Why I Teach, Sort Of...

Holy cow! Despite my recent days with migraines, I have still managed to have a synapse. Today, it dawned on me that this is my 23rd year of teaching. I really never anticipated keeping a job for more than 4 or 5 years, especially considering that I only kept my first post-college job for three weeks. Then again, it was in Crete. . .

And yet, here I am. Twenty years at East High, alone. Not counting the six years I did there as a student. Some of it hard time.

Either I'm really stupid or rather content.

I've learned a lot in these 23 years and I'm sure there are plenty of lessons still teetering on my horizon. But, the truth--the most glorious truth--is that I am more than three-fourths of the way through this gig. And that sounds both fantastic and a little frightening.

What, then, have I learned in my time with so many teens?

I've learned that slips with worn elastic should not be worn.

I've learned that I am seldom the smartest person in the room and I had better get used to that.

I've learned that, ironically, the less I meddle, the more they blossom.

I've learned that there are only two safe cafeteria meals I will eat--glorious, glorious creamed turkey and the rare-as-a-whooping-crane Nebraska buns (aka, runzas, but for the litigious nature of local businesses).

I've learned that a "walking taco" is shorthand for "open a bag of Fritos and dump in some old, seasoned meat."

I've learned that kids are really funny and much of their music sort of sucks. But some of it is good.

I've learned that, even when you have great students each day, teaching is an exhausting profession, which is why we have so many days off.

I've learned that there is no shame in asking the students to teach me a thing or two.

In my 23 years of teaching, I have learned that, sometimes, it is our own system that gets in the way of our success. This is a lesson I would have preferred to skip.

I've learned that students are overtested and underutilized, and that teachers are overworked and under the impression that they do not matter much.

I have no idea how I happened upon such an important job. What was I thinking, to choose to spend my days with zitty, unpredictable, surprising teenagers who did not form in my womb, thankyoujesus?! What was it that convinced me that I had something to offer them, when the truth, more often than not, is that they are the ones teaching me?

Some days, I think I'm a genius, having chosen a job in which the clients do most of the work while I sit back and direct the chaos with my magic wand. Other days, I wonder if I can do it for another nine years. Or nine days. Seriously, is it possible that I'll have to endure nine more cheesy yearbook themes, invariably based upon rotten songs from the 70s?! There should be combat pay for this job.

And yet? And yet, most days, I would gladly fight for these teens with the same vigor that I would defend my own children. I suppose that's why I still love what I do...because I still love who it is I get to do it with.