Teachers are Crazy

Teachers are an insane bunch.

I know, I used to mutter myself in class, so worried was I about trying to make every lesson work, trying to strain and engage every student to learn something from me.

Yet who in their right mind really believes that they can read, understand, and connect with 36 minds at one time in one class? If nothing else, human experience is too varied, to unfathomable for such empty notions.

I deluded myself into believing that I could do, say, and just be who I was, yet there is still an unhinged reality that cannot be ignored: who wants to listen to a clown entertain himself for one to two hours at a time? Even I got tired of it, wanting to be somewhere else being entertained in turn. But more on that later. . .

I talked to myself so often without realizing it, that one student actually thought that I should be locked up in a mental institution. (I never cared for that smart mouth, anyway, and if a little deviance freaked him out, the let slip the dogs of mental illness!)

What drives teachers crazy?

We are double-minded, schizophrenic people. We are called on one hand to teach, to inspire, to instill students with a greater purpose.

On the other hand, we are called to control students, keep them in their place, teach them how to put things away, when to get their books, where to sit, when to speak, when to think, and if they get out of line, we have to give them 2,3,4 warnings, then send them out.

Give them freedom to think, but not let them use that freedom unless we deem it appropriate. Do you see the problem?

I have a lesson that I want to teach. I think that it is interesting. No, compelling -- yes, compelling -- the students to share my enthusiasm is either a miraculous endeavor or a fool's errand. If students have ideas of their own, shouting out, interrupting, raising hell if they feel like, that is very frustrating, because I have this lesson that I want to teach.

Then again, the I-phone in their pockets could convey a wealth of information in a fraction of the time, with music, props, images, and the option to explore for more.

No wonder students tune out. No wonder students get restless. The world is passing them by, and I want to capture, nay imprison their attention for fifty minutes -- and even I am getting bored!

Yet I insist on being teacher/probation officer. In one minute, I am telling them something wonderful; the next, I want to throttle a kid. Then I have to compose myself, try to prove to myself that, yes, I love this job, that I love working with young people.

On No, I'm talking to myself again! Did the students heard me?

This divided mind breaks out all the time in a teacher. Sometimes, I even feel dissociated from myself, the only way to endure the chronic questions and anxiety. Where are we going with this? What if they do not like the lesson, now "THE Lesson", one whose importance is so great, that I cannot afford to lose one minute going over it. And those kids in the corner keep talking, but I am trying to help this one students in front of me, and then another kid who forgot her glasses says she needs another copy of the notes that I want them to copy. . .

No wonder so many teachers go on stress leave!

This profession is inherently and inevitably maddening. I cannot shoot out living and bitter water at the same time. I come into the classroom with high hopes, yet feel very bitter inside.

And I did not complete the Lesson.