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.
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