“But you’re a natural,” she said. “You’re the kind of person that is supposed to be a teacher.”

Of course, I was un-phased. I had just come back from an interview at Harper Collins for an opening in their Young Adult non-fiction team as an assistant editor and was over the moon at their offer; although I could not conceivable afford to live in the city, or commute, for what they wanted to pay me. “Something pays less than teaching at an Independent School?” I thought to myself.

I thought some more about what Sue, the ninth grade English teacher, said. We work closely together, planning almost every day and obsessing over curriculum choices, excerpts to share in class and the quality of our students’ writing. I remembered my first year at WH. I was not the kind of person who wanted to be a teacher – I came to it accidentally as a former Expos TA and a swim coach who needed a full time job immediately. I did not grow up lining my toys and teaching them their letters on a small blackboard. When asked “What on earth will you do with a degree in Religious Studies,” the answer, which quickly became a joke in my family, was “anything but teach.” And yet, there I was. Twenty three, right out of college, no teaching experience, no teaching degree, and being handed the keys to my office on the first day of classes. I made that first year up as I went along. It wasn’t so bad. No one died. They asked me to come back. “I can do this for a while,” I thought. But teaching was never the goal.

I think, as of late, my sentiments have changed.

I learn from Sue in two respects. I am in her classroom at least once a rotation. Co-teaching, listening to her lessons, so we are sure to use the same kind of language on assignments, and watching her interact with her students. We often say at WH that she is someone we could never afford to lose. A brilliant teacher who was tenured in the Bridgewater school district, she left public school life and salaries to engage small classrooms of bright students and offer her own children the opportunity at an Independent School education. She is fully engaged, in tune with what children read and write about, and open to exploring forms of rhetoric not normally taught in academic settings. As a new teacher I watched her interact with students with baited breath, taking notes furiously and trying to emulate her in my own way, that first year.

I learned another important lesson from Sue. Aside from writing a syllabus and learning how to expand on my directions on an assignment, I learned how to navigate the system. In Sue I have an ally against the old guard of our department. When they look at me funny as I suggest e-texts, online portfolios, and ditching the research paper all together, Sue has taught me how to navigate the system, how to convince my Chair to think outside the box, how to ask for what I need from administrators.

She has shown compassion and understanding not only to her students, but also her colleagues, and I think this is the key. Its about being innovative, working with what you’ve got, but also helping those coming up after you to do that same. In teaching we so often see fades come and go. Administrators and teachers latching on to the newest idea and then not waiting to see it come to fruition – sometimes results take years, and Sue has taught me that patience and creativity are the ways to figure out what works. The next step, as she frequently reminds me, is to fight for what works.

I’ve never been in a wedding as an adult – but I have to say, E is the greatest, easiest bride ever. Now, I watch a lot of wedding shows – I love me some David Tutera, Say Yes to the Dress, Bridezillas. This shit is like crack to me. E is in no way like this and I am, not shocked, per say because she’s a down girl, but I was expecting…scary. So many friends have bought into the hype. I can’t even let me myself off the hook. I have a whole pinterest board full of wedding shit and I haven’t had a date in weeks. I may or may not have a friend from college who had a full on binder, with pages torn out of wedding mags, on her bedside table. Sometimes I plan favors and center pieces and color themes while I’m jogging or holding side plank for an exorbitantly long time (shit white girls say?)

Whats the point here? I think E’s down to earth, straight forward, easy love might be indicative of what it takes to make a marriage, not just a wedding, work. Sure, parties are beautiful, and I like nice things . I’ve got champagne taste, after all, and I want the band at my gig to play nothing but lounge music….. off topic – but I wonder if people our age understand the difference between a marriage and wedding? My parents, though crazy, are still married, and it hasn’t always been pretty, but I have to wonder if some of it isn’t due to their humble beginning – dad selling his ring when the business went under, working opposite shifts to pay the bills, a small ceremony and a local church on a wicked hot day. Meanwhile, I say this while Say Yes to the Dress HOTLANTA is on in the background. Someone bring me a glass of red wine.

The point – It is not unusual for me to be asked to co-chaperone school events, since the people I work with don’t count graduate school as a “thing”. I am unmarried, have no kids, and live locally, so my colleagues assume that I really don’t have anything going on. And frankly, its not a bad gig – minus the fact that unlike my public school contemporaries, I get no stipend, no PTO, and basically end up footing most of the weekend myself (how could I possibly let a forgetful kid go hungry?), my kids are sweet and super nerdy, and don’t cause too much trouble.

But this is the final straw, I tell you. I have to knock off my people (read: boss) pleasing ways! I have been suckered into THREE overnight trips this year, and shocking, all the co-chaps have cancelled on me. So, yeah. Here I am in Parsippany, rolling solo while my students debate the finer (?) points of Herman Cain’s 9-9-9 plan.

