The Teaching Game

The Noble, Occasionally Coherent Profession of Teaching

By Mike Walk, A Man Who Has Seen Way Too Many Glue Sticks

Being a teacher is one of the most rewarding careers on Earth, assuming your definition of "rewarding" includes loads of stress, 37 mugs that say “#1 Teacher,” and the ability to hold your bladder for 6 to 7 hours like a blocked camel.

Let’s start with the basics. When you tell people you’re a teacher, they immediately get a faraway look in their eyes and say things like, “Oh wow, I could never do that,” while slowly backing away, as if your job is radioactive and might make them spontaneously conjugate verbs.

There's the common myth that teachers get summers off. This is true in the same way that possums “nap” on the side of the road. Yes, you might technically be “off,” but mentally you are still grading essays in your dreams and trying to figure out how Ryan managed to misspell his own name and accidentally plagiarize a Taco Bell menu.

Let’s talk about teaching supplies. Teachers are the only professionals expected to buy their own tools and then feel grateful when parents send in 12 glue sticks and a box of Kleenex as if that will fix decades of underfunding. (Spoiler: it won’t. But now you have enough glue to build a modest bungalow.)

Of course, no discussion of teaching would be complete without the faculty meeting—a sacred ritual during which time stops, logic evaporates, and someone invariably presents a PowerPoint on “Building Community Through Data-Driven Napkin Graphs.”

And then there are the children. Oh, the children! They are hilarious, creative, and also somehow able to simultaneously poke a classmate with a pencil, ask you what a mitochondrion is, and start a small fire using only friction and pure chaos energy. There’s always one kid who says something that makes you question your entire life, like:
“Sir, what do we need math for?”
To which you reply:
“…We’ll be covering that right after lunch. And before my nervous breakdown.”

Then there's technology. Some schools give teachers Smart Boards, which are large, magical touchscreen devices that stop working the moment more than three children are watching. When this happens, you have two options:

1. Perform an elaborate interpretive dance to explain the water cycle.

2. Cry softly into the document camera.

Parents are also part of the educational journey. Some are supportive and lovely. Others think their child is a misunderstood genius who only bit three students because he was expressing his interest in the culinary arts. These parents will request a conference and arrive with a folder labeled “Legal Evidence.”

Despite all this, teachers continue showing up. They do this not for the fame (nonexistent), the fortune (HAHAHAHA), or the thrill of lunch duty (where the pizza is both too hot and somehow still frozen in the middle). No, they do it because deep down, they believe they can make a positive difference.

Also, they already have all those glue sticks.

In conclusion, teaching is a noble, exhausting, slightly ridiculous profession, somewhere between “herding cats” and “translating Morse code from squirrels.” But it’s also kind of amazing. Because every now and then, a kid says, “I didn’t understand it before, but now I do,” and in that moment, you feel like a Jedi-wizard. A very tired, over-caffeinated Jedi-wizard with 47 ungraded essays and glitter in their shoe.

And honestly, I can think of worse ways to spend a career.