May 31st, 2000
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Games, changes and fears The allusions board used to contain a newspaper ad for the new Howard Stern show--prominently featuring, of course, babes in bikinis. An attached note card contained an arrow pointing to the ad's headline and a notation that read:
Such enterprising and thoughtful young scholars. I took it down when one of my female chickens said it made her nervous. Now everything is ripped down and all that remains are little clumps of paper
clinging to old staples. I believe that fate has brought us here And we should be together But we're not All of the frustration I've been feeling with the chickens has not gone away. I'm still upset with how some of them perceive concepts like responsibility and limitations. And now I've added to the mix guilt and sadness over leaving those same chickens. Today I sat and watched them carefully fill in their Scan-Tron bubbles, or scribble out their essays, and my eyes welled up with tears and I tried to memorize their faces. I told myself that even if I were staying at my job, they wouldn't be my chickens any more--they'd move on to another teacher and I'd have to get used to 130 new faces. That doesn't make me any less sad. I mean, these are my chickens.
I play it off but I'm dreaming of you I'll keep my cool but I'm fiendin. I try to say goodbye and I choke I try to walk away and I stumble Though I try to hide it, it's clear My world crumbles when you are not near I'm leaving my teaching job to become a writer. A professional writer. A paid writer. A freelance writer? A full-time writer. Any way you type it, it still doesn't tell me what I'm going to do next week when I have no job to report to. I've wanted to be a writer since I can remember. I can't explain my ambition any more clearly than that. I have a journalism degree; I didn't use it because I didn't know how. My life so far has been a series of hotly pursued careers that end up not being what I really want. Activity Director in a nursing home. Paper ape. Teacher. None of them worked out. But none of them were writing. That doesn't mean it was an easy decision to quit teaching. I love working with high school students. I love introducing them to stories, poems, movies they've never read or seen before--stuff that makes them think, makes the light bulb go on over their head. I especially love giving them a broader view of the world. Hearing "Ohhhh! THAT'S where that's from!" warmed the cockles of my heart. I love learning from them. I can think of several times where a student pointed out something in a work I've read a hundred times that I just never noticed. I can think of times when they've corrected me, and I was able to teach them (I hope) how to be wrong gracefully. I've added their interpretations to my own in my teacher's editions. I feel grateful to have been in the company of such smart, generous people. I especially love laughing with them. Sometimes we'd stop paying attention to whatever we were reading and pick on the artwork that accompanied the text in our literature book. Sometimes we'd discuss who the author looks like in his little bio picture...a game that usually ended up in someone insulting someone's mom. Sometimes I'd point out the dirty parts of Shakespeare. And sometimes I'd tell them things I probably shouldn't, but we'd get a good laugh out of the telling, and we'd feel more like a team. I'm so proud of them. I dragged my classes through a lot of material this year, and I know I gave them too much work. But they rise to the level at which they're challenged, and I can see how far they've come. It makes me feel good to know they've succeed. And now I need to make some progress of my own.
I may appear to be free But I'm just a prisoner of your love I may seem alright and smile when you leave But my smiles are just a front
Goodbye, little chicks. Thank you for letting me be your teacher. Thank you for being mine.
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