"Teacher is hungover today, so questions will have to wait until after happy hour."I've wanted to be a teacher for as long as I can remember. Well, that's not entirely accurate. My childhood was littered with career aspirations that guaranteed a hefty salary situated just above the poverty line. Other children were daydreaming about being doctors, firemen, policemen, dinosaur hunters, and other lofty jobs. Unless you count starship captain, my dreams were less than stellar (HAR! PUN!). I first wanted to be a bus driver because that seemed like the most badass vehicle on the road to me (standards are low in the Kittanning area). Then I think "McDonalds owner" was on my agenda since that would mean tasty deep fried foods for free. I recall having a McDonalds play-kitchen complete with plastic food that tasted remarkably similar to the real thing.
Then at the age of six or seven, the neighbor girl and I set up shop in my parents' attic. Did I create my own doctor's office or perhaps an elaborate moon base operations room from which to control orbiting warships? No, I fashioned the attic into a faux classroom, and the neighbor-girl and I pretended to be teachers.
I don't even remember what we taught or if we were even interested in helping others. I seem to recall being perfectly content to simply lord my power and dictatorial rule over my imaginary student body. I was their unquestioned leader, and they had to obey! It's really a vital step in the developmental process of the young white male. Sometimes we'd try to harangue my younger brother into being our unwilling and unwitting student, but he'd bicker and quarrel with us about not understanding what we were saying. And like compassionate educators, we silenced him, punched him in the arm, and told him to do as he was told! Obviously, he didn't come around too often.
I asked my mom once if she used to worry about me being an unstable child. She said, "Used to worry??" She brushed off my concerns, but I don't see how my parents couldn't have questioned the mental health of their firstborn. I didn't like sports, obsessively watched game shows and Nick at Nite, and concocted elaborate fantasies about having fascistic control over an imaginary second grade class. Maybe compared to the neighbor boys who set our house on fire, I seemed manageable.
In the third grade, I finally realized how outlandish and bizarre my hypothetical student dictatorship seemed to other people. Coincidentally, this was about the time that the other kids in school learned about my unusual behavior and began mocking me mercilessly for it. I guess they didn't take too kindly to my fantasies of ruling over them with ruthless authority.
Then at the age of six or seven, the neighbor girl and I set up shop in my parents' attic. Did I create my own doctor's office or perhaps an elaborate moon base operations room from which to control orbiting warships? No, I fashioned the attic into a faux classroom, and the neighbor-girl and I pretended to be teachers.
I don't even remember what we taught or if we were even interested in helping others. I seem to recall being perfectly content to simply lord my power and dictatorial rule over my imaginary student body. I was their unquestioned leader, and they had to obey! It's really a vital step in the developmental process of the young white male. Sometimes we'd try to harangue my younger brother into being our unwilling and unwitting student, but he'd bicker and quarrel with us about not understanding what we were saying. And like compassionate educators, we silenced him, punched him in the arm, and told him to do as he was told! Obviously, he didn't come around too often.
I asked my mom once if she used to worry about me being an unstable child. She said, "Used to worry??" She brushed off my concerns, but I don't see how my parents couldn't have questioned the mental health of their firstborn. I didn't like sports, obsessively watched game shows and Nick at Nite, and concocted elaborate fantasies about having fascistic control over an imaginary second grade class. Maybe compared to the neighbor boys who set our house on fire, I seemed manageable.
In the third grade, I finally realized how outlandish and bizarre my hypothetical student dictatorship seemed to other people. Coincidentally, this was about the time that the other kids in school learned about my unusual behavior and began mocking me mercilessly for it. I guess they didn't take too kindly to my fantasies of ruling over them with ruthless authority.
I outgrew this disturbing behavior, though I certainly picked up a few others. One thing that did remain though was my desire to be a teacher. If you were to go back in time to visit me at any age to ask me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I'd invariably say "teacher." The subject wasn't particularly important, which leads me to believe that I still secretly just wanted unconditional rule over impressionable young minds. Interestingly enough, the aforementioned neighbor-girl actually did grow up to be a teacher. We lost touch after elementary school when I moved from Ford City to Kittanning (which is like moving from a sewer to a swamp), but she's apparently living the childhood dream.
I was thinking about this today after reading about how your childhood career dreams are often the ones that would make you the happiest. I don't know how accurate that assessment could be. It seems like there are only so many people who can be marine biologists, pro-athletes, and Batman. But a life-long obsession with one particular job sounds like a promising avenue to explore.
Now that I'm all growed up, I know that teachers have horrible salaries, long hours, unending stress, ungrateful students, terrible essays to grade, unhelpful administration, and the No Child Left Behind program. That's why I turned my back on that career option not too long ago. But since I've been thinking long and hard about how I want to make a contribution to society, I certainly think teaching is something I have to consider. Every job comes with its own shovel full of crap to deal with, but maybe if I love the job, the crap won't smell quite so bad.
Besides, for all the shit they have to deal with, teachers still do have one thing in the eyes of their students... ABSOLUTE POWER!!
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Name of "Neighbor-Girl" intentionally withheld. I may be willing to share this horrifically embarassing tale, but she may not want her name associated with my perplexing and mock-worthy childhood.
6 comments:
I know I gave you an earful of horror stories during my first month back in public school, but it's getting better. Most days go quickly and there really is never a dull moment. Sometimes, though, I'd love to be left alone, and that rarely happens. I cherish my forty-minute planning period. I find myself always "on" and giving myself little pep talks that I'll be able to act cheerful, happy, interested, etc. I've also discovered that the maturity level of the average 9th/10th grader is frightening. Perhaps if I trained as an elementary teacher I'd be able to handle it a bit better. Pathetic, I know. Oh, and I too as a child had an imaginary classroom, and it was much less stressful. :)
-LD
I had an imaginary fiefdom. :( What does that mean?
When I was in the 3rd grade and some man came to talk to us about the "future", he went around asking us what we wanted to be when we grew up. When he called on me, I said, "The President." He said, "Oh, like the President of a bank?" And one of my little boy cohorts (there have always been little boy cohorts) said, "No, she President of the United States." The man laughed and moved on.
I decided my first executive order would be to assassinate that man and his family to the 3rd degree of relation, like the old Chinese kingdoms. Ah, memories.
Dante in the 3rd grade or so reported that he wanted to be the owner of a "doggy daycare and spa" whose primary claim to fame would be dying dogs either green, blue, pink or purple.
I laughed until I saw Kelis' milkshake video much later. Boy has foresight. He'll make a great entrepreneur.
Or a transmedian.
It's nice to know that I wasn't the only one with an imaginary childhood class. I guess neurotic behavior is a compulsion among budding educators.
LD: I'm glad you've settled in at your new job. You seemed a bit frayed after the first week. Hopefully you'll be in peak form just in time for the old teacher to come back. :)
Contemplator: I have no doubt that you were a childhood madam. Those young boys know what we young men know now... always befriend the woman who looks to be headed for power. :)
Although... maybe when Dante grows up to be billionaire transmedian/dog-spa owner, he'll have you hunted down for laughing at his dreams.
Update your blog.
You have been warned.
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