A school day is both a beautiful and a horrifying thing. How many other professions have 7 new beginnings in a single 8-hour period of time?
We are not cattle--I get that--but there is something to be said for chunking out a day in 50-minute increments. And for grass-fed, free-range teenagers, but that's another entry...
This "Groundhog's Day" approach to a job can be a lifesaver, especially when something isn't going so well. It can also bring on a bad case of the split personalities, too, depending upon the makeup of your classes.
More than a few teachers have had their "Sybil" moments or days or years, when one class of students has fallen in love while the next is a group who would rather chew off their arms than sit in that room for an hour.
And yet, and yet . . . .
What is a teacher, if not hopeful? Why show up if you don't think that today might be the day when a synapse fires, or a head is lifted from the desk?
On our best days, teachers are the antithesis of Limbo lords, nudging our students ever higher above the poles that we hold before them. Most days, though, we simply hope that, among the 7 chances we are given, one turns out to be a pot of gold. Or silver. Or lukewarm, leftover soup.
On those days, it is important to remember that old Campbell's adage--Soup is good food.
A job filled with do-overs can be exhausting. And confusing. And liberating. The same can be said of a life. As for me, I'll take seven servings of "do overs" over calling "Uncle" any day.
No comments:
Post a Comment