One perspective

"Before we go in there, just let me say I have no idea if this is going to be any kind of educational experience for you today."

"Well, I understand things can be unpredictable. . ." says the petite grad student who'd get stopped for a pass if I sent her down the hall on her own.

I'll say! Two suspensions, three Saturday Campuses (think The Breakfast Club minus the John Hughes charm), a pair of in-schools that are about to be multiplied, and a tardy issued before 8:30? Yeah, except for the habitual lateness I never would have anticipated as much office activity in an hour as my students have churned up in years. But bad judgment seems contagious, spreading like a paperwork plague through my still off-kilter group, leaving the few, the curious, the yet to be summoned to be observed by our new aspiring ESL teacher friend.

"I can tell they're good kids," she says, and I give her points for being perceptive.

"It's not like you're not busy," she says, as I stare hard at my desk to summon something from the piles, and I give her points for being generous, or at least polite.

"I see what comes through that door!" she says, as I begin to explain, quite unnecessarily, as she's just watched me try to simultaneously help Li do Geometry and Josh finish his 10th grade enrollment and Maria do her Algebra and Angel do ANYTHING and Rafa finish his Civics while I appease the Biology teacher and confer with the colleague who's dropping off Eduardo's mountain of assignments--now they're coming "Monday"-- how the job is different from the theory she's studying, and I give her all the points I have left for volunteering to help.

The boys, of course, think she's too pretty to last. "I'm surprised you made it, Ms. P," adds Maxi, and I say a silent thank you that he's at least back to feeling like himself.

"I haven't made it yet!" I retort, mentally amending my gratitude to add that if she could tongue-tie the kid it might be a bonus. Regardless, I'd welcome her back if she's willing. Besides, if her illusions are going to be shattered--already, we've started--at least I'd do it with the best of intentions. And perhaps, even probably, she'd teach us something, or remind us of something we already knew but forgot in the day-to-freaking-school-day.

Education's a funny business, not being a business at all. That being so, one never knows who'll show up to apply. If I were the universal principal, teachers would work 48 or 50 weeks a year, just like everyone else. Wouldn't do anything for the teacher shortage, as I predict applicants and education majors would either run screaming in revolt or drop dead in horror, but it sure would clear out the deadwood, and something might actually get done. Why, teaching might even become a profession, instead of a solution for stay-at-home-moms at loose ends. It'd cost money, of course, and thus is a proposal deader than curricula that do not culminate in state-mandated tests. And teachers, whether many or most or all, would resist and rebel quite vehemently. I did not say it was a perfect plan. But competitive pay and time that no one has when the kids are there? I still think that it'd work.