We took a somewhat tongue-in-cheek look at elementary teachers in our last post. So that means it’s time to shine the spotlight on secondary educators.
You Might Be a Secondary Teacher If…
You put up your bulletin boards in August and take them down, somewhat faded and abused, in May. (Or, if your school lets you, you leave them up all year round.)
You originally became a teacher because of a strong love for your content area, and then later learned to love (like? tolerate?) students.
You secretly scoff at elementary teachers when they complain about their work load with 22 students as you view the 150 essays waiting to be graded on your desk.
When your students tell you they drew you a picture, you’re afraid of what you’ll see.
You gain ten pounds each year just from from the candy and cookies fundraiser sales each club holds at school.
You wish you were paid a nickel for each time you answered the question “Miss, why do I need to know this?”
You love attending pep rallies every Friday because it gives you a chance to sit down.
You don’t understand how students who can remember every lyric to every song written in the past ten years can’t remember to put their names at the top of their papers.
You routinely break even your non-work days up into 45-minute segments.
The phrase “I like how (student name) isn’t stepping on my last nerve” has come out of your mouth more than once this week.
You want to stop at a fast food restaurant to pick up dinner, but hurriedly leave when you see several of your students working there.
You feel like a rock star when every student in the class passes the test.
You find yourself saying things that no one else can understand:
- “I’m just going to wait until it’s quiet.”
- “No, we can’t ignore the fire drill to stay in the room and listen to music!”
- “Please stop collectively losing your minds!”
- “Oh, it’s your birthday today? Students, on the count of three, everyone creepily whisper ‘happy birthday’ to James.”
- “Your binder is not a chew toy.”
- “We definitely do not want to see your underwear. Please pull up your pants.”
- “No, writing your essay in hot pink ink is not acceptable.”
- “Why did you just do the same thing that I told your classmate not to do?”
You lie in bed at night unable to sleep, worrying about a few special students and what they will become in the future.
You spend hundreds, if not thousands, of dollars of your own money on snacks for hungry kids, pencils and pens for those without, and classroom supplies to engage your students.
Your best moment is when you see a student who has been struggling finally grasp a new concept and determine that he/she can be successful.