Rock of Ages

Math does funny things to my mind.  Especially as I've gotten older.

When I turned ten, I remember being amazed that I had lived to be a decade old.  Looking back at photos from that year, I should have been amazed that no one had kidnapped me, shaved off my bleach-blonde mullet and stripped me of my slippery, silk, button-down shirt.  I suppose you could say I was a "looker."  But not the kind that drew positive reactions.

In honor of my 25th birthday, I designed a funky, die-cut, dinosaur-themed birthday card for an assignment in my Typography class.  The card celebrated the fact that "I'm old. A quarter century old."  Again, I remember being stunned that I'd reached such a summit in my life.

On the day I turned 36, I remember realizing that I was now at least twice as old as my oldest student.  And that fact left me speechless.

This morning, on my pre-dawn walk, I realized that I have been teaching for 25 years.  Twenty five years.  Which is exactly. . . half. . . of . . . my . . . lifetime.  Such revelations justify an abundance of elipses.

I remember reaching my tenth year as a teacher, and being stunned that I had kept a job for that long.  My own dad, whom I respected greatly, changed jobs about every 6 or 8 years.  Why, then, would I ever expect to stick with one for an entire decade?  But, by the time I reached that tenth year of teaching, I remember thinking that I just might be able to stick with this job until I retire.

Fifteen years later, and I still believe I can stick with this until I retire.  I suppose, then, the question becomes whether or not the kids can stick with me for that long.  It's no longer a question of me sustaining an interest in the subject so much as it is a question of whether I can remain relevant enough to reach that age.

Well, that's not entirely true.  There is the question of whether I can stick with it.  And it's not the students who've led me to wonder this; rather, it's education's recent adoption of the business model that has left me wondering.   If you ask me, this is one adoption that never should have happened.  How on earth could we expect a business model to work when our clients--who, for the most part, are required by law to be our clients--also happen to be our products?  And, as long as we insist upon using measuring sticks created by distant entities obsessed with rote, standardized outcomes, we should expect public education to "fail."

Pinch me, but I still happen to believe that the relationships I foster with my students will go much further in nudging them along in their development as caring, connected human beings than will any coaching I provide them on how best to take a standardized test.

Next week, I turn 51, which means that I will no longer have taught for half of my life.  But this is a fact in only  the most Pharisaic way,  me quibbling with myself over a handful of days or weeks as the dividing line lengthens.  What strikes me most, as I ponder this surprisingly long ride I've taken, is how much I still enjoy it all.  And by "it" I mean "the students."

Twenty five years later, and they continue to be vibrant, connected, funny, brave folks who give me great hope in the future.  The fact that one or two of them might end up changing my Depends down the road?  Well, by then, maybe they'll have spent half a lifetime preparing for that moment and I can be at ease, knowing I'm in good hands.