A Thanksgiving Gift

October 26, 2009

 Admittedly I am jumping the gun a bit because we are nowhere near Thanksgiving just yet, but I felt truly fulfilled the other day and wanted to write about the experience.

Being a teacher is not glamorous. Lest you mistakenly thought it was, here’s the nitty gritty on some of the occupational hazards: you get chalk dust all over you, varicose veins from standing eight hours a day, permanent red stains on your fingers from correcting papers, strained vocal cords from trying to screech over students who have far more pressing concerns on a Monday morning than listening to you, and then, further down the line, awaits burnout. Even DH Lawrence had very little good to say about the profession: http://www.poetry-online.org/lawrence_d_h_afternoon_in_school.htm

Generally, the administration wants you to follow a certain set of rules, the parents feel their children can do no wrong, the kids who have done the least work come whining and wanting to know why they have not gotten an A. No one, and I mean NO one, is going to tell a teacher that they have done well: the kids do not, for the most part, want to be there, they are forced, and preparation and grading is obviously solitary work, so we have to look for encouragement where we can. I, thrillingly, found some, last Friday it was, the Friday before our two-week fall break. (In Germany, there is, Gott sei Dank, a two-week break for fall, for Christmas and for Easter, respectively, very useful for recharging those drained batteries). Friday is my least favorite day of the week as I have eight classes back to back: basic human functions like eating and going to the bathroom have to be reduced to the barest minimum, as you can imagine, and there is certainly no time for  trips to the coffee machine or friendly chats with colleagues.

By hours seven and eight I am literally dragging myself to 11^th grade poli sci class and tend to perch on the desk so that the students do not discover I am ready to keel over from exhaustion. Last Friday was odd because the kids brought a fellow student to ‘sit in’ on the class. Puzzling: what kind of teen would voluntarily sit in on a class the Friday afternoon before a holiday?

However, I am certainly not one to deny such a request. Would you believe that the interloper in our midst actually then raised his hand and participated in the discussion? Inwardly I did a double take, though the discussion happened to be an interesting one, on the rights of the individual versus the obligation of the state to protect its citizens. The case I brought up involved a young boy suffering from leukemia who could have been helped by a blood transfusion, except for the fact that he, like his parents, was a devout Jehovah’s Witness and therefore unwilling to go through with the procedure. Most of my students felt that the child should be removed from the parents’ custody and forced (in his own best interest) to have the transfusion, that the state was morally obliged to intervene to save a life.

And then, my gift: the bell rang. Eighth hour was over, everyone was free to go. Yet they sat there, hands still raised. I don’t know if a non-teacher can picture the moment, but it moved me indescribably, and will undoubtedly help me make it through innumerable Fridays to come.