Filed under: Memoir-ish
“Oh. That’s strange.” “What?” “It looks like…you’re already in the system?” “Oh. Nobody told you, huh? Funny story…”
The following exchange happened about five minutes after I first set foot into school wearing my new identity (along with my traditional blue plaid and chuck tailors) when I sat down to get my picture taken for my shiny but familiar staff ID card.
The most common question I got over those first few months (and still get, to be honest) was “Is it awkward to come teach where you went to high school?” And the answer was (and still is) “no”. I’d imagine that, for some, my choice to go back to that school could be viewed a lot like a multiple choice question:
“Q. Josh going back to teach at his high school is…
A. Pathetic B. Naive C. Nerdy D. All of the Above
The truth of the matter is that I had a really great high school experience, and reflecting on it throughout college made me realize just how important it is that my alma matter (to clarify, it is a private Jewish day school) exist. On top of that, there had not been a film teacher since the man who taught me left. If there was ever a time to pull a self-constructed sense of honor and duty out of my ass, now was the time. In other words, I was just bullheaded enough to forget how awkward it SHOULD have been. Massive Task + Massive Ego = Equilibrium.
Another thing my bullheaded nature prevented me from comprehending (or protected me from realizing, one of the two) was why I was even there in the first place. I mean, sure, on a basic level I was there because a former teacher saw some kind of potential in me and got the school to offer me enough of a meager salary to get me out of Montreal, but in terms of strict sense qualifications I didn’t have a lot going for me. I had just graduated with a degree in Communications with a GPA (slightly) lower than REDACTED. I had never taken an education class in my life, and the only experience I had that could even remotely help me was two summers as a camp counselor and sixteen years of institutionalized education. Contrary to popular belief, that actually IS enough to get you going, for a while anyway.
The fact that I could fumble my way through a few months of classes wasn’t enough to QUITE convince me that I had any right to be there though. Those first few months, once my post-summer haze wore off, were harrowing to say the least. Throughout faculty meetings and interim comments and report cards and parent/teacher conferences (stunning that they’d even want to talk to the film teacher right?) I was periodically terrified that I would be found out. That someone would realize I didn’t actually know what I was doing, that I was some kind of fraud playing at having bigger britches than I did. Somehow, that point never came, and I even ended up surprising some people (most notably myself) with the work I did. Kids were learning from me, both inside and outside of the classroom, and what little knowledge (or so I thought) I had amassed in 23 years was actually making a difference on a scale larger than non-existent.
It was around this time that a band I loved released a record that I liked. On the last track of this record, the chorus was one very pointed line that helped me define my current existence: “What God doesn’t give to you, you’ve got to go and get for yourself.” Simply stated for maximum impact, it gave me the clarity and sense of purpose I had lacked over the preceding few months by denying the intrinsic need for both. I was a teacher because I wanted to be, I didn’t suck at it, and that was enough.
And it was.
End Part 2
Leave a Comment so far
Leave a comment
