Ma Job

Depending on the time of day, the time of year, and what kind of mood I'm in, I may give you a different response on how much I enjoy my job. (Ya know, being a third grade teacher for students with various learning disabilities). There are certain days that I love my job. And, I mean that. I really do. And, then there are certain days that I wish to be anywhere but there. It's strange to feel so oppositely about something that you do every day. But, when you deal with the needs of irrational eight year olds all day, I suppose this is to be expected.

Two days ago, I was outside with my class playing in the yard. It was freezing outside, and I felt that the only way to survive the brutal cold was to run around with the kids. And that is just what I did. They were playing tag, and I asked if I could play too. Their faces lit up. I was the tagger first, but I'm pretty speedy don't you know! (And have legs at least a foot longer than theirs). I quickly tagged one of my students, and the chase was on. Every time I was chased, I screamed. (And, of course I was the only one being chased). I screamed like I was actually being chased by a murderer. (Channeling my inner-eight year old). (An aside: Being chased is like actually scary, even if the person chasing you has not yet hit four feet). I was, laughing, screaming and playing tag in the middle of a Tuesday afternoon. How many other adults can say that they do the same thing? (Yup, probably not a whole lot). And, then my heart warmed. I overheard two of the girls talking with one another, "Isn't our teacher the funnest?" Oh, I love you, job.

Yesterday we went on a field trip to the Brooklyn Heights Promenade. We walked there. It was a half hour walk. And, oh yeah. It was twenty-two degrees outside. Then we stayed outside at the Promenade and did some things, before turning around and heading back to school. It was idiotic. My hands and feet were numb. And, I could no longer feel my face. Oh, I hate you, job.

Our staff holiday party is coming up. When I talk to other friends about their holiday parties. I hear how they stumbled in at two am, hooked up with their co-workers, and threw up on their bosses. Well. When you work in a school, with virtually no men present. Your holiday party is from four to six pm one afternoon in a local restaurant. Sounds fun, right? Lame City. Oh, I hate you, job.

I overhear hilarious comments all day long. I field questions such as, "What was it like to be a kid in the 90's?" (Yes, that was an actual question asked of me). "How old were you when you sat on your first hamster?" (I have never sat on any hamsters). And, while watching Toy Story Three, one of my students raised his hand and asked, "Excuse me, are we allowed to laugh at the funny parts? (Yes, Nick. You are allowed to laugh).Definitely love you, job.

In three days, my vacation (of two weeks) begins. I am ready for this break. Teachers all around the country are ready for this break. Oh, how I love you job.