Domo Arigato, Mr. Miyamoto

Practicum is almost up, and not too soon either. Not that I don't want to be a teacher any more. No, not at all. In fact, I love teaching. Getting those little pukes to learn something is one of the greatest thrills in the world! When I get their beady eyes on me, and their cynical curse-laden tongues are at bay, for just a few moments, a tingling excitement shakes and vibrates my nerves making me ever so happy. Little do they know that I'd smash a desk over my head if it helped them to comprehend what I'm attempting to teach them.
But the classroom that I step into 8:35 every morning is not mine. I did not accumulate the books on the shelves. I did not fill the filing cabinets with clippings and photographs for visual references of any kind. I did not organize and facilitate the mural on the classroom wall. I don't sit in the large desk at the head of the room... I sit in the smaller one beside it. And ultimately, these are not my students. Although the university strives to give its education students all of the powers they need to be "real" teachers, our limited time, denim-less attire, combed hair, and straight posture tip the students off immediately. It really is as though I have worn a pair of Groucho Marx-style glasses and novelty nose combo to my classes these last four weeks. I'm pretending to be a teacher, so why should the students pretend to learn?
Maybe that's why I find the successful lessons so satisfying. "They bought it!" I shout when the last student leaves the room.
It really has been great. My collaborating teacher has been extremely supportive. My faculty advisor appreciates my teaching style. The vice-principal threatened to suspend two of my students as per my advice. The staff at Deadwood are really friendly and listen intently to my stories. They laugh when they hear about the dog that ended up in the classroom... during my lesson... while I was attempting to choral the brats to their desks. They boo and jeer when "Instigator" starts opening and closing the room door after I sent him into the hallway. They cheer for my successful, and final, observation by my faculty advisor and colleague.
But right now I have got better things to do: Graduate and make some money.

I've been racking my brain and my spirit if I would or could ever work at a school like Deadwood. It's not the worst school in the city, but it's hard to stay motivated when the students hardly give a sideways glance to the knowledge and skills that I present to them. I have learned to focus my energy on the students that will use it. It's fine if the student chooses not to participate, sit there, waste some space, no worries. It's a problem when the student chooses not to participate and decides that the rest of the class should also avoid learning. Then they can be suspended and can only come back to school with their abusive/alcoholic/drug-addict parent/guardian.

We will have to see where God directs me when I receive my degree in Spring.

PS: i've been playing Pikmin 2 when i've found the time the past two months. i highly recommend it. jolly good fun.