Those Who Can’t Teach
I have the utmost respect for teachers.
You see, I know what they have to go through. I know what they have to put up with. I’ve been there. I barely survived it.
It takes a special kind of strength to be a teacher. That’s something that I never quite realized when I left school with my pretty English degrees in hand and a desire to live the romantic writer’s life – and of course, I could always teach until I got on my feet as a writer.
Not so much, as it happens. Teenagers are scary.
And I tend to come off as a know-it-all without meaning to. Even one-on-one, I don’t seem to have the right touch. I am told that I start to talk to people like they’re stupid – when I don’t think they’re stupid at all.
No, teaching is not for me. And yet, that is always the first comment I get when people learn that I have a Master’s Degree in English:
“So, you’re a teacher?” or “So you want to teach?”
The truth is, I wish I could. I wish I had that sort of inner strength and patience (or outright tolerance for pain) that it takes to be a teacher. I’d have health insurance, which would be awesome. I’d be making roughly three times what I make now and actually not have to worry how I’d pay my car payment and buy groceries in the same week. Unfortunately, that job is just not for me.
But to all those teachers out there who can teach: You’re amazing superheroes, all.














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