Ambivilent
It was a few weeks ago, a Friday, late. I’d joined the exercising teachers, probably entertaining people with my struggle to get on the ground, and then back up. Oh well. That’s exercise, too.
So, anyway, I was leaving, my sack of grading ready for me to put the requisite miles on it when I heard my name. It was an ‘old’ kid. He was probably a sophomore, now, and he was looking for teachers to greet.
“I’ve decided I want to be a French teacher,” he said, ” and it’s because of you and a teacher at the high school.”
Of course, I started crying. He’d spoken in French. “That’s so cool.” I said. We talked, I smiled, I was thrilled…but at the same time, I wasn’t. “Run! Run!” I wanted to cry. “It’s a trap. It used to be fun, but now…”
I thought about the endless, pointless meetings, the Big Standardized Test, the data gathering, the bean-counting…
Shhh! I thought. He’s only 16 or 17. He has time to change his mind. He has time to become disillusioned. He has time to choose another career.
“Come back and see me” I lied, knowing I was retiring at the end of the year. “Let me know where you decide to study.”
That was my good thing for that day. And my worst.