The First Week Of School Is Over
Note: I posted this a week ago, but for some reason it didn’t show up.
A week and some change ago, I shaved. Took off the bread and made sure it stayed off. Then school started and I remembered why I have worn a beard for the past 4 years.
No, it is not so I don’t look too young to be a high school teacher, though that is true. It is also not because I just think I look good with a beard, esp. since it took a while to get used to it. No, it is simply because I don’t have the energy to get up early enough in the morning to shave. That is way too much effort.
And I don’t have it.
The week was good. Three sections of World Lit and Comp with Jrs. none of whom have had me as a teacher before = fresh meat. I love it. They live in amused terror. They’ve heard the rumors, now they are faced with the reality. So far, so good.
Two classes of Philosophy, the class I introduced to the school district. A class that was 8 people 2 years ago, now hosts 50+ (about 25 in each class). And they are hurting already. They’re in the weeds, and I’m loving it. Daily updates from other teachers of kids asking them for help or to discuss and idea, kids in my room borrowing my books, or asking questions, or giving me excuses for why they may not perform well later.
One section of Culture and Identity (which the school calls ‘race and identity’ but that’s stupid), which is really an Intro to Sociology class. Most of them have not figured out the idea that you will be tested every day on everything we covered the day before until I am satisfied they have done the reading. One person passing the first two quizzes doesn’t bother me; but after I chewed you all out, 80% of you passed the third quiz with a B or higher. Go figure. Classical conditioning at work.
There is a sign on the outside of my door with the following inscription and picture:
Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’intrate
“Abandon all hope, ye who enter here”
i.e. Welcome to Hell . . .
When I woke up today, slightly drooling, while sitting at my desk at work, pen suspended in my hand, and staring down at a paper for my masters, it dawned on me: I’m getting old.
My beard has a growing patch of grey: it is only a few strands at the moment, but there will be more.
I can submit some grad credit for a raise at work on Monday, and have another by January. Not that I notice the money, but I have undergrad loans, grad loans, and a car loan to pay for. Suddenly money matters.
I’m sitting on over 100 essays to read this weekend and some quizzes to grade, and an apartment to clean and masters books to read.
I need a nap.
And I wouldn’t exchange any of this for the world. Amid former students stopping by my room daily to see me, sending emails, or text messages. Current students slowly coming into their own and figuring this all out. The spirit of the school changing now that the previous force of evil has been removed (though not killed . . . yet), and . . . well hell, there are reasons to smile.
And maybe, just maybe, I’ll find time to shave.
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