I have waited a long time to write this post. I liked the
students at Leuzinger High School. They were much better at the work that they
did, they were far more respectful, too.
I cannot say that the administrators looked forward to seeing
me, however. At that stage of my career, I had gotten tired of putting up with
students’ disrespect. I had no problem calling security, sending students to the
office, and getting the dean’s help when I needed it. The first dean that I
talked to was a real help, telling me that the students were really good at Leuzinger, better than the
students at Hawthorne, and he was right, although at first I did not believe
him.
The students were better, though, in large part because of a
better disciplinary staff. And the next year, there were six hundred fewer
students on campus, anyway.
There was this one Spanish class, a very rowdy group during the fourth
period class. Spanish 3, and most of the students were also AP students. They
can be an unwieldy type, kids who do not think that they have to listen to
anyone because they are smart and college-bound.
I really disliked how chatty they were, so much so that I could
not get roll taken adequately. That day
was not a winner for me, either, because my leg was hurting.
I got so hurt, so frustrated, that for the rest of the period I
just put aside everything and sat out the clock.
One of the students then asked me, “Do you like being a teacher?”
I was too much in pain to lie: “Not today, I don’t!”
That was the first time that I had come clean with some outrage,
some discontent about being a teacher.
Later on, another student whom I highly esteemed asked me in passing:
“Don’t you want to be a teacher?”
“No,” I responded very simply, not to disparage him, but to
finally dissuade myself from the empty notion that being a teacher was in the
card for me.
I write this once again. The students at Leuzinger on the whole
were great, much better than other local schools, especially Hawthorne. It was
because they were so good that once and for all I could concede to myself that
I did not want to be a teacher. I knew once and for all that it had nothing to
do with the students or the personalities of the administrators, or even the
lack of support. I just got tired of the routine of kids coming, going out,
grading papers, assigning seats, sending students out who were giving me a hard
time. I was glad to be as well received as I was there, but it was never going
to be enough for me to come back and do more, to put my all into it.
“Do you like being a teacher?”
When I began to discover that I was much more than my parents,
my background, my learning, that “As He is, so am I in this world” (1 John4:
17), then I could easily push myself away from being a teacher. I am not a
teacher, I do not like being a teacher, and I have no further interest in being
a teacher. It took me a long time to accept that I am fully accepted without
blemish just as I am in Christ (Ephesians 1: 6), and that I do not have to take
on a job in order to be accepted, excellent, or exceptional.