Teaching is usually a pulverizing profession. Take for instance, Thanksgiving week of 2009. Three months into my first year of teaching, I was burning myself straight out the gate with dog and pony shows. With no creativity left, I resorted to leading the class into making hand-turkeys for their parents, which is fine if you’re teaching third grade. But not ninth. Not at all.
I outlined my open hand on the whiteboard to create the turkey’s body, just as a regular pair of tormentors decided to begin distractions for the day. Frustrated with the students’ general unwillingness to pay attention, disgusted with conceiving such a stupid idea, I reached my breaking point to the tune of “We’re drawing a TURKEY!” I know what I said because it was also the day I had to videotape my lesson for professional development. I “calmly” returned to drawing an orange beak on the thumb and have tried forgetting that blunder ever since.
These last few years I haven’t screamed at my kids to draw turkeys, thank God, but teaching can still be a funny gig, and I’ve learned to just have fun with it. How about you try to keep a straight face while explaining to a fifteen-year-old why he can’t just call other people “douche bags” on a whim. However, while I’m trying to help make them academically stronger and interpersonally open young adults, it’s easy to focus on your students as fiery youth they are at the moment, rather than as the leading adults they will eventually become. A catchup lunch with my recent graduates made that point exceedingly clear.
When we met at the local taqueria on San Marcos Blvd, they trickled in one by one as their schedules permitted.
Tressa showed up to the late because she accidentally drove to Taco Bell instead.
Adrian, after all these years, finally sprouted taller than me, as they all eventually do.
Charlotte remarked about her current love of Haruki Murakami’s fiction.
Nathan, whom I would’ve mistaken as either a church friend or cousin, if it wasn’t for his hair.
And one by one, intuition pulled each into a bear hug . These are after all, as my mentor teacher always told me, my babies.
Adrian, who, inspired by Jack London’s “South of the Slot,” crooned “Til you’re so fucking crazy you can’t follow they’re rules” for his classmates without reservation.
Tressa, who showed up to class without excuse or fatigue after another traveling softball game, continued to get a chuckle out of her table mates.
Charlotte, who poured herself into every book I threw (including optionals), forcing me to become a better English teacher.
Nathan, who drew the unequivocally single most badass tribute drawing for me (see below. Just see below).
These were my freshmen. They were my kiddos when they said the darnedest things, and my homies when they floored me with their maturity. And now they’re my friends, colleagues, and mentors all the same.
Nathan will attend to Cal State San Marcos to refine his passion as an entertainer and artist. He’ll put on a number of shows and exhibitions, and I will be there in attendance. And I swear I won’t put a grade on it.
Charlotte will study (and I had to look this up) viticulture and enology at UC Davis. She’ll lead horseback vineyard tours through Napa Valley, which will inspire her to pen a roman à clef. And I’ll ask for a signed copy, plus a bottle of her finest red.
Adrian will immerse himself in the mechanics and artistry of film at the USC* School of Cinematic Arts. He’ll write and direct several blockbuster films as the voice of his generation. And I’ll kindly request a bit role – speaking, of course.
Tressa will drop everything and pare down all her worldly possessions into whatever can fit inside a van, and embark on a journey of discovery up Highway 1 and through Santa Cruz. She’ll inspire new friends with her unfailing chuckle, and knock out a home run with whatever life tosses at her. And I’ll sit with the audience to hear her recount her inspiring tales.
I’ve just started a new school year to face familiar challenges the fifth time, and inevitably new ones the first. It’s never an easy start, and I wonder how much longer I can stay on this ride. But it’s the moments now and again when you see that you are in the presence of greatness that keep me coming back on for another round.
Because teaching is a profession that places you before the presence of greatness.
* By virtue of unfortunate circumstances, Adrian is currently in need of support to fund his college education. He is a rare talent that will make films that matter. Please read his story, view his portfolio, and make a donation here. You don’t want to let down the filmmaker of his time, would you?
