Diary of an (Almost) Retired Teacher
They're all mine.
The best thing about being a teacher is having so many children who I consider to me MINE for a lifetime. Once you are in my class, you are my student forever. I can claim, over the course of 30 years of teaching, about 3600 children as my own. Some I never hear from again once they leave my class. Others keep in touch and share their triumphs, their challenges, and their difficulties with me.
My former students now range in age from 44 to 13. I've written numerous letters of recommendation for colleges and scholarships, I've written one plea to a parole board testifying to the character of a young man and begging for leniency, and I've written one heart-wrenching eulogy.
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So this is who I am. It's not just what I do for a living. It's a solid, tangible part of me. It consumes my daily thoughts and has shaped my life into who I am today. The thought of NOT doing this? Retiring? It's like saying I'm going to stop being...me. How so I say goodbye to a significant part of myself. And who would I be without this?
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It's a Big Responsibility
Teaching kids how to think...it's a big deal. Not WHAT to think...HOW to think...for themselves.
Take the novel Fahrenheit 451 for example. Choosing to teach this novel--one of the top 10 most banned books in the US--is a conscious choice to show young adults the dangers in allowing someone else to think for you. The dystopian novel warns what happens when you choose to not "be bothered" by the world around you. I teach my students that they must "be bothered" in order to affect change in our society.
Is this me pushing my political views onto the curious, young, innocent minds of young teens? No. This is me, guiding students to discover their own opinions, views, and ideas about the world in which they live. It's THEIR world, afterall, I tell them. I'm old! I'll be rocking in my chair at he retirement home when they are running this world.
Pardon My Language
So...why did you choose MIDDLE SCHOOL? It's the question that is always, and I mean ALWAYS asked in conversation about my job. It's usually accompanied by a wrinkled-up nose or another look of distaste from the asker. I mean, I get it. They're 12, 13, 14 years old. NO ONE likes this age, am I right? Somewhere around the age of 12, you go from being called "Mommy" to "Mom" to "Bro." Throw in a "whatever" and an eye-roll, and you get the picture.
As the teacher of said adolescents, I get the pleasure of having up to 31 of these amazing ,yet immature, complex, yet hormonal, independent, yet whiny young scholars in one room at one time. This fosters an environment of peer-pressure-driven behavior that is not for the faint of heart. --Like, I dare the average citizen to spend ONE day being a guest educator in my classroom and leave with all wits in tact. Bring. It. On. Trade me jobs for ONE DAY and tell me how easy and insignificant it is to be in the teaching profession.
But I digress. Let me answer the original question, "Why middle school?" Middle schoolers have open minds. They are still finding their voices and discovering their preferences and opinions on everything from their own behavior and tolerances to the behavior of others in our society. They are open to hearing opposing viewpoints, open to accepting alternative lifestyles, and open to discussing their newly-formed opinions. They are the KEY to societal change in our world because they truly ARE the future. As their teacher, I can guide them to make educated choices and to judge situations based not on the opinions of others, but on their own educated opinions.
Sounds rather elevated, doesn't it? Well, it's what you make it. In the midst of discovering their voices, they are still delighted by whispering "fu@k" and then pretending they didnt' say it. I still have the word PENIS written on my wall in the back of the classroom with an annotomically-incorrect drawing for reference. I still get called "BRO" and am subjected to numerous eye-rolls, slumped shoulders, and even the occasional "Leave me alone!" But I take it all in stride. Remember: they're 13 and I'm not.
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