The flip side of my anger is this – if I weren’t  willing to give up a weekend during finals time (and another right after the holidays, and then my President’s day weekend in the spring) who would take these kids? Without financial incentives, who would help these kids realized their super-nerdy dreams of debate team? Of the leadership roles we demand that they take on to get into the best colleges? Of opportunities to meet other super-nerdy kids and spark nerd love, or at least start networking – which as we know is the foundation of success (read: white privilige). So I’m here, in the lobby, on my third cup of coffee, trying desperately to write a final that is due in about twelve hours while encouraging my students to kick some “Should we get rid of land mines in the DMZ” ass.

One of the girls said this morning, “Ms., if you were married, you wouldn’t have to do this every year.” A fair point. And its not that I don’t enjoy watching these kids thrive in their particular nerd environment (I was president of the community service club in high school, after all), its just that someone else should appreciate this opportunity, too.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to figure out twenty more pages on Puerto Rican Education After the Civil Rights Movement.

When I was in high school I wanted to be a priest. A Protestant one, naturally – and I was going to forsake my  staunch (though somewhat infrequent) Catholic upbringing. I was going to raise a fist against the hypocrisy of the Pontificate in a way no one had done since Luther! I was, of course, seventeen at the time and had a knack for taking all my angst out against the Catholic schooling of my earlier life. I wasn’t, however, drawn to the Church in a vocational, calling from God in the middle of the night kind of way. In middle school, I had taken a test, along with all the other Catholic school seventh graders in the state of New Jersey. It was a “what is the history Vatican city,” “how do you spell Reconciliation” kind of test. And I scored better than everyone else in the state. I remember thinking to myself, “well fuck it, I’m pretty good at this shit.” And that was how I came to religious studies.

My mother sat there, mouth agape, and told me I was misremembering my childhood. She does that occasionally and I can’t blame her for it. Obviously, her story is much more Romantic and Me as the new Luther does definitely rub my father the wrong way. So there’s that.

I stuck with it though, in North Carolina, in Italy, and back in New Jersey and graduated with a totally useless degree and a lot of knowledge of the prolific writings of St. Augustine and the history of the seven deadly sins. I always enjoyed my studies though, and that’s the point. An alum of the school I work for came in yesterday to shoot the shit while I was hanging out in my fav colleague’s office – of course, a history teacher. He was saying that his business courses were bullshit and he was bored. Colleague and I both told him to scrap that shit and focus on something he loves. He said he’d like to be a poli sci major, but couldn’t justify it financially – what can you do what that degree anyway, he posited? Instead of jumping up on my usual soapbox and exclaiming “Who cares! You’re a long time dead and you can’t your degrees with you!” I thought of my own academic life as a metaphor for my regular life.

I might be whats wrong with America. I have never, in my life, thought of the financial implications of following my heart. I pay the bills, ok? I’m not over here freeloading off the government’s money (for the most part). But when it comes to not going to school, to not seeing the world, to not basking in the beauty of what ever the current love of my life is, somethings take a back seat (like groceries). So, alum, you are a long time dead. You should do what you love, because while I’m never going to make a million dollars, and if this Obama federal loan forgiveness doesn’t go through, my phd will be basically worthless, and I probably won’t meet a legit dude, because not only am I over qualified for my job but also for all the men I know, I am happy and this year I’m teaching a religion elective. So, you never know.

Today with my students, as with all great / sometimes terrifying things, we were discussing regrets. They got to asking me if there was anything in my life I wish I had done differently. I explained that there is so much I have yet to do, I couldn’t really answer in entire truth. ( I did say I wish I had listened to my parents more, to which they thought I was full of shit. but seriously, my parents are always right. it’s so irritating)  Upon closer reflection (namely, after they left and I could have a thought to myself with out the sound of texting/nose blowing/ flirting) I did think of something I regret – all those years I didn’t take a minute to enjoy the holidays.

Really, it’s the gift giving that freaks me out. And the crowds. And the parking. And the debt.

My family has a tendency to be a little a) particular about what they ask for / what and b) vague about telling you exactly what that thing is, so when you inevitably give the wrong gift it becomes…a thing (again.).  So, with this in tow I started freaking out about Christmas, and then resenting it all together. But, what have I missed? I missed my niece and nephew and the sheer freaking JOY that oozes out of their little faces for, like, the entire month of December. I missed learning how to cook and bake with my mom and aunts. I missed hearing the classic Cimerola stories, the same ones, every year because I was too busy obsessing about wrapping and price tags and credit card bills. I miss out on actually enjoying the last minute (read totally panic’d) gift wrap sessions at my sister’s house on Christmas eve. I missed Church with my dad, the most devout person I know – which I used to love – and then started scheduling around so I’d get in just in time to miss it.

I usually travel to Europe over the holidays so I can get the hell out of dodge as soon as humanly possible. But why?

The point is not to recount all the things I am lucky to have, which are so many. The point is larger. It’s about enjoying the stuff you love, the people you love, because you only get so many holidays, you know? And this year, everyone is getting homemade ornaments and Dean Martin mix CDs cause this bitch is BROKE. Preach.

Something came over me part way through my three week break between teaching the delinquents (see: overachievers) of summer school and the regular overachievers at regular school. I decided that I would be able to handle full time work and full time graduate school. Why, might you ask? Obviously because I am a crazy person who hates herself, never wants to have a social life / new boyfriend, and is too busy pushing the glasses back up on the bridge of her nose to get her head out of her ass. Yep. That’s me.

