An Emancipation Proclamation

I woke up a free man this morning, once again around 7am. It felt like any other day other than the fact that K was in my office on the laptop. As we were both up we took a hike down to Outpost for a tasty beverage. On the way a good five fire trucks screamed toward the same direction. Three different dark-skinned and stoic men were perched on street corners. Two of them were in wheelchairs. The server makes my orange juice begrudgingly. Maybe it's because I'm black. Maybe it's because I'm straight. Either way we take it to go.

My last images of my girls was of them up on stage jumping double dutch for their classmates to see as part of the school talent show. When I told them that this was the last day they didn't even flinch. Half of them barely looked me in the eye, too concerned with their moments ahead on stage. I gave them their certificates and left the minute they left the stage.

I've found myself missing every group of students I've had in my near decade of working as an instructor. But I won't miss these girls. I'll always remember them. But I won't miss them.

It's a shame that the majority of today's public school teachers are coming in under these Army Reserve kind of deals. They're doing it for the free grad degree. They're doing it because they want kids to learn. They're doing it because they're needed. But at a certain point that stops being enough.

As I traveled through the halls of a middle school for 16 weeks, I saw the gradual descent in morale from teachers and administration alike. I saw a 12 year old try to take on a security guard that could have wrung his neck at a moment's notice. I saw a student of mine burst into tears as he denied writing graffiti on a wall that matched his handwriting. I watched my brightest students dig deep to find some attitude to give me because it was the cool thing to do. In these last few days the looks on the faces of the staff have reminded me of the guys Tyson fought before he went to jail, dazed and bruised as they struggle to figure out what happened.

I am the son of a teacher. That's probably the main reason why I never wanted to become one. I've never gotten a state certification and have dodged a 9 to 3 classroom like the plague. Because if I went all the way in, if I planted roots in that world, I just might give my whole life to it. And that's a donation I can't really afford. Hence I'm back out there looking for what I can stab with my pen and eat for dinner. I've got two new projects and the need to keep trying to screenwrite for a living. I will steam lobster in Pinot Grigio before the summer is over, by any means necessary. A pot watched never boils so I guess I need to take a nap. Out.