If I Am Ever Condemned to Teach...

I have a terrible, terrible-beyond-words feeling. It’s the worst feeling I’ve ever felt with the narrow exception of my mother’s passing. Should my feeling ever come to pass, it would be the most terrible, crushing blow I’ve ever suffered. It hurts me to the pit of my soul to even imagine that it could possibly occur. A moment ago, I did something that I’ve done my best to avoid doing; I considered.

I considered the possibility that my true calling is teaching. I considered the possibility that my musical and literary aspirations are only a diversion to an inevitable fate that will land me in the classroom. No… I should put it like this…

I considered the possibility that, though I may resist and pursue my aspirations and become what I want to become, perhaps it’s not what God meant for me and He intends that I become that teacher. One thing about being a Christian: it’s always about His will over our own. And so, wherever He wants me to be, that’s where I need to be, even if I don’t want to be there. And I allowed myself to entertain the possibility that my future, my true calling, is within the confines of a monotonous, restricted, uncreative, dusty, chalk-residued, marker-stained, overcrowded classroom.

As I pondered this loathsome thought, I only grew sicker and sicker. I could feel tears welling up in my eyes, but the anger wouldn’t allow the sadness to surface. Me: a friggin teacher. Me: another facilitator for parents to neglect their children. Me: constricted to be a part of a fatally flawed system that I don’t even believe in. Me: teaching kids how to pass tests knowing they’re not getting a true education. Me: teaching history’s half-truths. Me: adopting the “professional look” to be accepted by higher-ups that I really give less than a funny thing about.

I can see it now. I’d be the most cynical, most sharp-words-spitting, most inhospitable, most hated, most petty, most vindictive, most caustic person on campus. I can’t see myself being anything less; my ultimate nightmare comes true and I hafta do it for a living for who knows how long. My mom was in the field for 20 some odd years; I’m not even as old as her career. My favorite occasion would be when coworkers try to do something nice for me; maybe a surprise party for my birthday or something, and I don’t even hang around for it. Or maybe I get a plaque for my work and “accidentally” drop it. And no, I’m not going to any faculty get-together dinners, parties, none of that.

School property will be damaged. I will throw textbooks, maybe even in front of the kids. Break a yardstick, that’s nothing. Kick over a stool, without a second thought. Broken closet hinges, no sweat. But this is the most highly anticipated one: I may be the first teacher to ever hit a parent. Yeah, there’s rules against messing with students, but let somebody’s parent come to the school on some nonsense. Shoot… after all the turmoil they’re causing in the school system? That’s the dopest way I could ever get fired.

But see, the scariest-scariest thing about all of it is, I actually could be a teacher. A GOOD teacher. I don’t even know why I’m taking education courses right now; it’s all most-basic common sense to me. I’ve done most of it at some point in my life already; I even taught an impromptu Latin class before I even graduated high school. The hardest thing is just knowing your subject; if you know your subject and you communicate effectively, then it's NOTHING. My mom was a teacher; I watched her do her thing on occasion. It scares me because the more I think about it, the more it seems teaching is my calling.

But I HATE SCHOOL!!! It’s not even like I’m going in to be a true teacher because the system’s so screwed up: the PTA is nil; the teachers are working double shifts as teacher and parents; the kids are off the chain; the administrators are up to their ears with discipline; reading, 'riting, and 'rithmetic done took a back seat to No Child Left Behind and standardized testing; and the federal goverment is on some "let's take funding away from below-grade schools so they can get better!", the friggin GENIUSES!! And NO, SCREW fixing it from the inside! Do you know how many years I’d hafta teach before I have tenure enough for anybody to give a d@mn what I say? Do you know how many kids are gonna be fed into the system in that span of time? What the heck kinda priorities… nevermind. Bottom line, I fit the bill of a teacher, and that’s not cool. Not cool at all.

And I get this strange feeling that somehow Somebody does want me to teach… If that’s the case, then I’m just sh!t outta luck, huh. And don’t hit me with that “He’ll bless you no matter where you are if you’re in His will.” This I know, obviously; I teach Sunday School presently by the way, shoulda mentioned that earlier I guess. It doesn’t make me any more receptive to the classroom than telling me “it’ll keep you from getting sick” makes me receptive to a vaccine from a doomsday-economy-sized-big-a$$ syringe in the RECTUM. And it’s pessimistic of me to say, but the fact that I hate the idea of me teaching so much makes it seem that much more likely to be the outcome. Because God often does put us in the most awkward, undesirable positions to make us learn Him, lean on Him, and trust Him; to show us what we’re capable of and all that jazz. As much as I’ve been trying to make this music thing come to pass, I figure I shouldn’t hafta become a teacher to get closer to Him. Now I’m getting even closer to Him from praying that teaching isn’t even in my remote future.

First days of school sucked before, but I can’t even imagine how bad my first day as a teacher would suck. I can’t even see myself living too-too long if I become a teacher cuz my blood pressure is prolly gonna be insane. I’ll prolly stop being invited to family occasions cuz I’m gonna have so much animosity against family that wanted me to teach. And I’ma definitely need a wife to help me along cuz I’ma be a basketcase so big you could take a whole buffet to the picnic. And my music… I’ll probably be so mad that even if I have time to pursue it during summer breaks, I’ll be too pissed to do it. I’ll prolly pull my Afro out… oops my bad. They’ll prolly make me cut the sh!t anyway for the “professional look”.

I’ma say this right now so I ain got da tell nobody later: I don’t do graduations. I don’t do proms. I don’t do games. I don’t do homecomings. I don’t do field days. I don’t do carwashes. I don’t do chaperoning on field trips. I don’t do conflict resolution. I don’t do conferences. I don’t do staff development. I don’t do pep rallies. I don’t do assemblies. I don’t do house calls. I don’t do ties. I don’t do heart-to-heart, mouth-to-mouth, or toe-to-toe. I don’t do fire drills. If I get called to teach, I’ma TEACH and that’s about ALL ya gonna GET. DAG this is a long blog!

Right now, I’m actually laughing a little bit. But that’s not a good thing. See, sometimes I laugh because I know I’m up the creek stankin. That’s my, “Gimme your best shot” laugh. It’s when I really don’t care if I win or lose, either way I’m too far gone to care. It’s like, I would get just as much pleasure out of being rotten as a teacher as I would having success with my music. I know it’s not a good way to be, but whaddaya expect?? I told you how much I hate school a looooong time ago! Guess you thought I was playing... Just pray that I’m wrong about this hunch so you don’t hafta worry about your kids ending up in my class and me making a knockout poster out of you when you come up to the school with your nonparenting a$$ and try to make a situation out of something when the real problem is your child has no home training cuz you suck as a parent and should be arrested for child neglect.

Goodnight.