Only in Dreams

It's summer, but still I dream of school-- constantly. Sometimes the dreams are full of stress, sometimes they make no sense. Sometimes they are about students, former students, or parents. Sometimes they are about my colleagues being mean to me. Sometimes they are nightmares about my first school. Sometimes I dream of being late to everything or not wearing enough clothing to school. Even in sleep, I cannot escape my job and the anxieties that come with it.

A few years ago, I had one of my more memorable dreams involving two rambunctious students. These two were always finding themselves in the midst of one bad decision after another-- cutting class to play dice in the park, punching their hand through a window, cursing at a teacher, or stealing a custodian's keys and exploring some locked classrooms.

In this dream, I found myself hiding out in my childhood home. Across the street was no longer the tall trees obscuring the rural family homes I grew up next to but a large apartment building representing my current urban lifestyle.

And someone was shooting at me.

Somehow I knew-- it was these two students.

The next day I said to the students, "You know you guys are really stressing me out. I'm even dreaming about you."

When I told them the details of the dream and their failed assassination attempt, they looked at me surprised. "But Jamie, dat's crazy. We would never do that to you. We don't even own AK-47s."

Well, thank goodness for that.

Battling Windmills and Smelly Subway Cars

As I commute around New York City, I often find myself faced with a difficult choice: whether to stay in the subway car where I have a seat but am forced to smell the homeless guy two seats away or move to the unknown, most likely a hot and crowded subway car with no empty seat in sight. Tonight was one such night, returning home from a Hunter College Open House for their MFA Writing programs. I sat briefly pondering my next move: Can I stay in my current career as a teacher, would a different school be better suited for me or should I just pursue other seemingly less-stressful interests like a MFA in writing?

It was when my thoughts were interrupted by the smell of urine that I recognized a correlation between my two dilemmas. At the root of the second dilemma is the feeling that nothing I do as a teacher really matters all that much. Despite all my efforts at guiding them in the right direction, kids will nod and smile then continue doing whatever they feel like doing. And this recurring cycle of disappointment leads me to the thought of switching to a non-transfer school. What would that mean? Kids who are motivated, perhaps. Kids who come to class regularly with their homework completed-- that would be amazing! I suppose if one can endure the stress, the aggravation of constantly trying to convince kids to stay in school, to come to class, to complete their assignments, to not smoke weed during school or chug beers during lunch, for months or years until they finally snap out of it and start earning their credits-- hopefully before they turn 21 and run out of time-- then it's rewarding. But I have to be patient and I have to remember that every kid won't make it and it's nearly impossible to know which kids are worth putting the energy into trying to "save" so I spread myself thin trying to help them all. Until one day I realize it's not sustainable. My life as a teacher is akin to Don Quixote battling windmills. My windmills are all the bad choices that my students make and as hard as I try to battle them, no matter how many Sanchos I can recruit to join my army, I can never defeat the windmills.

So, do I stay where I'm at and shield myself from burning out by doing less and less? Or do I make a move to the unknown? Maybe it will be a great school where kids always come to class on time daily with their homework completed, excited to learn and grow, maybe they never question anything. Or maybe it will be the kind of school where teachers pass the kids through just to avoid the principal's wrath. Or maybe I take a break from teaching in general and get a second Master's degree just because I can and I want to write more. But then I think: how will I have any money? It could easily be the best or worst move of my life, but it's the fear of the unknown that keeps me seated where I am, hoping I won't have to hold my breath or cover my nose for too long.

Choosing the right subway car: not that different from choosing the right public school or the right career path. Not that different from most of life's choices, I suppose.