Grilled cheese cures the blahs
This week was the kind of week that made me question whether I belong in this job, or this career. No major crises or events, just that lingering sense of dissatisfaction (possibly attributable to midterm).
Today I was feeling particularly down on work when I headed downstairs for the Friday knitting group meeting. At the bottom of the stairs, a group of watercolor students had set up a table. To raise money for an upcoming trip, they were making grilled cheese sandwiches and selling them for $2 apiece. There were three of them, one with a giant tub of Country Crock, buttering slices of white bread, another slapping on slices of American cheese, and a third "frying" them up on a couple of panini makers.
It's impossible to hate my job when I get to work with students like these. I haven't eaten a grilled cheese sandwich (or anything involving white bread or American cheese) in probably a decade, but I didn't hesitate to get out my wallet, and the sandwich was damn good.
Today I was feeling particularly down on work when I headed downstairs for the Friday knitting group meeting. At the bottom of the stairs, a group of watercolor students had set up a table. To raise money for an upcoming trip, they were making grilled cheese sandwiches and selling them for $2 apiece. There were three of them, one with a giant tub of Country Crock, buttering slices of white bread, another slapping on slices of American cheese, and a third "frying" them up on a couple of panini makers.
It's impossible to hate my job when I get to work with students like these. I haven't eaten a grilled cheese sandwich (or anything involving white bread or American cheese) in probably a decade, but I didn't hesitate to get out my wallet, and the sandwich was damn good.
posted by Madame Defarge at 4:30 PM
2 Comments:
After an entire semester of part time work, conversations with colleagues who have had their babies and converted to the dark side of loving motherhood (I’ll have to rant more about that at another time), and just general frustration, I, too, have been questioning my profession. I’m not the fun teacher, and I never will be. I just have to accept that. I’ve been told by coworkers that my standards are too high, and because of this, my GPA is below average. My self-confidence and esteem have been tottering at an all time low. I have had a few great kids, developed meaningful relationships with them, and gotten some really wonderful compliments every once and awhile, but I must say, those moments of appreciation are few and far between, making the desire to continue on that much harder. That, and the fact that I tend to obsessively focus on the negative.
And then things happen to renew your faith. Mine wasn’t as savory as grilled cheese, but I think the sentiment was equally felt. I was in Borders today, looking for a guilty pleasure magazine, something entirely non-literary, when I heard a young man call out my name. He looked really familiar, and when he told me his name, I remembered him instantly. He had rings through his lip, his nose, and plugs in his earlobes. He was the kind of kid who sat in the back, never turned anything in, but was really smart and I liked him. He told me how he’s trying to get his act together, realized he screwed up in high school, and is trying to work and go to college. He wants to move to Hollywood and repair classic guitars, but I had to laugh when he said he’s putting it off because the economy isn’t good for the guitar business right now. I never imagined him to be the type to be mature enough to care. He shook my hand and said good-bye after promising to “hook me up” if I ever came into the restaurant where he works, and I watched him saunter out of the store. He’s 21 now, which means I had him in class over six years ago, and that I’ve been doing this a long time. The thought of that nearly made me choke. But then it made me smile. It was really cool to think of how many people I’ve met and worked with and to wonder what kind of people they’ve grown into. Given where I teach, I’m sure there’s a fair share of criminals and addicts, but there are a lot of cool people, too. Even now I recognize that kids like him are the ones with whom I tend to get along best. The artistic loners. It made me want to work harder, to try new ideas, to reach the kids like that. They might still fail English, but at least their minds will be working. We need a few more artists in this world. And if they can make a mean grilled-cheese, so much the better.
Thank goodness for those moments. Too bad they seem to come around just frequently enough to keep us from quitting altogether! Especially at this time of year.
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