"working on my faults and cracks..."

5.13.2008

drunk with power


It could be said that I've learned a lot about myself, and about the profession of teaching in an entire year. So in hopes of one day using this newfound maturity and acquired knowledge to spite the efforts of the teacher man who put, and seeks to keep me here in Okayama, I've been very selective in what I actually chose to learn. The following points will be examined in greater depth on my pre-departure dissertation:

1. I am not a teacher.

2. Not being a teacher by experience gives me a fresher approach to expected daily classroom protocol (eg: introducing TP Tuesdays, wedgie Wednesdays, swirly Saturdays, etc.).

3. #2 is overly optimistic bullshit.

4. Kid won't eat his peas? Cover 'em with Cheese Whiz. Kid won't go to sleep? Grind sleeping pills into his peas. Like the craftiness of a caring mother, or the less-than-pure intentions of an old man and his ice cream van, "teaching (better known as "systematic coercion")," is an inherent skill. Or rather, the careful practice in which the "teacher" dupes the unwitting students into joyfully doing something they would otherwise hate.
It boils down to all of our tireless classroom preparations being spent towards making kids forget that they hate anything and everything that is not a crappy boy band or an overrated video game. Such is the life of these "teachers;" veritable Jedi masters in trickery and mind games.
Anyone who works in a school and disagrees with this probably teaches math.

5. Being a homeroom teacher finally puts me in uncomfortably regular contact with my students' parents. So what has this new interaction taught me further about my students?
That the dumb kids all have the hottest moms. No lie. I assume this is most likely some kind of social karmic compensation at work.
Just to name a few, the oblivious Matsuno, who regularly chews his eyeglasses when he doesn't know the answer (which is every answer, unsurprisingly), the vertically challenged Reo, who wears hot-dog shaped ear plugs, and the portly Kenmotsu whose hobby is 'steak,' all have runway-scorching mothers. Like, "J-train top model" caliber hot.

If "knowing is half the battle," could it be argued that "admitting it" is the other half?

I feel so dirty.

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