I like to think,
Maybe not about the right stuff,
But when pondering what life means,
I rarely think of algebra, STEM, group projects or
Much of anything about my high school experience.
Seems weird for me to write that
Since I have a terminal degree in education.
Come to think of it,
Maybe there’s a problem with degrees in education
I mean, with paper comes ego, right?
So, my fellow teachers of the world,
We have a place in society,
We have a job to do,
Our job is not to be an asshole to kids
Or to use our certificates to bully them.
Our job is to communicate clearly,
To provide the resources to students
So the THEY can learn what is important to THEM.
It’s not about you coercing them to do your contrived work.
That’s a pedestal pedagogy and we should be better than that.
I’m lucky and cursed to live where I teach,
Lucky because I know the deal,
No early due date shenanigans with me,
I’m pretty sure June 5 means June 5,
Not May 22 or 28.
I’m cursed because I live where I teach,
So now I know how and who you are
And when I sit in meetings listening to you pontificate
I will have to try and hold back,
To not seem annoyed at how you have treated my family.
Because your class is important,
Well, maybe not, maybe you just think it is, each student decides
For himself or herself, but it could be so much more,
I only wish you remembered what it was like to be a kid.
Oh wait, there was no Covid, then,
It’s doubtful you had to do distance learning,
Maybe you missed an assignment and got reamed by a teacher
Or jacked up with a more difficult make-up assignment
Just because the teacher could inflict that upon you.
I bet you resented that class, swore you would never do that when you taught,
Yet here it is, in a time when educators should be more compassionate,
And I’m on the fence about how to confront your kind hearted approach.
Maybe I’ll use the system, make you grade that shit, then opt out, just because.
Just because I know that would piss you off.
Hopefully, our boss would ask why,
And that’s when we’d speak first doctor to doctor,
And then I’d go taxpayer-parent to principal,
Then you two can figure out what should have happened.
Teacher, stop making it worse. Your paper is unimportant.
***Note: Remember this is just a poem… Not sure who is speaking… “lol”