Liberal Arts Guilt

originally written by hand mid-December 2010 while i was at work. re-written here for your pleasure and enjoyment.


One of the reasons that I am beating myself up is because of the crushing power of Liberal Arts Guilt*.
I was a liberal arts major. I picked a major that I enjoyed, one that would give me amazing life experience, room to breathe, room to think. One that was intellectually flexible. (it was middle east studies and arabic, fyi. being a MESA major wasn't actually any of those idealistic things, though. there were plenty of people who were in it for the practicality of speaking arabic and getting a slight leg up on the millions of poli sci majors our there). I have Liberal Arts Guilt that compared to those in my major and compared to other majors, I have never ever been very career oriented.

And that's what Liberal Arts Guilt is--guilt that you were never career or job oriented, that you foolishly thought that education was about learning for the sake of learning, not learning as a tool to a career. In your short sighted idealism you chose a liberal arts major so that you could learn and grow, while the street smart wise guys were majoring in business and engineering so they could be hirable. You were becoming wise, you thought, and they were just becoming qualified for jobs. You were above the drive for worldly success and gain!

And then at some point it hits you. Maybe for some it's when you graduate. Or maybe it's when the economy goes south and all the entry level jobs in non-profits and academia and wherever else lib art majors go dry up. For me, it was when TFA, "the viable liberal arts career path"i thought, fell through.

And then all the things that I had made the liberal arts major decisions by and all the things that I really valued about myself--sense of adventure, love of fun, my adaptability, my love of doing hard things that would help to grow and learn--seemed hollow and naive. All of that went away, and was replaced with the guilt of never planning for life, of having spent no time acquiring skills, of failing by worldly standards, of having no direction, no ambition, nothing.

Had I really majored in a liberal arts because of all these noble reasons? Had i really not planned for something more career-oriented because of some lofty reason? Or was it because I was lazy, inept, and unable to function in a "real major?" Would I likewise never have a "real job"?
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Thinking about it 5 months later, that is one reason why TFA works--because of Liberal Arts Guilt. Yes, i don't have a job somewhere else and it is my fault. Please, please TFA take two years of my life and part of my soul away, i deserve such punishment for my failures. I will prove myself, i will work hard, and i will expect nothing in return. Please let me be a teacher with little rewards (in either a tangible or metaphysical sense) and work 60 hours a week and no one will really care and that is what I deserve because i majored in Ethnic Studies/Philosophy/various liberal arts majors. Such is the inner dialogue of many TFA recruits, and the reason why an organization that does treat people in pretty crappy ways is allowed to get away with it.

So, do I still have Liberal Arts Guilt? I didn't know what I wanted to do for a career. I still don't know. I think it would have been a mistake to just pick something at random and go with just because i felt a need for a career. I realize that I also skipped a lot of "what will I major in?" drama because I didn't care about career paths and goals. I guess I have to deal with the consequences of that now. But maybe I'd be in this same quandary, anyway. If anything, I regret not doing something TOTALLY useless instead of the kind of middling MESA major. If i did it over again, I'd probably choose art history or film studies. So no, at the end of the day, I am totally unrepentant. The question of where to go next is still an issue, though.

*yes, this is a term that I came up with myself. you should tweet about it so that it becomes an actual thing.

The Day I Cried In Class

I've always been told that, as a teacher, it is totally unacceptable to cry in front of your class. That is something you should never, never do.

Well, if you know me, you know that if you tell me to never do something there is a good chance i will do it just to spite you, and because i like to do things that people find unexpected.

So today I cried in front of my class today. It went pretty well.

It started with Franyi, asking me to change the powerpoint. "I'm getting lost! Why are they bulleted instead of numbered! I can't copy that! blah blah blah!" okay, you are weird and that is a weird request, but I can change that, no problem. So i go to the computer, to change the powerpoint. As i leaned down to change the powerpoint, my back to the class, i heard a scream of protest. This is not out of ordinary for any changes occurring in my class--like the lights going off, or the bell ringing, or expecting them to do more than 5 minutes of work, or anything that they have the opportunity to scream at or protest, really. But then, WHAM! something hit the wall, missing my head by inches.
O.M.G.
kids have gotten mad at me before in class, but throwing things at my head? this is ridiculous. i am a teacher, i deserve respect, dammit. Or at least to not feel like i am in danger.
And then i thought about the hours i spend on this stupid job. This stupid job that i hate, where i know i will never ever be a teacher again so it adds nothing to my resume, it adds nothing to my professional development, it is a dead end. And how i break the rules for these stupid kids, i throw parties for them and i tell the school department to go screw their stupid language program and i give up parts of my weekends to plan things. And i spend hours thinking about the stupid theatre project that we are going to do now.
And i was mad now. i was feeling real bad. And i knew i was going to cry. And i knew that would be real, real not cool.

But when you are going to do something totally uncool, like cry in front of your class, there are only a couple choices that you have. You can try to hide it, or you can embrace it and just go with it. In a moment of empowerment and determination which in my weakened, beaten down teacher self, i thought i was no longer capable of, i decided to embrace it.

I turned around to face my class, knowing full well that it was VERY obvious from my face that i was about to cry, and once i spoke, it would be even more obvious.
"Who threw that? Tell me now, who threw that?" It wasn't working. No sound. In fact, i've never seen my class this quiet, or more fixated by me, ever. They weren't going to give up the culprit, i could tell, but they'd listen if i lectured. This was probably my only chance to actually be heard. I didn't even have to shout. This time a small voice actually would be more powerful.

"You know what, I don't even have to punish you. You punish yourselves. You punish each other. Everyday we fall further and further behind, and that is your fault. What are you going to do when you get to high school next year? It's not going to be like this. You are not going to have teachers that baby you like we do. I am tired of this. I am tired of the disrespect. I want to be your teacher, but I am tired of the disrespect. I want to do play projects with you, but I don't know if we can. There is a reason that I am your third teacher, ladies and gentleman [yes i said that, hahaha]. There is a reason that the other teachers left. There is a reason you are so far behind. And you need to get it together, because I am tired of it, and so are most of you. I love you guys, I really care about you, and I enjoy getting to know you as people, but you need to get your act together so that I can be your teacher."

I don't know what kind of impact that had. they were quiet for about 10 minutes, which never happens. I never found out who threw the whatever-it-was, pencil probably.

My ever-so-new-england teacher next door, who has been the best mentor ever this year, said that a couple things can happen when you cry in front of your class, but either way, you find out how they really feel about you. Sometimes they laugh. My class was just absolutely quiet, and kind of terrified. A "what have we done?" kind of terrified. Later, students expressed their condolences, saying that they were tired of it too, and that they hated how kids treated me. Some sweet students asked me periodically during the day if I was feeling better. Other teachers in the ELL program put the threat of a full week of detention for the entire class over the heads of the students if anything like this happened again (i think "like this" means that if they make me cry again, but i don't think that will actually happen. Pencil throwing will probably happen again, but not crying).

The rest of the day went fine. We talked about Fast Five and Sperry Topsiders and boyfriends and afros, and we also did a test and some theatre unit prep work. I am not always a good teacher. I have never had all that much control on my emotions. But I know that I have good relationships with my students. I know they know that I care about them, and I know that even though they are crazy punks a lot of the times, they are human children, after all. They care, too, sometimes. If I cry enough. Tomorrow will probably be no different than any other day. The rest of the year will probably still be a struggle. But I cried once during class, and it went pretty well.