Convocation

The teachers filed in to the football stadium, ushered through a gauntlet of cheerleaders from every high school in the district and then past a row of tables where chicken biscuits and little cups of lemonade were being handed out.  Each teacher got a backpack full of school supplies and miscellaneous information. 

“Good morning, Stafford County!” a woman yelled into a mic. “Welcome back!  In one week, the kids come back and we begin the a new school year!”

The crowd, there to be entertained, replied with a semi-enthusiastic “WOO!”

I looked around for coffee.  There was none to be had.   

“To all of you here, welcome to Stafford County!  Thank you for being a member of the most important profession there is; the one that trains people for all of the other professions.” 

Another semi-enthusiastic reply.  

I’ve been here before.  Fifteen years as a classroom teacher, and every year starts with the same platitudes and posturing.  I’m not sure how I ended up here again, sitting with all of these people patting themselves on the back before they’ve accomplished a single thing.   

And yet here’s the thing:  I love teaching.  I love helping kids develop a love for learning, I love introducing them to literature and various types of writing and helping them learn to interact with the world. I love helping them navigate the bullshit and agony that certain members of society will put them through.  I love having an opportunity to be a positive influence.   

I just have no interest in selling dogma.  “Everyone will pass their tests! We’ll churn out a cookie tray full of perfect little scholars and citizens! This is the year we’ll learn to help 100% of our students be perfect little clones of us!”   

I believe in education.  I really do. Social indoctrination and groupthink I can do without. 

Everybody say WOOOOOO!!!!!  

This, Althea, is the reason I’ve been thinking about you a lot.  I think most teachers, most people, would simply consider you a lost cause.  At 13, you not only gave up on learning, you gave up on getting along with anyone.  You turned in more work than some, but generally put in less effort.  Everything was a slight.  Everything was an insult.  Every request was an imposition.  Every assignment was a waste of time. Every interaction with a peer was a potential fight. Interactions with adults went nowhere.  You were a master of deflection, a fortress unto yourself. 

It was just about the sanest thing I’d ever seen, and it was frustrating as hell.  I wanted you to see a path to coping in this hypocritical and misguided world that had no place for you. I understood your desire to be left alone, your insistence on a higher standard. 

Meanwhile, a lot of people in your life were straight up harmful, actively working to exclude and hurt you, break you down, and make you suffer. Abused by some and neglected or ignored by others, no one offered anything that would help you move forward.  They blamed you for your reactions and responses, and never helped you deal with the actual problem, which is that no one has ever told you the truth.  

Evil holds a place of honor in this world that no one acknowledges.  We expect you to smile and show us your best self, to accept their blows and insults and keep smiling through it all.  Trauma and suffering are your companions everywhere you go, but we expect you to act as if you won’t be punished just as severely for everything you do right as you are for everything you do wrong. 

And, of course, when I was your teacher, I had no answers for you either, no way to break through or end your suffering.  You needed a safe and comfortable place and I provided that only for an hour or so a day.  It was a refuge, maybe, but you were never at ease in my classroom. Maybe you gained a little more knowledge from me? Maybe you benefited from the lack of pressure?  I have no way of knowing for sure and I never really asked.  I graded and commented on your work but didn’t push you for compliance. I gave you your space. Maybe that helped.  

Mostly, though, I was just trying to get through my day.  The world doesn’t feel a need to crush my spirit in the same way it seems determined to crush yours, so I can afford to give you a little grace without really doing anything to change your situation.  Privilege is a real thing, and I have benefited from it all my life.  I’ve lived comfortably despite having no useful knowledge or skills beyond a basic understanding of human communication.  

Which I guess, combined with my white skin and kind eyes, is enough?  Why do you face poverty, abuse, and pain while I get to sit here and be praised for showing up for work on the first day as if I’ve already saved the world?