When the thrill is gone I hope someone tells me

School is the great equalizer. We've all been and therefore we are all experts on the subject. So when I tell you that there are teachers out there who are dead, and like Bruce Willis in the 6th Sense they just don't know it yet, you probably already knew that. These are the folks who hate kids. I cannot imagine why I'd continue to go to a job that requires me to deal with children if I didn't like kids, call me stupid. I just don't get it.

I had a colleague, let's call her Mary, who was just such a creature. I don't think she'd ever admit that she hated kids, but she did. She'd say things to students in the hallway that on first hearing them they sounded innocent enough but if you really listened you realized that they were just awful pot shots at the kid's expense. Things like, "Oh Ashley, are you trying out a new hair style?" and the unsuspecting young lady would answer, "Why yes, Miss Causeascene, I saw it in a magazine." The little 8th grade girl, trying desperately to figure out who she was would answer and beam that someone had noticed. Little did she know that this was just the opportunity Mary was dying for. Mary looked the young lady right in the eye, smiled this sadistic smile where only the corners of her mouth turned up and said, again I could not make this stuff up, "I'll bet it looked good in the magazine." I gasped as I witnessed this scene. I looked immediately to crest-fallen Ashley and saw her little shoulders slump and her smile fade. She'd been had. It was awful. I always wanted to tap Mary on the shoulder and say, "You know you're dead, right? The Thrill is gone, the horse is dead-dismount for the love of God."

When she wasn't dashing their hopes and dreams she was engaging in lose-lose battles of will with them. Anyone who knows kids knows that you don't back them into a corner, you don't make them look stupid in front of their peers and you don't engage in power struggles. Power is never up for grabs, but our dear Mary was a master of the age-old tradition of jerking kids around simply because she could. On one such a occasion a young man, a student on our team who was challenging to say the least, was assigned to In-school Suspension for several days. She sent him work and received it back the next day with a doodle or a scribble from the student written on it. In the upper right hand of the paper she had written her name: Ms. Causeascene.
The paper came back with the young man's edit: Ms. Pork-n-bean. She thrust it in my face and was furious that he would be so disrespectful. SO... she writes on the paper: That's not funny, young man! The next day the paper is back in her mailbox and said young man has felt compelled to reply: Yes, it is. It's damn funny. This little exchange goes on for one or two more days. You'd think she was the adult and would let it go, or at the very least just stop it but nooooo.. .she keeps it going and is infuriated that he doesn't stop. Duh! She engaged him. She asked it for it, the way sweet little Ashley had asked for her to dash her self-esteem that day in the hallway. I'll admit that I laughed at the kid's smartass replies to her. He was holding his own in the battle of wits and wills. I admired and respected him for that.

I had the pleasure of working with Mary for many years. I knew her pretty well. I also knew how to work around her. One year we were eating lunch and I was relaying a laundry list of concerns I had for a certain student. They were in a bad situation at home and I was heartbroken for them. I said that I hadn't really slept the night before because I was so worried about the student. She puts her sandwich down, looks me right in the eye, and says in a tone that was nothing less than astonished, "You really care about these kids, don't you?" I said, "Yeah, I do." Equally astonished. "Yeah, not me." She says. " I don't think about them when I'm not here."

We all know folks like Mary. We've been their classes. We've worked along side of them. We've maybe even been them from time to time. I just worry about becoming Mary. It's a mantra that I've adopted. "Don't be a Mary Causeascene." When I feel I've become a little negative I think to myself "Oh no...I've become Mary." Let's face it. Teaching is tough. It's often thankless, God knows the pay and respect stink, but in the end what we do matters. Mary is the teacher that gives us all a bad name. She's in teaching for three reasons: June, July, and August. She likes to grouse about how little we're paid, how little we're respected, how little we're trusted. She's got a litany of complaints and nearly nothing on the positive list. I feel sorry for Mary and teachers like her. I know the job is hard. I know that kid's aren't what we were when we were in school, they don't come to us loving algebra or nouns and verbs, and if they did they wouldn't need us. I have a relative who also teaches and he's frequently guilty of crying, "oh, my students are so dumb" to which I reply, "and so, you're the teacher, what are you going to do about that?" but that's story for another posting perhaps. Teachers like Mary just need that tap on the shoulder and a gentle push towards the light. It's warm in the light. The angels are singing there. Kids sit in neat little rows, raise their hands eagerly and always say "good morning" in unison when you greet them in the morning. Where's that damn Haley Joel Osmet kid when you need him?