March 19th, 2014

This time a student stole the dry-erase marker for me and said very gravely
Make sure you keep this with you. I didn't even end up writing on the board
that class, but I did slip the marker into my purse before leaving the college.
This is what it means to be a teacher: to be always armed with tools. Not all
of them are visible though. When Melanie and I were at the college I told her
about my wolf dreams and she noted how strange, or important, it was that
in both dreams when the wolf attacked it was my hands that I saw. In the first
dream, pushing into the wolf's mouth and tearing at the flesh of its cheek, and
in the second shaking off the wolf as he tried to close around my wrist and
drawing my hand back and then later watching each finger separate the keys
to get into my car before the wolf boys attacked. My hands and my voice.
In each dream I articulated my refusal to become prey; in each dream I yelled.
And those are your tools Melanie says, those are the things we use as teachers.
I sink my hands into my pockets and think about this for a while.