June 17, 2004

• I am not entirely sure to do with myself this morning, so I find myself
  writing. Which I haven’t done -really done- in a long time.

  I have a little bit of a hangover.

  For the past few weeks and days, I’ve spent all my time getting ready
  to leave my job, and to not be an art teacher anymore. There were little
  details to take care of, like making sure I have health insurance to
  carry me through the summer, cleaning my desk, finishing the work that
  I left behind, picking out shoes to wear to graduation, pulling the art
  down off the walls, handing out the yearbooks I helped design, and
  preparing the last few lessons to teach. These tasks kept me busy and
  preoccupied.

  Then there are the larger things to still cope with. Yesterday I said
  goodbye to my students for the last time, most of whom I won’t see ever
  again. And even though the day was happy and bright and
  beautiful,  I felt like underneath my heart was breaking. Because
  this job wasn’t just about fingerpaint and glitter, or being a good
  teacher, or having the summers off- it was something that I loved with
  my whole being.  It turned me into something else, and now I don’t
  have it anymore.

  The funny thing is, i never really wrote about being a teacher. I
  always wanted to, but the words just never came out right. So I just
  let it be.

  ---

  Yesterday one of my former students came to the ceremony. Two and a
  half years ago, on the first day I was a new teacher, she was in my
  class- twelve years old, tough, sullen, and brilliant. For the first
  few weeks I didn’t know how to handle this angry girl- she scared the
  crap out of me and  made me dread coming to work. She was a lifer-
  one of the ones who had lived at the program since she was taken into
  DSS custody as a little kid, and was so tangled up in disaster that her
  case seemed hopeless. On good days myself and the other teachers and
  counselors did the best we could, but on others it seemed like an
  impossible cause. I almost quit, because I couldn’t deal with the
  reality of her, and the kids like her at my school. They all seemed
  doomed,  already damaged beyond my help, having dealt with more
  trauma and misery than my stupid naive self could imagine. Who was I to
  try to soothe that, and tell them that learning to paint and draw would
  make it all better?  The whole thing seemed stupid. I was
  inadequate, and she made me see that.

  But she also taught me better than anything I’ve ever known. She kicked
  my ass on most days, outsmarted me left and right, mocked me, ignored
  me, belittled me, and  toughened me up. She grew up that year, and
  so did I. By the time she was ready to leave, having gotten to old to
  stay at our program any longer, we had become friendly adversaries. She
  often asked to come to my classroom at recess to hang out, we took our
  picture together for the yearbook, and she sang and rapped for me.
  I  was worried about where she’s end up- this brillant girl with
  all the world waiting for her, if she could just let go of that
  terrible past and walk away from the people who were holding her
  back  I think I learned how to hope better because of her.

  Yesterday  when I saw her, she was beautiful, taller than me, her
  hair done up, pink velour J-Lo suit on, looking happy and hugging
  everyone. She’s 14 now, going on her junior year in high school, and is
  already applying to colleges. Incredible.

  Why am I so passionate about my job? Because despite all the bad days,
  I got to be a part of something like that. And that is just one story
  out of hundreds.

  ---

  The principal came down to my
  room yesterday afternoon to pick up my keys, and to wish me luck. I
  knew it was a forced gesture of goodwill, since I had somehow ended up
  on her shitlist at some point in the year. I really have no idea why,
  since she always complained behind my back and never discussed things
  with me, and often was not quite forthcoming with the help I sometimes
  needed. I knew I did good things, and even thought I barely had any
  supervision
  or support, I made this year the best anyone had known in a long
  time.The crappiest part of the job was dealing with the grownups, so I
  mostly stuck around for the kids. After all, I was probably the only
  adult who would let them make a mess and tell snot jokes.  Those
  things are important.

  ---

  After work yesterday, I went to a
  party at the gym teacher’s house, a few blocks from mine. It was
  surreal to be in a strange house hanging out with people I only ever
  knew from school, laughing our asses off and drinking in the kitchen.
  For instance, I had no idea that the first grade teacher, who I had
  only ever seen reading Dr Seuss books or  telling children to not
  pick their noses,  was capable of saying the word “FUCK!” It was
  wierd, but fun, but very wierd. We all got crocked and started
  confessing  to each other like crazy old friends, and everyone
  said they would miss me, and that I was a great teacher. I said we
  should have gotten drunk together more often, then we could all be great teachers.

  ---

  So that’s it. I’m not the mad
  maven of fingerpaint and glitter, purveyor of crayola, coloringbook
  genius, master of all things crazy and creative any longer. I have
  abdicated. I’m done.  I am unemployed.  Now what??

  Today, i am going to have a nap. I will take myself out for indian
  food, and later meet up with my friends to do something  silly. I
  don’t have to have a plan for today.

  Later, i’ll work on my resume, maybe find a cool little job somewhere,
  save up some money, do some drawings, paint a mural, and save up to go
  on an adventure as soon as I can. It is summertime, and there are all
  these blissfully empty days ahead. There is some kind of potential
  there. Incredible.

  ---

  • 11:53 am
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