Student teaching will nearly break
you. You will teeter nervously behind your mentor,
certain that she resents your pathetic
attempts to supplement her lessons with
fragmented interjections.
The students will visibly roll their eyes at your
attempts to make them laugh. When you finally succeed in sharing
a genuine laugh with the class,
your nervous stomach will emit a fart
that will ring as clearly as a duck quack. Your credibility—lost.
The morning before the principal is scheduled to come observe your
teaching,
you will find your elderly cat dead in his favorite sleeping spot.
As you teach, you will get lost:
will lose your train of thought
will forget what you’ve said
will give inaccurate information
will contradict your mentor in front of her own class.
The other teachers in the department will mock you behind your back.
“Why does she wear those loud patterns?”
“She acts like such a suck-up.”
“Our kids will totally eat her alive.”
For lack of time, you will stop exercising completely,
gain weight, endure the flare up of your deafening lower back pain.
You will never have time to spend with your new husband,
and the honeymoon phase will unravel violently.
Before the year is up, the time that you do actually spend together
will be spent arguing, and you will sleep on the couch.
Alone.
You won’t spend any time with your friends,
and will have the lonely realization that they don’t bother reaching
out to
you anymore.
When your car breaks down, not having friends to call for help,
you will shell out money that you don’t have
for cab rides.
There’s a story of a young boy plagued by continuous anxiety and
restlessness.
A goddess appeared to him one day and presented him with a golden thread.
“Whenever you want a moment to pass, just pull on the thread.”
As he sat in school the next day, vexed by his assignment,
he pulled the thread.
He was transported to his high school graduation.
He didn't know how he had achieved this accomplishment, and felt empty.
He pulled the thread.
He was transported to his wedding day.
He looked upon his strange bride and felt nothing for her.
He pulled the thread.
He arrived at his son’s graduation.
He felt no pride for his son.
He pulled the thread. He pulled the thread. He pulled the thread.
Death.
Anxiety and restlessness will come.
These moments, these trials,
will beg you to fast forward.
Put down the thread.
Walk the line. One painful step in front of the other.
Until your feet grow callused.
And they know where they've been.
And they know where they've been.
Mary,
ReplyDeleteThank you so much for sharing this. In your piece you were able to capture the fears that I am feeling and you have incorporated them into a beautiful poem. You aren't alone, I promise you that. Thank you again.
Ms. Harrison,
ReplyDeleteYou echo so many of my very own experiences and fears in your words. This really resonated with me in particular "These moments, these trials,
will beg you to fast forward.
Put down the thread.
Walk the line."
So much of the time I feel so overwhelmed thinking about all the things that need to be done, that could have been done better or that were done poorly that I forget that by acting we get through all of that - we stop dwelling and start moving. The balance piece is probably one of the hardest - I know that struggle all to well myself. We have so much of our time consumed with school that it feels like the balance tips solidly in that direction leaving family and friends in lurch. You are not alone in feeling that. Thank you for sharing - your words and this journey.
Are you trying to make me cry, Mary? If so, then you almost achieved your objective. The elderly cat dead in his favorite sleeping spot was too real. You are writing from the heart and it shows in the experiences you have shared on your blog. We all understand how you feel and May 6th needs to hurry the hell up. Thank you for providing such an honest response to the online reflection.
ReplyDeleteCheers,
Joshua West
Oh, the places our minds can go when we are nervous and uncertain. You've made quite a list of problems for the student teacher. While those are great, I LOVE your closing story of the boy pulling on the golden thread. How true. Our greatest achievements are enjoyed because of the difficulties on the path to success. Your ending is great: "Put down the thread.
ReplyDeleteWalk the line. One painful step in front of the other.
Until your feet grow callused.
And they know where they've been." So beautiful. So appropriate.
Your poem made me burst out laughing at the beginning and breathe a sigh of gratitude at the end. Such beauty and power in your words, phrasing, and imagery. Thank you, Ms. Harrison.
ReplyDeleteKansas English publishes creative works, and this would be an valuable addition in the next issue (in my opinion). If you decide to submit it, I would recommend noting that you've written it in imitation of Ellen Bass's piece. Your work deserves a broader audience.