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.
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