Postcard #7 (reasons for leaving)

 

  

    "How do you teach kids who don't love your content as much as you do?"

    He was not a teacher, nor did he love his content. Or his job. It simply was a choice he made in college that would guarantee job security. But as a parent, he had asked his children's teachers this question. They always laughed and smiled and said something about how great the kids were, and they love teaching. It always seemed genuine. And some would mention job security "We'll always need teachers."

    He had lost his career and his retirement in the recession of '08. An MBA meant only that Walmart said he was overqualified and didn't want him. At 45 years old, nobody else did, either.

    He remembered a college professor telling him that teaching was great job security, a solid fall back. He was not interested.

    Now he was watching his 26 year old child struggle with a career that was allegedly job security: teaching.

    They (he was careful not to misgender, even though he still said "she" in his head) had started teaching middle school in 2019. The district was a well funded one. "I am benefitting from years of systematic racism and white entitlement" his child had told him when they were hired. Outside of school shootings, he was not worried about their physical health.

    Now, Christmas 2021, he sat with his coffee watching them talk to themself. Twice this holiday visit, he noted they would begin a task and then walk away, forgetting about it. He got in the car to go Christmas shopping, and they drove in the opposite direction, toward the mountains. He said nothing, he just let them drive. Twenty minutes into it, they turned to him as if seeing him for the first time "I'm sorry, dad, where are we going?"

    He had asked them how they felt about teaching a core content, asked about passionately teaching to those who do not care. The first  year, he received an earful of tactics, strategies, visual aids, hands on projects and in class sketches that made him believe a person could teach to those who do not care.

    When he asked how it was going this year, he got a shrug with "I have a job. I suppose job security is real these days in teaching. We're leaving the profession at an alarming rate."

    He fell silent. 

    He had chosen his own career, based on security and pay scale, only to lose it all at 45 years old. His history made him believe that there was no such thing as job security.

    "Do you still like teaching in general?"

    That shrug again. "I lived through remote/hybrid/What-The-Hell-Is-Going-On-Today. I can live through anything."

    "But do you still like it?

    They rubbed their eyes and stared into their coffee.

    "No."

    He sat with his offspring, wishing he could offer some comfort.

    "You do not need to stay in teaching if you're unhappy."

    "I know," they said. "My therapist says I should do what makes me happy. Teaching made me happy. Now I have a therapist and a psych, and need meds to make it through the day." Shrug. Again. "It isn't even about loving the content any more. I got that. They're so traumatized, they've given up... what am I supposed to do? They don't care. I don't care."

    He waited. They let the cat jump into their lap and nuzzled her old face. "She's twenty now, isn't she? I don't remember life without this cat."

    He smiled "I do. The house smelled better."

    "The thing is, I keep thinking this will be over. The old normal wasn't working, I don't want the old normal, I want education to change. I want it to be what the kids need. They're so traumatized now, and I'm traumatized, and nobody's helping either of us by saying 'Let's go back to normal, the building is open, teach to the tests, hurry hurry catch up they've lost so much!'" They stopped abruptly, and he realized they were crying. His child was not one to cry. He tried to remember the last time they cried. It might have been when they fell off their bike in second grade and got their toe caught in the spokes. They cried in the car on the way to the ER, and they stopped immediately upon arrival.

     "You like being an accountant?"

    He smiled. This was a conversation they had had together since they started college. "Nope. Job security."

    HIs child smiled back, looking into his eyes. "Family trait."