Had a good talk with my dad today. He taught for more than 30 years, and knows well how we lose some. It wasn’t a thing I expected as I accepted the profession into my blood, but it remains a fact, that sometimes we lose some, and it sucks, but it is part of the job.
True, I love my job. I get paid to talk about books with smart people, and that rocks. By happenstance I listened to Fresh Air today, and her guest was Dana Goldstein, talking about her book Teacher Wars: A History of America’s Most Embattled Profession. It was interesting, and engrossing, and much of the show made me proud of my profession.
A teacher poem, then? Okay.
Responsible for the growing, imploding,
for the glimpses of close knowledge,
Safeguards of precious contention and rebuffs,
Nurturer of the facts, and smacks, of bloody history,
and of the words of all four corners,
you guardians of the upright and thoughtful,
of the acute and touchy, of the writers umbrageous and high-strung,
What do we forget to say, then, of our teachers?
Thank You. Thank you, all you teachers,
for your cause is noble,
and your hopes unbounded.
Oh, I do love my teachers, starting off with my parents. They are amazing. Happy Tuesday, Poemfriends.