Several Things At Once…


Random thought #1: Kids these days are rude. I don’t know if it’s bad parenting. It must be; where else would they learn such “etiquette”? My parents always taught me to respect my elders, and to say “please” and “thank you.” It’s just plain courtesy, and it gave me respect in return when people saw how nice and polite I was.

A couple of days ago, at the beginning of the first class, a student runs in before the tardy bell rings and says to me, “Hey… Ms… Gah…” He still hasn’t learned to say my name correctly, even though a poster of my name had been taped on the wall behind me for the past two weeks now. “Ms. Gah… can I have a quarter? I need a soda from the machine.” Two things crossed my mind as he said this: a) he didn’t say please, b) I’m not going to give a quarter for every kid who asks me. Do I look like a piggy bank? I immediately said no. I didn’t have time to go scrounging through my purse to look for change as I tried to get class in order. As soon as I said no, he said, “Yeah, you do. You’re a liar. Give me a quarter.” I insisted that I didn’t have a quarter. He insisted on calling me a liar and demanding a quarter. I ignored him, and he eventually went to his seat. Yeah… I’m going to give a kid a quarter when he doesn’t even say please, and then insults me by calling me a liar. Little snot.

Random thought #2: I practically live in my car. I like my car. I spend about three hours a day just driving: forty minutes going to work, an hour going home, and about another hour or two if I have to do errands in between. When I drive home, I think a lot better in my car. My body is occupied, but my mind wanders. I get a lot done in my car—especially when I’m thinking. If only I can grade work as I do this…

Random thought #3: Mental exhaustion is the worst kind of exhaustion. I can handle physical exhaustion; just eat a banana and drink some caffeine (Dr. Pepper or coffee), and I’m all set to go for another two hours. But mental exhaustion… it’s an entire shutdown. I can’t think straight. If I can’t think straight, then I can’t plan a lesson or grade work, and for a teacher, that’s a killer backlog of paperwork. At times like these, I miss my old job where all I did was mindlessly and routinely checked in patients for their appointments. The mental exhaustion can reach further into me than just paperwork. I actually had thoughts about quitting this job. The physical demands are not a problem. The mental exhaustion was getting really negative. I actually had fantasies of getting into a terrible accident so I wouldn’t have to teach. I thought about going into the principal’s office and telling him that I wanted to quit. I’ve had thoughts about not wanting to extend my contract. The voice of my selfish side began to tell me that teaching is the ultimate act of altruism in which I sacrifice myself to help kids who don’t give a shit. I saw only the negative side of teaching. Mental exhaustion has pointed them all out to me.

I once said that failing is not falling down, but not getting back up. I am literally pulling myself out of a hole. Now that I’ve seen the bad parts of the teaching profession, do I give up now and quit? The English department does not want that. They know how stressed out I am; they know that I got a bad deal of a position because I came in late into the school year. When I mention I’m stressed, they say that I’m doing good and that they need me. Sometimes that feels good when they say that, but in essence, they just need an English teacher for 180 students.

Although I’ve been getting tons of support from other English teachers about the work that I’ve got thrown into, the support that I needed most of all came from very unexpected sources: my old roommate and the school librarian. Mental exhaustion hit me to the point where I couldn’t pick myself up anymore. I almost cried because I hated everything. I wanted to crawl into the hole and stay there, and for a while, I had that opportunity. My roommate sat with me while I buried my face in a pillow and his arm. Although he teased me, I found a hole to crawl into and he was there with me. The second person was the school librarian. As I rushed in the halls for class, she stopped me and said she was looking for me. I thought she was going to talk about books, but she expressed her concern about me. She said that I’m always putting on a happy and smiling face, but she also noticed that I’m tired and stressed and zombie-like when I’m at the copy machine. She was the first person who didn’t talk to me about English, and comment on what a great job I’m doing; instead she offered her companionship and a shoulder to cry on if I ever needed it. She gave me a hug, and that was priceless.

All in all, there are moments in life that are worth crawling out of the hole for—and it doesn’t have to be about those rude kids.