And I wanted to share with you what I learned this first week of the semester. These classes that I am paying a fortune for (side bar, I LOVE school. I will go to school forever. I will also complain incessantly about how much it costs because I am a raging liberal and I think education should be free for everyone. Always. Sorry, I’m not sorry) Anyway this week I learned that Christopher Columbus was a pirate, America was founded by a pornographer/ renaissance hipster scumbag (Vespucci) and that the American education system is the way it is because the very first settlers wanted to objectify, vilify, and ruin the lives of Native Americans from day one. THAT doesn’t sound much like the version of American history I received in Mr. Winkler’s AP US 2 class, or in all those cute Columbus Day cards, does it? I mean, I knew it wasn’t all sugar and spice, but really, America was founded on the ideals of keeping the poor man down?

I just don’t know how more outraged I can possibly  be. I just don’t have time in my usual daily rants to include a ten minute diatribe on the evils of Puritans. If graduate school is just going to make me more angry, more liberal, and more broke – maybe I should reconsider? (too bad I’m half way done, sigh)

How often do I hear “oh you’re a teacher, isn’t that nice.” I’m not stupid. I know you’re over there, judging me, silently doing the  math in your head of how much I’m not making, deciding that I’m unmotivated and milking the system for every penny I can get my hands on. I will be content with a middle class life as long as the government is paying for it long after my retirement.  Please be sure to make that argument to my public school contemporaries because over here, in the world of, “we can fire you for looking at a student the wrong way, and it’s actually penned into your contract in that exact phrase,” nothing is free. Not even my sanity.

“Oh but you guys get summers off!” – Who are these mystical teachers who can afford not to work three months out of the year? Working two jobs. Going to school at night. Taking your work home with you everyday. This is the reality. This is why teachers become obsessed with their jobs and why the involvement cycle is such a mind fuck. You give your whole life to your students. You sacrifice weekends, relationships, mental health and then at the end of the year they leave and you have a few weeks to get it together and put on the happy face, just to know you’ll have to do it all again next year. Exhaustion is an understatement.

I think there is a difference between complaining (what the republicans call it) and telling it like it is. I am so very blessed to have a job I love. Students I mostly adore. A graduate program that is (not at all) affordable. But the status discrepancy is getting old – what teachers do is important. Teachers know this. But the rest of the world seems oblivious.

I’m finding a plethora (read: all) of dudes on my new online dating choice (I’ll be damned if I’m about to bump into Murse on the interwebs. I had to get rid of my twitter just to avoid that idiot, and I loved following Jesus and the Bronx Zoo snake…) are completely Peter Pan’ed. How many 30 something aging hipster comittment-phobes do I have to weed through before one beard wearing, flannel in May dressing, bike riding hipster wants to talk about something more than a) graphic design 2) the thrilling world of grammar and linguists c) how brooklyn is the new Heaven. The real issue is – why am I so shocked that all these late 20′s – mid 30′s dudes (my preferred age bracket in case you’re thinking of setting me up with your son, dentist, mechanic, guy at adjoining cubicle) are still unmarried and “not looking for anything serious.” Heads up, bros, “not looking for anything serious” is sure to get you one thing – no interested chicks.

I’m baffled. So I’m going with my life long plan – ignore dudes and maybe a not totally fucked up one will accidentally trip over me in a Barnes and Noble and life will be as it should.  

To the point. I stumbled upon an article today written by David Bornstein about a group called First Book and their online Marketplace for distributing books to schools that serve underprivileged neighborhoods. Now, while some would argue that the main job of a teacher is to make their children miserable, sanction grade inflation, and lie as long as their mouths are moving, I sorta think my job is to prepare my kids for the “real world.” Granted, their “real worlds” sometimes include Bentley’s, “the help,” country clubs, European vacations, and chosen single parent incomes. This is not the world that I grew up in, but it is what my children have to work with. And so, I try to, too. And without early childhood literacy, preparing kids for any kind of world in next to impossible. Bornstein writes that families who have even a small amount of disposable income with frequently buy books for their children, but at $15-20 dollars a pop, sometimes even this can be a burden. Also, he argues, many schools in these districts can’t afford books – so kids go from a non-reading house, to a school with no books. Certainly, not ideal and obviously heartbreaking.

This past winter, I spent some time applying for Teach for America. For personal reasons (ie I got too wrapped up in my then-boyfriend and didn’t want to move across the country and leave him / now I’m kicking myself every freaking day) I didn’t finish the application process – against TFA’s urging (apparently, I’m quite the desirable candidate). Anyway, when I think back on it, I feel disappointed that I couldn’t mount up and realize how important it was to help these kids. But, it’s nice to know, thanks to David Bornstein, someone is. Also, this article led me to the nifty find of www.bookthing.org – a FREE book outlet in Baltimore, MD. So, Maryland friends, get’cho buts over there and find me some first edition Hemingways. No, seriously.