Do I Regret My Years of Teaching?

I’m retired from full-time teaching. I guess you could say that I’m not completely “retired,” since I still teach summer school and substitute occasionally.

But I work at other jobs now too. I’m currently employed in the receiving department of a large store that specializes in home improvements, hardware, and lumber. I intentionally took a job that requires real physical work because frankly, I found myself sitting on my rear end too much during my retirement.

Unlike teaching, the job is intrinsically rewarding. It is sheer fun to operate equipment and move things that weigh literally tons, to look back at what you’ve accomplished and think, “I did that.”

That’s wealth. You can see it. You can feel the energy go out of you to produce a result. You see the result. The result is wealth.

Let’s be brutally honest about money: Money is not wealth. Money is the symbol of somebody’s efforts to produce real wealth. Sitting around managing investments, buying low, selling high, is not wealth creation, no matter how much money you garnish in the process. Someone paid too much for a stock; you sell it for a profit and keep the difference before the price falls. I unload freight that someone has paid for, and I get paid for delivering it. What you’re practicing is wealth drainage. You take a share of my effort. My pay stays the same; you get a profit. Yours is the act of fleecing somebody, somewhere, out of his or her efforts to create real wealth.

Like it or not, that practice has become a legitimate business in this so-called “free” market economy. It’s the real world: There’s wealth creation, and there are those respected for fleecing us. That accounts for most vocations and professions in life. If you’ve got some other way of explaining it, go right ahead; I’d be interested in seeing it.

But where does teaching fit in with all of it; what is that?

In the many years I taught full time, I used to get a bit depressed occasionally. It occurred to me that I may be striving for unreachable, idealistic goals and wasting my life. I wondered how long I could go on before quitting and starting over with a new job, any job. There were many, many moments I wanted to do so. But the moments passed, and I remained a teacher until almost exactly six years ago.

And I was so, so tired; and so, I retired. And now I have time to think back upon it.

One thing teaching isn’t, is wealth-creation. And it certainly isn’t fleecing. Another thing teaching isn’t, is gratification. Oh, yes, you feel great after a class has gone well. And occasionally a kid comes up to you and says, “I really appreciate that.” One kid actually said this to me: “I want you to know that I’ve been attending school for almost twelve years now, just waiting for someone to reach me the way you did today.”

Well! Yes, that makes you feel great when it happens! But it happens rarely. Most kids keep their opinions of you to themselves, and when you think of it, that’s not so bad, because most keep their complaints to themselves also.

Statements of appreciation don’t come often. Your audience is tough. You’re constantly trying to penetrate hardcore adolescent and pre-adolescent prejudice, and most of the time, to be honest about it, you both succeed and fail. You reach some kids; others, you don’t reach. It’s a draw; there are no piles of wealth, neither earned nor fleeced.

Now my work is different; my job is physical; I reach for material things rather than nebulous educational objectives.

I used to be so strong physically. Very, very rarely did I meet up with someone who could move faster, lift more, or do more than I could. Now I am an old man. Now the pain is in my joints, not just in my muscles. When I lift something, it always hurts, at least a little. You get old and you get used to the pain, but you never get past it. You only get so strong. The muscles can’t grow beyond your ability to withstand the pain in your joints. I can’t show the kids up anymore. I used to lift and carry with one hand what they do with two. But I can’t “one-hand” anything anymore. I’m just another guy, struggling to keep up.

Still, I create superior wealth! I do better work than they do. My work is cleaner. My piles are straighter. I am more careful. I damage far less freight. Even if I work a bit slower, the wealth I contribute is of significantly greater worth than that of the young kids who throw things around because they can. Not only that, but I have a wisdom about dealing with people, and a sincere interest in them, attributable, no doubt, to my years of teaching. The supervisors tell me, “When you’re not here, we really notice it. We miss you when you’re gone.” In only a few months, I have received official and public recognition for the quality of my work no less than four times and numerous other unofficial statements of appreciation.

In all my years of teaching, I never once received official or public recognition. Nor did I want it. I observed, about those who received such accolades, that they were not praised for their work; they were praised for “fitting in.” You don’t get honors for making kids work just a little harder than everyone else. You don’t "fit in" if you show kids that a work of literature contains within it a warning that they're being fleeced by the rich and powerful elements in our society.

Oh, students sometimes appreciate your integrity; they even offer praise. If you’ve been gone a day or so, they might even say they missed you, but what they mean is, they missed you because they know how far to push you. They know your limits. They’re comfortable with you. They don’t tell you they appreciate you.

Real teaching is putting students through difficult but essential learning experiences that make you work harder as well. So you put in far more hours than you will ever get paid for, and you don’t get intrinsic rewards. But you get used to it; you just quit hoping to receive payoff for a job well done or goals accomplished.

Your students don’t miss you very much when you’re gone; not really - and your colleagues? Many of them don’t even know when you’re gone.

But when your students have left school and taken on other endeavors in other places, they will remember you. They will begin to recognize what you’ve given them, even if they can’t explain it very well. They may only recall something you said in class, or something you did, or the force of your personality. They may not be able to tell you what you gave them exactly, even if they’re living it every waking moment of their lives.

And what did our generation of teachers give our students?

That’s the amazing part of it. All of us gave them something a little different. We gave them a quality that they will never be able to fully appreciate, one that they may never even completely attribute to us, and yet, now, years later, when they approach us to express their thanks, we will see ourselves inside them. They shake our hands and stumble around trying to express gratitude. They say, “I don’t know just what it is, but …” We see in them a sense of self, with attributes mirroring our own, an alertness, a consciousness, a balanced understanding, far more valuable than any symbol of wealth, far more vital than neatly stacked freight.

No, I do not regret my years of teaching.