"Parental advocacy", it rolls off the tongue like a mis-chewed piece of grizzle. I rarely like talking to parents unless they are the third-kid-though type and just came for the free coffee and donuts. They are easy to please and satisfied with small chitchat. Parents that you "need" to talk to are the ones at their wits' end and stare blankly at you as they await their miracle cure you will surely present them. I offer only snake oil: an awkward moment of silence, desk-tapping, and carefully raised eyebrows accompanied with a decrescendo sigh which faithfully translates to "it's just a phase and they'll grow out of it." Repeat if necessary.
The parents that cause me to stumble, the ones that cause me to question my career choice, the ones who indirectly kick my integrity squarely in the groin are the ones who tell their children to prioritize their learning in the following hierarchy: math, science, knowing how to read, and the rest is fluff. Unfortunately for me, I teach the "fluff" courses at our school. My authority is nullified before the students even leave their houses in the morning. Neutered by my bachelor's degree, a grin-and-bear-it attitude emerges in staff rooms and parental advisory functions. I do smile, darkly, when I consider all of the "useful" courses I attended in high school. I often find myself using post-grade 7 math in my daily routines. I can't even count how many times quadratic equations have gotten me out of a tight squeeze. And my knowledge of the Richmond dykes has enriched my life to insurmountable heights.
So, this begs to be answered. What is the point of public education? Social interaction to be sure. Basic life skills, yes. But when does it become frivolous? I'll defend art education to my grave. It brings certain appreciation to many levels. But I cannot say the same about the other classes that parents raise to Solomon-esque holiness.
Karma raised its ugly ugly head and stared at me with its yellow yellow eyes and chortled a haughty haughty laugh. Approximately four years ago I zipped past an unsuspecting pedestrian minding her weary old business as she hobbled down the sidewalk. I caused her such a fright that she unguarded her taboos and shouted at me, "You!... You ASS!" And I bicycled away in unapologetic, yet resentful, fear. Twice now, since I have been able to walk to work cyclists have zipped past me without warning. The only way my body reacts is by coating my spine with tingling adrenaline and a face that contorts into gargoyle-like proportions. I usually end up "Gah!"ing out a puff of oxygen deprived air and chuckling at that blasted day I terrorized that old lady. Other karma-related events are these: a homeroom of easily distracted hellions (cause: my junior high years), chomping on gernerble in a hotdog wiener (cause: not giving change to squeegee kids), and home CFL team losing whenever I watch them on TV (cause: those times I peed in public pools).
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3 comments:
Ah, my brother, you never cease to amaze me! And you didn't know that peeing in pools would come back to haunt you . . . and us . . . and a whole football team!
Keep defending art education.
~A
You raised a good point I hadn't thought of. I admire anyone who can get up in front of a class and get them to do anything, much less actually TEACH them stuff. I forgot that these kids actually have parents too, and from time to time you'd have to talk to them. Ack. I'm glad you have that job and not me... so don't feel bad if you don't love doing that part of it!
I might be able to casually measure out a mole of any of your common inert gasses, but I can't draw up the idea for a dress design I came up with today. I wish I'd had more art edumacation myself. (mind you, even if I can't draw a picture of it, I can draw a pattern. Not sure how that works...)
things i remember from high school. friends, fun, sports, choir, and the good teachers. that's why it's important. and you are a good teacher!
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