Customer Satisfaction

I’m can’t say that I entirely disregard what my kids think about me. I’m not going to pretend that being a called a “retarded Chinois bitch” in a confiscated note 2 years ago didn’t break my heart (though it was partly due to the bad spelling). Honestly, I want them to like me. I want them to leave my class saying, “What an enjoyable lesson that was, and such good care did I receive,” upon which I would screech out, “Thank you, come again!”

In this business, it’s about the quality, marketing, and the delivery of the product that the teacher sells. Quality control: if I think a story’s boring, the kids will doubly hate it and make my life a living hell for that one period as a punishment. Marketing: I sell that sucker, whether it be essay writing or analyzing non fiction text, as if my life depended on it. For that one day, the whole universe revolves around my students being able to support their claims with textual evidence. Global warming? War in Iraq? Nope, if you can do this, you’ve basically found the cure for cancer in my eyes.

Delivery: Bottom line is that my students are sick and tired of me. I don’t blame them cause I’d be annoyed if a young, know-it-all teacher tries to spoon feed me answers telling me that it’ll help me grow big and strong. They’re tired of my sales pitch and I now sadly accept that I am amongst the ranks of nagging parents and telemarketers. I give up! However this downfall of delusions had opened my eyes to the effectiveness of using them as my little minion to sell the goods for me. The trick is to trick them into wanting to sell the stuff. Give them enough competitive group activities or extra credit points for being the winning side of a class debate and they’ll clamor for an opportunity to teach others. And when that product actually becomes theirs to sell and the profit goes into their pockets, it’s absolutely golden.

Young Love

Brooke and Chris are boyfriend and girlfriend. It became official after Chris got into a fight with Brian over her. They've been together for about a year now, which for 7th graders translates to 9 adult years.

Every time I assign a partner activity those two sparrows pair up and pour over their papers. Actually, it's more that Brooke provides the answers while Chris sits there unanimatedly. She's actually a very smart girl who's mum about her own intelligence. To her future mortification, she totes around a picture of Chris in her the plastic cover of her binder. On top his bucktoothed photo, she scribbled, "Chris is SEXY...Luv 4eva". The appeal is somewhat understandable: Chris is a little skater, blonde, and wears flannel shirts. He's also about a foot shorter than she is. I often catch her unabashedly smiling at him as he hunches over his paper, copying her work.

Bobby Sanchez is my resident troublemaker. He loves challenging me with condescending snorts of laughter when I try to joke around with the class. You can imagine how cute that gets. He's a class clown with a dash of animosity for authority figures. I noticed some tagging on his backpack and expected the same "Wilmington" or "Wilmas" that the kids brandish with pride. But his was different. Written in white out were the words, "Randy Sanchez you will be missed. I will never forget you. RIP". Sneaky, pissy, chatty Bobby Sanchez.

I too remember tossing around "4eva" and "always" so freely. And not because they were cheap but it was a time when forever was a possibility. Life, or at least love was what I made it to be. Now, shackled by reality and experience, I ogle at foreign, young love that dares to give, and give, and grieve.

If the thought, “when all else fails, I’ll just teach” has ever crossed your mind…

Signs that your son’s an IDIOT and you’re not doing any villages a favor by keeping him alive:

1. If he sees the teacher approaching and he floats and swirls his pen over his blank paper, pretending to write something down. Kinda like a french mime but armed with a pencil.

2. If he’s busily laughing like the ugliest hyena for a good 5 min until he finally notices me watching him. Upon which he awkwardly freezes and slowly turns around while keeping me in his peripheral vision. And he does this everyday.

3. When directed to write the definition for limbs he misspells it limbes and ends up writing the definition for limes instead (which are n. small, green citrus fruits).

Ah, rarely does a fine jewel of a young man decide to grace my classroom. As one teacher delicately put it, “the sight of him blinking his f$%^*& stupid eyes makes me want to punch his face in”. Mmmm~ to put in restaurant terms, he would be a heaping pile of immaturity with a side of a brain.

I can’t stand the kid. So much so that I changed his seat to the furthest possible corner away from me under the guise of classroom management. Ugh, why do such challenges exist when Obama’s inspiration has hope branching into my backyard like a trespassing tree? Stupid doofus.

Lost in translation

Never trust teachers who say they love all their kids. Never. They’re either genetic freaks coded to be compassionate multi-taskers or they’re lying to your face. Either way, it’s unfair to make love seem like the indisputable answer to all.

The ones who constantly talk about loving teaching are flashy CEOs with the Tom Cruise grins, reclining on plush leather seats in high-rise offices. Those who actually do love teaching are the grimy children getting comfy on hard little stools in sweatshops. My respect goes out to the blistered fingers.

So much of actual teaching has nothing to do with the talk. With the time it takes to chat, good teachers are busy snaking in and out of rows of unhygienic students, chipping away at a stack of papers, and planning the next day’s lesson. They are the dry erase marker stained, braving a smile at 7 am workers who put in countless hours into the unsung glory of their classrooms.

I know that love can’t be lost in translation to real, tangible action- that it's just the starting line to a long marathon of trials and endurance. Sentiment without actual work will result in my heart being sold at Walgreens for ½ off after valentine’s day.