by ALISTAIR BOMPHRAY
It’s that time of year when it’s hella/wicked/crazy/stupid/(insert regional slang here) hard to stay positive. We’ve got like eight weeks till Spring Break. Morning’s are cold and dark. The sun’s gone by six which means two and a half hours at most of schoolless light. Teachers and students alike are looking around the room and thinking, “These guys again?” And the sound of the school bell is enough to make you question the very nature of life itself. (It rings, therefore I am? And so on.)
All those inspiring ideas and lessons you gestated over the summer—gone with your tan. No doubt about it—this is the toughest stretch of the year. Which is why I thought it would do (me) some good to look deep into my cold teacher heart and reaffirm some of the things I love about this cruel, cruel job.
Enter Love stage right, wielding a jagged ray of light stolen from the legendary Unjammable Copy Machine.
Thus defeated, Bitch and Moan, the evil witches of Bellyache, slither offstage.
Sorry ‘bout that weirdness. Sometimes when I write these blogs after a long day of teaching, I don’t know what’s too weird. Anyway, here goes. Five things I love (and that you should consider loving too) about teaching:
1. Getting roasted by the kids. I’m not talking real insults or anything. Being called a “punk ass bitch” isn’t getting roasted—that’s more like a public lashing or having a shoe thrown at you. Some disses aren’t quite so hostile, but they aren’t exactly ha-ha funny either. A teacher friend of mine once caught a student sneaking up behind him with a sticky note that read, “Mr. Shitty Breath.” A little too grimace-worthy to be a legitimate roast. What I’m talking about is when a kid burns you with wit and timing—the real deal, you know? Even though the entire class is laughing at you (some of which laughter is more mean-spirited than you’d prefer), you can’t really be mad at him—it was just too damned funny. Here’s an example, though this particular barb is admittedly short on wit: The other day, while discussing society’s limiting definition of manhood, I asked my class what a person who is not “a player” or who does not “get a lot of girls” is labeled. With zero hesitation, one of my students (knowing damn well that I am the tennis coach) blurted out, “A tennis player!” Bada-bing! Keep reading →





