March 11, 2014

Everything is overwhelming about teaching. Every. Single. Thing. I have 12 inches of papers and a lingering lung infection and no energy, and 80 seniors who don't know how to write. Sometimes the mystical film over the world clears and I can see to the bones and sinews of things, and it is ugly. Today I was told "no one liked you last year" and "I mean, people thought you were nice, but, like, your class was boring." and "You've really stepped your game up." These do not feel like compliments. "It's boring NOW!" I yell. "We just spent two full days talking about thesis statements AND topic sentences AGAIN and you're SENIORS!" It feels good to let go of my eternal forgiving smile and become loud and indulgent. "No, miss, you're not boring this year" they insist. "I mean, you had a hard year last year. that's probably why you were boring. Those kids tried to poison you, your heart was broken even more than it had been, and your dad died." And as they line up these stones of pain in front of me and search my face for a reaction, I realize, yes, these things happened, and yes I have survived. Later one of them comes back alone with tears in her eyes over something that has injured her beyond her understanding. I listen. I am the person she trusts in the space of that moment. Everything is overwhelming about teaching. And beautiful. Every. Single. Thing.