Today is the end of Week 9, which means only 7 weeks left in the semester, one of which is Spring Break. I'm happy about that, yes, happy. One might say delirious. I've got piles of grading to do this weekend, in preparation for the piles of grading which will descend upon me on Monday, and on and on we go. So nothing is getting any easier, but time is passing.
Teaching is probably not the right job for me, because I find it so incredibly stressful. And yet... sometimes it's wonderful and I feel as though I'm in my element. I wonder, if I taught for a few more years, if it would get easier.
I had to observe another teacher a few weeks ago, because everyone in my department has to observe someone else and be observed by someone else during the spring term. I had already been observed earlier -- twice -- once because I'm a new teacher and once for this general observation thing. Anyway, the person I observed is a much more senior person than I am, and generally acknowledged to be a very effective teacher. And there were a lot of things that she did right that impressed me (I've already tried to implement a couple of them in my own classes). But I came away from that class thinking "if they were mine, they'd be having a lot more fun." I think the one thing I know how to do well is create a good feeling in the class -- make people feel better than they did when they arrived.
This, despite the fact that on my way to class I routinely have panic attacks. After my difficult Tuesday-Thursday class I usually have to lie down for the rest of the day (or would if I could).
Like I said, it's probably not the right job for me. But sometimes I wonder.
Today in one of my classes a student mentioned (it's too complicated to explain why) a few different people, two of whom I didn't know, and the class was eager to explain to me who these people were. The third person mentioned was old Dubya himself, and I said that I did know him, "intimately." Immediately the students' ears perked up, misunderstanding what I meant. "Ooo, a story!" one student said. "Tell us!" I refused, because of course I don't have a story about Dubya, having never met him -- all I meant was that I'd suffered through his long awful presidency. But I was amused by the exchange because of the fact that the students wanted to hear my (nonexistent) story. I am a very good storyteller in class, and it's odd, because I don't think I'm a very good storyteller in real life. I need the stage to be funny. But on stage, yes, I'm funny.
Later, after class, I had to talk to a student who's on the verge of flunking out. I said some nice things to her and she burst into tears. I got teary-eyed too and that made it worse. This is the other way in which I'm a good teacher -- I care a lot about my students and want them to succeed. On the other hand, maybe I shouldn't be nice to people who are flunking out. Maybe I should just flunk them. This is something I stew over a lot.
In my evaluations last term, at least two people, maybe three, said I was a "pushover." This is a bad thing to be. That teacher I observed was not a pushover, no way, uh uh. Should I be more like her?
Tonight, after dinner, we had to hurry back to the kids' school because it was Talent Show night. Kid A and Rocket Boy stayed until the end, but Kid B was fed up after half of it, so he and I went home. But even half was pretty long -- over an hour of hysterically bad performances, one after another. Little girls singing along with Katy Perry songs. Pint-sized pianists, a gymnast, a skit, some interpretive dance. We were sitting close to the people controlling the lights and volume, who happened to be the PE teacher and the music teacher -- both of whom are wonderful teachers. They were chuckling at some of the dreadfulness, but at the same time they were being really supportive -- the music teacher kept running to the stage to encourage someone or fix some problem. There were lots of teachers in the audience, the principal was there. Basically every time we go to an event at their school I feel so grateful that we were able to come back to Boulder so the kids could go to this school. Good teachers make such a huge difference.
I like thinking that by teaching I can make a difference, even if only occasionally.
But of course it's Friday night. By Sunday night, maybe even by Saturday afternoon, I'll be panicking again. Also, the pay is lousy.
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