2023 is the start of so many new things. I’m teaching two sections of Creative Writing 2, the lit journal I sponsor at work will be published for free by a local publisher—so great!, I’m excited to start training with a Pilates bar I ordered from Amazon, I’m committed to writing more.
Oh, and did I mention my return to my building tomorrow begins with an intense two hour lecture followed by two hours of simulated active intruder training that will likely scare the ever living shit out of me just in time for me to get back in front of students on Thursday? At least there will be mental health professionals on hand afterward to help us all handle it—over our lunch break.
Seriously?
Seriously.
The thing is, I get that this training is necessary. I get that the reality of gun violence in America and this country’s unwillingness to confront it in any meaningful way is responsible for this necessity. But here’s the thing: I didn’t get my teaching license to become a commando in a classroom. I got it to—shocker—TEACH.
Tomorrow I will go to my classroom for the first time since I left it on Dec. 16. I didn’t do any work over break because I don’t get paid to and honestly the last 18 days have been an absolute joy. Reading, writing, traveling, seeing friends and family, and absolutely not for one minute thinking about the fact that millions of people in this country are perfectly okay with teachers and students living as potential targets in uncontrolled environments every day.
I have three choices. I can call in sick as a way of fighting the policy and then show up at noon; everyone will know I lied, but at least I won’t be traumatized for the start of the semester. I can go to the training and, in the likely event that I am very upset by it, I can flee the building. Or I can say f*** it and go to work but spend the day in my classroom preparing to teach on Thursday because I absolutely have a whole day’s worth of work to do and need the time in which to do it.
I want to tell you I’ll pick one or three, but two is more likely. As I said, I know this training is necessary, and I respect my district for recognizing that we need some kind of plan. But, if the business model is to assuage fears by saying “don’t worry—we have counselors on standby for the inevitable trauma you will experience in your work place”, well, maybe we should—as a country—re-examine what we expect from teachers.
Teaching is a joy and a privilege. I love it, and if I do it well, then hopefully my students realize that when they are expected to do things that make them unhappy or uncomfortable, they have every right to say so. Just like I’m doing here.
Shannon Carriger 