I Am Your Teacher

Sometime recently as my kids were working on essays and expressing their frustration with the process, I told them I understood perfectly, because I do this writing every week, and sometimes it just doesn't flow like I want it to.  In fact, I set it up tied to a day of the week so that I would be forcing a deadline on myself; I don't like to fail, and failing publicly is the worst, so putting it out there keeps me to a regular writing schedule, even though it's difficult at times.  Some of them wanted to know what the site was, so I posted it (with no assignments to read it, nor worries about what I'd written) on the board for anyone who was interested in reading it.  I don't know who, if anyone, has read it.  But it made me consider, not for the first time,  how kids perceive their teachers. 

This is for you, student.

I am your teacher.  Mostly, you see me in the same 25' x 22' room, 50 minutes a day, for an academic year.  There's no way for you to imagine my world as I see it, 50 years encompassing the entire central Plains of the country, the places I am familiar with.   I gather that what you see is a middle-aged overweight woman wearing orthopedic shoes, capris, and casual shirts.  You can't see that in my soul I still feel about 22---as do most adults.  I tell you why I wear the orthopedic sneakers.  Less often do I tell you that it's hard for me to find pants long enough, because most clothing manufacturers seem to think that all fat women have legs thislong.  And as far as dressing casually, I just hate to iron.  Life's too short for that.  That's really how I feel about most housekeeping and one of the reasons I'd make a lousy housewife.

You learned pretty quickly that there are some things that make me mad, some that make me laugh, and some that I don't really react to.   You don't know that I have this gene I inherited that is positively allergic to trashy, disrespectful behavior like drawing on furniture or leaving empty cans and bottles in the floor of my classroom.  It's my dad's fault---and I'm proud of it.  We were expected to keep our home looking nice (at least for the world outside) and neat, and it carries over to my classroom.  That's why trash and drawings make me furious.  I can laugh with you because I've been DOING it for most of my life; I have (as I've told you) the sense of humor of a 17-year-old boy, and I have to restrain myself from laughing----a lot.  And as far as not reacting,....sometimes it's just better for everyone if I don't.  The harder you try to shock me, the less I'll react to it.  It's the only way to control some people. 

Although I tell you at the beginning of the year that I am not married and don't have kids, you sometimes ask if that's my daughter with me in a picture on a filing cabinet.  It's my sister, at her wedding; she was 33 and I was 46.  It's a shock to me every time I realize you don't know anything AT ALL about my family.  I'm the oldest child; I have a brother and a sister, and my parents are blessedly still alive.  I still kiss and hug my mama and daddy every time I see them.   I've heard rumors that I supposedly hate all Ag kids, which is the craziest thing I've ever heard:  every. single. member. of my family is in agribusiness except for me.  But we were taught not to expect (or ask) for special consideration for activities we did---we did them on our own time.   We worked hard, knew our boundaries, behaved or suffered the consequences, had everything we needed, but were not spoiled except in one way:  we got to travel.  Plus, there was NO skipping school; we had to be bleeding from the eyeball or in full cardiac arrest to miss school, so I don't understand at all why you skip.  I thank my mom and dad for all those things every time I think of it. 

You are stunned when I tell you I live in Broken Arrow, as though it were the end of the earth, not the 40 minutes it takes me to drive in each day.  There's no way for you to know that I do that because I love the road, and I love you, and I love to be close to my family.  Living here helps me with all three.  I can still love my job if I'm not living where people are up in my business all the time; my family lives west of Tulsa, so I'm partway between my job and them, living here.  I have a church and friends here that keep me busy.  I'm close to entertainment, but I really kind of live in the country.  It's the perfect setup for me, for now.

Like all your teachers, I have a life you don't often consider, not because you're mean, just because you are young.  We have big hearts, small wallets, broken hearts, happy dreams, loss, hope, pain, and love.  We cry---I cried last night, missing my best friend who died in 2003.  We laugh at the same TV shows, get scared at the same thoughts, and dance to (some!) of the same music you do.  We make huge mistakes:  I badly offended someone I work with this week, and I've grieved over it for several days now, because I respect and trust him.  We know your tricks and distractions (don't ever think we don't know when you're trying to get us off track so you won't have to work; it's just that sometimes we know there are good things that can come of the off-track discussion).  We do what we do because we love knowing that something we teach you will come back to your mind in later years when you need it, though you probably don't believe that now.   That's OK.  We know.  We love you.

I love you.