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Golden Apples and School Bells

 


As a younger teacher, three decades ago, I watched in awe as a handful of my colleagues took their turns roasting a special group among us.  For them, it was the end of a career, but the beginning of a new adventure.  Retirement promised them more time to golf, fish, hang out with grandchildren, and travel.  Not all of those things had been denied them after students filled their classrooms from September to June, but it was the idea of waking up every morning with only the question, "What will I do with today?" on their minds.

Today I watched much closer to a half dozen of my peers do the same dance.  Chuckling at stories of former students, misadventures on field trips or on an athletic field, pranks they pulled to ease the stress of long hours, overwhelming responsibilities, and frustration with ineffective principals, each seeking to secure obedience as a balm to their fragile egos.  But when I look deeper into their eyes, I don't see glee and anticipation like I had come to expect.  Instead I saw fear.  No dread.  I saw people who have built a life around showing up every day to fight ignorance and constantly willing children to NEVER quit, to see themselves as capable and lovable.  It is exhausting, but it also becomes the coffee you can never stop drinking.

I smile.  I feel it, too.  Will I every have the guts to write that letter and hang up my spurs?  What am I here for, if not to keep the little machines spinning, the school game going around and around the gameboard year after year.  In working, what do I keep running from?  Maybe from feeling insignificant.  When a teacher retires, a little bit of them starts to decay and die every day.  


For another day...

Kids are too informed to choose astronaut, or doctor, or firefighter in this little town.  Instead, they are settling for something that is tangible, requires little or no education beyond a year or two of technical college.  Better to begin with an hourly wage that pays for car insurance, gas, and rent, so they can rent a one-bedroom on Pine Street, just far enough from mom and dad to come and go as she wants, but close enough to stop in for dinner when the immensity of adulting becomes just too much.


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I don't have the corner on this thing called living. Advice from well-meaning people is appreciated. The rest of you can just keep your traps shut.

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