It's My Job

This was written a number of years ago, and I thought about it again as I'm privileged to re-enter a classroom.

I’ve been in this business for years now.  There have been changes since I first started: different employers, different co-workers, different places of business. There are days that leave me flushed and exhilarated with a rare kind of energy, and there are days I feel like quitting.  Sometimes it seems as though the latter outnumber the former.  The hours are long, for my contract does not give a certain time allotment—rather it gives a job and I am to do it regardless of the amount of time it takes.  And the paycheck?  Well, to be honest I probably can’t even tell you the exact amount, but I certainly can list benefits.

Oh, some people have mistaken ideas about the benefits.  They seem to think that being a “Teacher” gives one a higher social standing and independence. These are generally the same people who forget the sacrifices a teacher makes: being away from home and family, arriving late to youth because there is school work to be done (sometimes skipping youth altogether), living in a fishbowl where private details of her life become part of lively gossip, and the fact that few teachers are warned before taking on the job that indeed they will need to be expert in several areas besides only that of teaching.

One part of my job as a teacher is to be a nurse.  I can feel a child’s forehead and predict whether the thermometer will show a temperature or not.  I’m an expert on sore stomachs, growing pains, and hang nails.  I know what to do for twisted ankles, headaches, and splinters.  And you should see me applying bandages like a pro. I am also fairly knowledgeable about dentistry and tooth fairies.

I could probably obtain my psychology degree with little or no trouble.  I know how to give a well-timed hug, explain that life isn’t fair, talk fast enough to keep a child from having time to think of crying, and discern what is going on in a child’s mind without even turning to look at him.  I know how to comfort in the face of loss, encourage in the midst of hopelessness, and meet a strong will head on.  I know the difference between a child who knows he deserves punishment and a child who was innocent of the seriousness of his crime.

I am definitely a formidable one person police force.  I watch out for lies, cheating, treachery, stealing, fighting, and hate crimes.  I know how to stack up clues and see where they point (as in: “Hmmm… someone broke a red pen, and I see red ink on your hands.”) I can direct traffic, manage lines, and command silence with a single blast on my whistle.  And I am certainly good at saying “Raise your hands, and raise them up high!”

My sanitation expertise may be questioned by some, but may I remind you that I say “clean out your desk”, “empty the trash”, and “go wash your hands” several times every day.  Occasionally I inspire desk cleaning by making it a game to see how full we can get the trash can and letting someone climb inside to pack it down.  Other times (like PTM) I hope the desks aren’t clean so mom and dad can get a true picture when I ask them to do desk check on their child.

I am sometimes called upon to be a hairdresser when one of my girls’ braid comes undone or someone in the throes of an art project gets paint in his hair. 

I am a shopper.  I shop for birthday cards, Christmas gifts, art project supplies, gift wrapping, story hour and devotion books, bulletin board supplies, and trash cans for beside my students’ desks.

My job also requires me to be a financial analyst.  Will the school board think the expense of these supplies necessary, or shall I take them out of my own wages? 

I’m a fairly good referee, though I’m afraid the NBA wouldn’t hire me.    I am also considered to be about the same thing as Google by many of my students.  I've even been known to give advice on romance.  Oh, and I am also a top-notch artist, author, and calligrapher, though I think these last are because I am always telling my class to “draw the best you can”, “write what you think happened”, and “use your best handwriting”.

I am also a public relations specialist.  I have to learn to communicate with the children, their parents, and the school board.  Admittedly, I sometimes think this is the hardest part of the job.  But I have chosen this job, so I choose not to complain, but to accept this responsibility and do my best to grow in my communication skills.

There are so many parts of my job, I can’t list them all.  I have been called Mom, Daddy, Aunt, Grandpa, and Nana.  I’ve even been called Teacher.  It’s this last one, “teacher”, that touches every other part of my job.  

Only a teacher knows what it means to see light finally dawn in a child’s eyes as he figures out how to work a long division problem.  Only a teacher knows the joy of watching a child learn to read.  Only a teacher knows what it is like to hear a lunch-time prayer: “And help us to be good on the playground and not fight” when it has been a problem lately.  Only a teacher knows the thrill of watching a child look up ants in the world book and get side tracked reading about aircraft.  

Teachers have to clean up messes when children get sick.  Teachers have to give consequences again and again.  Teachers have to make sure the children obey, because they know boundaries will make the child feel secure, even though the student may get angry in the moment.  Teachers go to work when they are sick (because it’s more work to get a sub—plus they caught the bug from the children; everyone else has been exposed anyhow), when they are tired, when they have headaches, when they are in emotional upheaval and want to go hide under the covers, and when they would rather be going to a friend’s wedding.  But then I have to remember:  This is my job—my chosen job—my God-given job—and I wouldn’t trade it.

While other career women go home at 5:00 and relax, throwing off their professional demeanor, I must remember that everywhere I go I may be observed—if a teacher can do it, then so can anyone else.  While other occupations have off for lunch, I spend my lunch period settling disputes, warming up forgotten lunches in the microwave, teaching students to eat food even if they don’t like it, listening to their stories and asking them questions about the world around them—do you know what kind of bird that is?  Do you see that plane?  What do you think is going to happen today in our story hour book?

Next time when someone asks me my job, I’m not going to say “I’m just a teacher” and give a little sigh.  I’m going to smile and say “I’m a teacher, and it’s amazing!”  Because it’s true.  God knew I would need a job to help teach me consistency.  He knew I needed a job that would be an outlet for my creativity.  He knew I would need to be surrounded by the innocence of children and work on gaining the patience of a saint.  He knew I needed a job that would continually challenge me and force me to learn.  He knew I would need to be pushed out of my comfort zone.  

Not everyone I interact with thinks I am the most wonderful teacher, but I am part of a community that is so full of love and support that I cannot be thankful enough for all they do for me.  Touching a life in any little way I can is a blessing that is hard to put into words and one of the best gifts I've ever been given, my life as a teacher.