The Greatest Job in the World

I was not in a good place last spring. Professionally, I was not being treated well. My co-workers and I went on strike for a week to address some major safety concerns and workers' rights issues, and we were condescended back into our jobs for a few months before we all left, got let go, or were bullied by supervisors into quitting. It really sucked. (Side note: that's the first time I've been able to talk about that situation in such a succinct way, instead of rambling on for hours about all the details of how the cards intentionally got stacked against us. I think that's progress.)

The summer was a time of relaxation and low finances. I stayed with SEA part-time, keeping an ear open for any alternative classrooms looking for Instructors.

I went in to interview with SEA's partner site at South Seattle Community College, wearing new slacks, a button up shirt, and my hair in "teacher mode", pulled back and held up in a clip, hoping to be taken seriously and look older than 15. The directors explained their program to me, I handed over a template for how I tutor math and a storytelling lesson I designed. They said they'd let me know, and did I have any questions for them. "How are the dynamics of the entire staff?" I asked, trying to sound as casual as I could.

The directors started explaining how they don't want people to sit alone in their office, the whole team really likes to know what everyone is going through and help each other. "In fact," said one director. "We don't actually want you dealing with any discipline issues. You're the teacher, your job is to teach. We're the directors, we want to handle any discipline issues you're facing." I almost started crying at the idea of a boss being so supportive, but held back and reminded myself I was in an interview and to be professional.

The second director chimed in and told me I wouldn't have many discipline problems anyway, the students were really great and really serious about their education.

I got offered the job, and I've been teaching Junior English and Pre-Algebra for several quarters. And that director is right, these are the greatest students in the world. There's hardly any apathy in the classroom, each student is incredibly engaged. I assign a persuasive essay, and I get emails asking if they can design a poster and present their essay to the class, it's an important topic that they want to share with their peers. I walk by the group of students known as the talkers sitting in the back of math, and see them explaining to each other how to divide decimals, jumping over one another to figure out these problems.

I hand out an evaluation and ask them how they feel about math. "Bittersweet," writes one student. That's one of the more positive remarks. "I don't have a problem with math," writes another student. "Math don't like me." Despite their anxiety and negative history with math, they put in 11 weeks of diligent note-taking and studying and piles of homework, and by the end they are multiplying improper fractions, then breaking them into number bonds to convert them to mixed numbers for final answers.

English is a little easier to goof off in, it's not going to help you figure out how to pay off your student loans someday. But still, the discussions students have after reading novels and plays are enthralling. My favorite question to ask them is, "How is our society different from this book?" followed by, "How is it similar?" Slowly they started to draw some similarities to The Giver, "We're told we can do what we want, but we're kind of set on certain paths in our education that lead us toward specific jobs." After we read A Raisin in the Sun, the comparisons flowed a lot faster. "People will still try to tell you where you can and can't live." The students hated Walter Lee at first, all he did was whine while the women in his family worked so hard. Then came the scene when he was finally going to invest the money, and he scooped Travis up and told him how things were going to be different. They paused. A few of them are parents themselves. "He wants his kid to be proud of him." Connections developed. Empathy was enhanced.

Their final assignment was to do a text response in class. They could write an essay on how the time period, author, genre, impacted the work. They could write a scene that wasn't in the play (What was it like when Walter borrowed his friend's car and drove and drove and drove? What was it like when Mama went around looking at houses? What happens when they move, and Bennie doesn't have money to finish school, and Mama can finally grow a whole garden, but the neighbors are threatening?). They could write a poem from the perspective of the main character. They could draw a scene that represented an important theme in the text.

One student had written his persuasive essay on climate change and greenhouse gases, which he had learned about in History that quarter. His text response was a picture of Chicago in the 1950s. The sun radiated dreams for the Younger family: school, investments, a house, a garden, a new baby, an office, travel. Then the greenhouse gases of bigotry and prejudice trapped their dreams, until they dried up like a raisin in the sun.

I pace around the classroom for hours, feeling like a hummingbird jumping to each student with a question. I run to grab lunch and pick up the copies before class starts. I stay late to get the student who missed class caught up, then finish my lesson plan and order my supplies for the next day. And I still leave more energized than when I came, feeling content and smiling to myself about something a student said.

I'm sorry to sound so sappy, but I have the greatest job in the world, and I'm so grateful to have found it.