therefore I am...
For a large part of the day today, I really felt as though I was teaching. If you don't teach, then I guess call it a very productive day at work where time goes by quickly. The students who continue to blame me for the fact of their blanks in the gradebook and then blame others for everything else, and those who blame their office referrals on the school make me crazy, but nowhere to the degree their absent parents do.

People are busy. You are busy. I am busy. Everyone's mom, dad, uncle, and second cousin is busy. If my own children have a meeting, especially if that meeting is a fucking IEP and my kid is lucky not to be suspended weekly, I will be at that goddamn meeting. I know that things happen, but when the twelve-year-old says, "Mom knows, she talked about it this morning", and the SpEd teacher says, "I talked to her yesterday and I called her this morning"... No wonder your kid acts out.
There are almost 70 kids that I see daily, a low number compared to many teachers, nonetheless there are maybe eight whom I do not worry about. Others are going to be ok, but not as good as they could be. Not the contributors they could be because of us, bust because of the contributors they should be, because of their station and opportunity. I chose middle school because I thought these younger individuals might be more susceptible to molding. Most of my kids will be ok or better, but even one is too many to end up in a body bag meant for a person with ten, twenty, thirty years more. As I wish these young people could slow down, I speed it up as the pressure of the end of another quarter comes and another year approaches... I know the odds are that no one I meet will stab another child in front a convenience store, but mostly because I already met that kid. While I worry about hundreds of kids; while I miss class to go to training that should have happened in July; while I sleep like shit because I think about it too much; while many charismatic, smart, and capable kids miss out on their right to learn; while they blame me rather than their mothers and fathers or lack thereof; my own children and best friend spend many minutes incomplete (assuming they want to hang with this nut, this guy who is nutty enough to become a teacher).
PS - Still don't have any damn books.

Teaching children is one of the most amazing and rewarding things that a person can do. It is infinitely rewarding through the looks of expectation and admiration that young people often make more than obvious to you, but especially when these gazes are obscured by timidity or proud embarrassment.

It is satisfactory, beyond the meaning of the word, when the kid in your 7th grade class, who reads at a 2nd grade level, gets even the most simplistic versions of what is happening in class. Especially when that understanding comes with an unsolicited high-five. It is the greatest feeling in the world to take a kid whom you do not know, among 60-120 others in the same category, and move the to a new category - one of admiration and wonder. There are always students, other people's children, who never (NEVER) stop talking, or humming, or grinding deodorant into the floor, or stealing your tape, or lying about why the same notebook is somehow blank everyday, or have parents that demand a grade on a proficiency scale that indicates that after all that their lovely child doesn't have autism after all. Teaching can be like parenting. It isn't worth much that you can pocket to show your friends. It isn't always your favorite. Sometimes you question why you made such a choice for yourself. Sometimes you defend it while simultaneously agreeing that it is nuts. But you never want to stop.
Not forever anyway.

Education is the most important profession in modern society. I teach because it is hard.