What Teachers Make

I'm a student of MA Education on a leave of absence. Part of me wants to go back to school, a small part of me got tired of having to work and study at the same time. I have about 12 units left before I start working on my practicum paper and finally graduate with a Master's Degree. Then I can take the LET, move out of the corporate world and into the academe, and finally fulfill my dream of becoming a teacher.

Not that what I currently do is a lot different. I teach, train and help prepare people for what they need to do later on—corporate-style. And sometimes it gets tiring. Very tiring.

I stumbled upon this piece that I discovered a couple of years ago. It's written by Taylor Mali, a former teacher who performs poetry slams/def poetry across the US. The piece I'm about to share is something that I used to read when I wanted to give up on writing a term paper for one of my MA classes or when I just get tired of teaching and training. It reminds me of why I do what I do, and why I still do it.

He says the problem with teachers is, "What's a kid going to learn

from someone who decided his best option in life was to become a teacher?"

He reminds the other dinner guests that it's true what they say about

teachers: Those who can, do; and those who can't, teach.

I decide to bit my tongue instead of his

and resist the temptation to remind the other dinner guests

that it's also true what they say about lawyers.

Because we're eating, after all, and this is polite company.

"I mean, you're a teacher, Taylor," he says.

"Be honest. What do you make?"

And I wish he hadn't done that

(asked me to be honest)

because, you see, I have a policy

about honesty and ass-kicking:

if you ask for it, I have to let you have it.

You want to know what I make?

I make kids work harder than they ever thought they could.

I can make a C+ feel like a Congressional medal of honor

and an A- feel like a slap on the face.

How dare you waste my time with anything less than your very best.

I make kids sit through 40 minutes of study hall

in absolute silence. No, you may not work in groups.

No, you may not ask a question.

Why won't I let you get a drink of water?

Because you're not thirsty, you're bored, that's why.

I make parents tremble in fear when I call home:

I hope I haven't called at a bad time,

I just wanted to talk to you about something Billy said today.

Billy said, "Leave the kid alone. I still cry sometimes, don't you?"

And it was the noblest act of courage I have ever seen.

I make parents see their children for who they are

and what they can be.

You want to know what I make?

I make kids wonder,

I make them question.

I make them criticize.

I make them apologize and mean it.

I make them write, write, write.

And then I make them read.

I make them spell definitely beautiful, definitely beautiful, definitely beautiful

over and over again until they will never misspell

either one of those words again.

I make them show all their work in math.

And hide it on their final drafts in English.

I make them understand that if you got this (brains)

then you follow this (heart) and if someone tries to judge you

by what you make, you give them this (the finger).

Let me break if down for you, so you know what I say is true:

I make a goddamn difference! What about you?

What Teachers Make, or

Objection Overruled, or

If Things Don't Work Out, You Can Always Go To Law School

Taylor Mali

I feel wonderful having read this after a very long time. Let me now get ready for work. BRING ON THE CLASSES.