I would love to say right now that I'm inspired. That I'm monumentally thrilled to be here. Or even that I've decided I'm not cut out for this and I'm desperately scrambling for a way out before I'm doomed to...thirty-nine? more weeks as a teacher.
None of those are true. I'm mostly just exhausted.
There have been good moments in the last week, like when Mark-who-calls-himself-Marcus wouldn't talk about anything but black authors (except he didn't know any) in our brainstorming discussion of American lit, and then he brought up Poe and I said "He's white, you know," and another kid piped up with "But his work is dark," and I just about laughed my face off--and so did the rest of the class. There have been bad moments, like when one mouth asked if he could call me Crotch instead of Crouch and I almost couldn't talk, I was so mad at his immaturity. (It's one thing to ask if I'm related to Barty; it's quite another to be deliberately insulting.) Mostly it's just been overwhelming. So much to plan! So many things they need to know! So many standards to meet! And they're starting off from such a low point. It makes me so mad/sad/depressed to think that these kids will be out in the world in a year. It's all well and good to say in education classes that you should set high standards, but where do you even start when the bar that is supposed to be the "norm"--not the high, the norm--is so high they can't even see it?
I love the high school setting. They are so full of energy (well, except for the ones who are slackadaisical as to be comatose) and so full of hope and everything's so big to them, however cool they try to play it. There are so many fun things about teenagers. I'm so excited to go to their football games, to see their assemblies, to watch them get ready for dances. I love, love, love being a part of something big. But at the same time, my job is so huge, and I'm responsible for so many--and I want so badly to do well. I want to inspire, I want to teach, to give them new information; I want them to learn practical skills; I want them to enjoy words and internalize them like I do. I want them to think deeply and walk out better, happier and more determined.
A word on diversity:
My biggest internal struggle this week has easily been understanding those who are different from me. I don't honestly give a flying fart in space what color my students' skin is, or their sexual orientation, their sex, or their economic background. I can say that honestly. But there is a part of me, not a part I'm proud of, that looks down on those I don't understand--those who haven't ever picked up a book voluntarily, who don't care if they fail a class, who don't see citizenship in this country and a free education as a privilege, who don't care or maybe even think to try to contribute positively to society after graduation. I don't understand these students. I don't understand how you can care so little about your surroundings and yet still be disruptive or mocking to those who do. What do I do with these kids? They're still mine for a year.
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