It went a little like this:
"So, I've changed my major again. I'm going into teaching, now."
"Oh my goodness. You hated school!"
When I told her I was going to be teaching middle school:
"Hey, so I got a job teaching middle school in Phoenix."
"Do you not remember your time in middle school? You were miserable! Middle school was the worst time of our lives! What would possess you to take that job?!"
Alright, so now let's jump back to middle school. Don't get me wrong: my teachers were very wonderful people. In fact, I adored my middle school teachers. It was the kids that I hated back then. That said, I wasn't much of one to get along with other people. In middle school, kids are cruel. They are manipulative and mean and they don't really give a darn about whether or not they've hurt another person. In fact, it is easy to see (now) that they are not even fully aware of the consequences to their actions. As a teacher, it is easy to unconsciously play favorites. And the students that the teachers favored always tended to be the same students that made my life living hell. They were the girls that would end up as homecoming and prom queen or captain of some sport team that no one actually gives a shit about now. They are the same girls that are now married and getting settled into their new life with their perfect husbands. They were the girls that had an easy life back then and have the perfect little dreamworld life, now. -Yes, I am still bitter about it all, if that hasn't become painfully apparent by now-
Back off my rant... I hated middle school. I was miserable. I cried. I hated myself. I wanted to die. I starved myself. (All that lovely shit that you never really wanted to know about me) In fact, all of this went on until I was in high school (I still hated myself, was miserable, and cried for a long time after that, though... but the wanting to die and starving myself ended in high school). In high school, I had a teacher that changed my world. He told me my writing was not good enough. That I needed to pay better attention in class. That I needed to stop goofing off. He also, for some odd reason, made me feel safe. He let me eat lunch in his classroom when I had no one else to eat with. He helped me develop my writing into something that is (I hope) moderately decent. He made me feel accepted. It was because of my experience with this teacher that I knew that I needed to be that someone for someone else. I needed to make sure I was there for that kiddo that felt like life could not go
"So, I've changed my major again. I'm going into teaching, now."
"Oh my goodness. You hated school!"
When I told her I was going to be teaching middle school:
"Hey, so I got a job teaching middle school in Phoenix."
"Do you not remember your time in middle school? You were miserable! Middle school was the worst time of our lives! What would possess you to take that job?!"
Alright, so now let's jump back to middle school. Don't get me wrong: my teachers were very wonderful people. In fact, I adored my middle school teachers. It was the kids that I hated back then. That said, I wasn't much of one to get along with other people. In middle school, kids are cruel. They are manipulative and mean and they don't really give a darn about whether or not they've hurt another person. In fact, it is easy to see (now) that they are not even fully aware of the consequences to their actions. As a teacher, it is easy to unconsciously play favorites. And the students that the teachers favored always tended to be the same students that made my life living hell. They were the girls that would end up as homecoming and prom queen or captain of some sport team that no one actually gives a shit about now. They are the same girls that are now married and getting settled into their new life with their perfect husbands. They were the girls that had an easy life back then and have the perfect little dreamworld life, now. -Yes, I am still bitter about it all, if that hasn't become painfully apparent by now-
Back off my rant... I hated middle school. I was miserable. I cried. I hated myself. I wanted to die. I starved myself. (All that lovely shit that you never really wanted to know about me) In fact, all of this went on until I was in high school (I still hated myself, was miserable, and cried for a long time after that, though... but the wanting to die and starving myself ended in high school). In high school, I had a teacher that changed my world. He told me my writing was not good enough. That I needed to pay better attention in class. That I needed to stop goofing off. He also, for some odd reason, made me feel safe. He let me eat lunch in his classroom when I had no one else to eat with. He helped me develop my writing into something that is (I hope) moderately decent. He made me feel accepted. It was because of my experience with this teacher that I knew that I needed to be that someone for someone else. I needed to make sure I was there for that kiddo that felt like life could not go
