"I didn't call myself anything. I was more than a teacher. And less. In the high school classroom you are a drill sergeant, a rabbi, a shoulder to cry on, a disciplinarian, a singer, a low-level scholar, a clerk, a referee, a clown, a counselor, a dress-code enforcer, a conductor, an apologist, a philosopher, a collaborator, a tap dancer, a politician, a therapist, a fool, a traffic cop, a priest, a mother-father-brother-sister-uncle-aunt, a bookkeeper, a critic, a psychologist, the last straw."
- An excerpt from "Teacher Man" by Frank McCourt
And so, a glimpse into what I have been doing for the last month-
Writing, multiplication, division, P.E., poetry, terrariums, fractions, perimeter, area, children's rights, fairy tales, germination, soccer, basketball and all the other stuff in between.
On Friday, I was coaching a girl on how to calculate the area of a composite shape while her classmate hovered over us with his worksheet waiting for his turn.
"I bet you didn't think it would be this hard to be a teacher," she remarked, a Grade 5 student with all her years of wisdom.