The Lost Art
| I had a paper returned to me for revisions last week. The only note on the page was “not enough voice”. Never in my history of schooling has that ever been an issue for me. I know it was true, I re-read the paper myself and it came off as dry as a good red. It could have been an excerpt from a research journal. I will blame it on the CRC; I am correcting grammar mistakes for 10 hours a week and therefore have become more critical of my own writing style. I can focus on a grammar, organization, and structure mistake for 20 minutes, however, forgo checking for voice because I cannot determine voice in someone else’s paper. I have lost the art of writing. I have lost my joy in it as well. I doubt that I can lay all the blame in one area though. I know that this is partially because of Beste’s criticism; his claim that I write awkwardly. How can he judge from a scribbled note? He couldn’t have known that one comment would cut deep enough to sap any creative well I had inside of me. I have not written since. Not a word - Until now. And what is this? Shit. That’s what. |
Uncertainty
I don’t know that I can do this. We just watched a video that featured five first year teachers and portrayed their struggles and triumphs in the classroom. I am not sure that I can teach. I am not worried that I would not have enough dedication to the job, or that I would not care for my kids – quite the opposite in fact: I am not sure I would be able to handle the heart break of becoming too involved, too attached, or putting my all into the job and a student — and failing. I’m afraid it would break my heart and I don’t know that I would be able to cope with that, every year of my life. My other fear is that by the time that I actually get my own classroom I will have become too jaded, too cynical to allow myself to open up. I don’t want to be a cold teacher. I don’t want to be a bad teacher either. I worry that no matter how much I study, no matter how good the words that leave my mouth sound in my education classess– that on the first day of class in my own classroom I will choke. I will forget everything I’ve learned, all the theory I’ve studied. Because nothing can really prepare you for the experience of actually teaching. On top of all of this, I’m not certain I could put up with the bloody beaureacracy of education. I don’t know that I could put up with BS from the school board, or the district, or the government policy. None of these lawmakers would know my students, none of them would understand my personal investment and I don’t know that I could stand by and watch my kids get shit on by politics and greed.
