Those Who Can't Do

Imagine a man with the following life moments:
--- At the age of six, he had fashions his attic into a classroom and plays school with the neighbor girl.
--- On several occasions in elementary school, he makes "helpful" suggestions to teachers about how they might improve their classes.
--- During tedious lessons with boring teachers in middle school, he constantly thinks, "I could do this so much better."
--- When asked by a high school counselor what he wants to do for a living, he secretly wants to say "teacher," but he sees no practical future in that and so decides to pursue engineering.
--- In college, he's nominated for the "Behrend Future Teacher Award."
--- At graduate school, his lesson plans are praised and used by other teachers. His supervisor and mentor give him glowing reviews.

And then after all of that... this man decides that he's going to try to get a job in publishing or technical writing.

Well, nine months and 61 rejected job applications later, this man has reconsidered his position. Not only has the business community supplied a resounding "up yours" to our humble hero, but unemployment has given him a lot of time to reconsider his life goals. Indeed, in retrospect the solution seems laughably obvious. This man has applied to get his teaching certification.

(I feel that I shouldn't have to indicate that "this man" is actually me, but I know that some of my readers are a bit obtuse and hebetudinous -- as proof, many are googling the definitions of those two words as we speak -- so I thought I should be clear.)

That's right, loyal readers. I've applied to a teaching certification program at the University of Pittsburgh so that I'll be qualified to teach high school English. As a true masochist at heart, I just can't wait to throw myself upon the mercy of the public education system. I crave the opportunity to put on a dazzling show of brilliance and understanding in front of 30 apathetic and attention-starved students every hour of every day for nine months out of the year. In 30 years, I'm going to be a cranky old man in a bow tie and sweater vest tousling his mussed hair with his chalk-stained hand as he babbles on about the importance of symbolism in the works of F. Scott Fitzgerald and berates his students for their misuse of "who" and "whom."

All of this did not come out of the clear blue sky. Last Wednesday I visited with an admissions officer at the Pitt School of Education. They have a one-year certification program that's very highly regarded, and the admissions officer was EXTREMELY impressed with my transcripts and experience. After months and months of being told that my credentials were about as valuable as goat urine, it was gratifying to have someone think of me as a highly qualified individual. I wasn't particularly surprised-- after all, I took the PRAXIS I test three years ago, and I was practically insulted by how easy it was. Nevertheless, many of the people with whom I took the test came out of the room complaining that this was their third time taking the test, and "this one had FRACTIONS on it!" I'm not surprised that schools of education aren't receiving the most sterling applications. It really speaks to the poor state of our education system that the worst and dimmest are drawn to the teaching profession.

At one point during our little chat, the admissions officer asked about my basic classes. "You need six math credits, and just about anything will do: college algebra, basic geometry, elementary statistics..." I replyed, "Calculus I and Calculus II... I got As in both." The man was genuinely impressed. He said, "Wow! You just have all sorts of skills!" Not able to pass up a chance for witty self-deprecation I remarked, "Yes, I'm a man of many skills but few job offers." Needless to say, the guy thought I'd be accepted into the program in a heartbeat. I came out of that meeting feeling like a million bucks, which was a nice change of pace. Normally when I'm dealing with my career options, I have to eat ten quarts of ice cream and a whole pizza in order to get my self-esteem out of the gutter. If I'm ever feeling down, I think I'll pick a certification program out of the phone book and call for moral support. It's probably about as effective as talking to Dr. Phil.

This all may seem rather abrupt, but this course isn't set in stone. If I choose to go through with this, the program doesn't start until the fall. That's eight months away! I still plan to apply to more jobs, and I'll network as best as I can to find relevant opportunities; however, it's nice to have something to fall back on. As far as I'm concerned, I can apply to the job openings that seem to be as good as or better than a teaching gig. Positions like "Assistant Sewer Repairman" and "Professional Ferret Kisser" seem promising.

But this is more than just a backup plan. I really do like teaching, and I think I could be very happy doing it. I just don't want to dedicate myself to a singular goal and completely disregard other potentially rewarding opportunities. On the other hand, I hesitate to turn my back on what seems to be a life-long ambition and dream. How I long to simply be abducted by aliens and told that the video game I beat was actually a test of space-fighting ability and that I'm the last savior of the Rylan Star League.

Somebody just give me a wizened old man who can tell me, "This is your destiny!"

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Nine out of ten readers are now committed to not having children for fear that JP may end up teaching them.