Teachers work hard. No question. Society has deemed us the solver of all problems. In school, a child learns lessons both in and out of the classroom that will serve them for the rest of their lives. Student doesn't have enough to eat? The school will feed them. A kid is cold? There is a coat drive that will clothe them. If a shooter storms the building? A teacher is trained to protect the children. A young one needs to learn how to read, write, think, question, behave... the teacher will show them the path. Teachers get a lot of flack for having summers off, but let me tell you, that time is well-earned. If you added up all the hours I've spent outside of the eight-to-three school day grading papers, buying supplies with my own money, and preparing lessons, it would surely exceed the forty hour work week of the year compressed to give me my summer guilt free.
That being said, I love my work. I love seeing the look in a struggling student's eye when they finally grasp a concept. That feeling of surprise is true learning, and hopefully something they will never forget. I've been a teacher for eight years. Long enough to be excited by the promise of helping to bring up a generation of critical thinkers. And short enough to not yet be a hardened, jaded crank.
My mother was a teacher for over thirty years and was good at it. She always emphasized the value of knowledge around our house. So much so that toward the end of high school when I was about to go away to college, I knew that I would follow in her footsteps. My father wasn't crazy about the idea. He didn't think that being a teacher was man's work. But he worked a desk job at an insurance broker and was miserable. So what did he know?
My name is Alex Stator. When I graduated from State University, I landed a job teaching at an elementary school back north in the suburbs of Rockford where my parents lived. I was ecstatic. It was nothing like I had expected. Decades of learning prepared me with theory, but the first time I was in my own classroom full of fourth graders looking up at me, I knew there was a whole practical side to teaching that I had to develop on my own. Sink or swim.
After my first year, I entered a Master's program online through the University of Wisconsin. Three years of nights, weekends, and summers, and I had earned my Master's degree in educational policy studies. I was going to be a principal someday, then maybe a superintendent. So I put my nose to the grindstone and worked hard.
My father wasn't entirely wrong. There were far fewer male teachers than female ones. And they were of all shapes, sizes, and ages. At first, it made me a little uncomfortable. It must be something along the lines of what a male nurse must feel. From my studies I knew the ratio to expect, but the reality was different. The gossip mill was intense, everything was like a soap opera. And, I hate to say this, but women are so sensitive. I had to really think about every little interaction so that it didn't become part of the gossip. Although, I suppose that was partly a good thing because it helped me with interpersonal relationships with administration and even the students and their parents. And it didn't hurt in my personal life. I'm relatively handsome, stay fit, and have never had trouble getting dates. But my career was always priority.
After I had secured my Master's and established myself in elementary education, a job came up in the big leagues... middle school. My record spoke for itself. I had good references. And my principal knew the principal at Lincoln and put in a good word for me. I spent the summer revising lesson plans for sixth grade. They are a different breed of animal than the fourth graders I was used to. The hormones have begun to kick in. The girls blossom and the boys get lanky and moody, but I was ready for it all.
Teachers and administration go back to work two weeks before the students. Everybody is grumpy and shaking off the cobwebs of summertime. There is a lot of turnover in education. It's like playing musical jobs. During the first day at work, there are ice breaker activities so that everyone gets to know each other again. I met my new teaching partners, peers, and my new principal. Turned out there were only three other men in the whole school: an old crank one year from retirement who taught eighth grade, the janitor/building engineer, and the gym teacher, Rodney, with whom I became fast friends.
"Hey, Alex. You ever date any of them?" Rodney asked when they were eating lunch one day.
They were in the gym. At one end was a stage used for music recitals and talent shows. Rodney and I sat on the edge with our legs dangling, eating submarine sandwiches. "Who, our co-workers?"
"Yeah."
As Rodney said it, a group of female teachers walked through the other end of the gym, a shortcut to the cafeteria. One of the group pointed to us and shouted, "Hey, get back to work!" They giggled like little girls. The heavy gym door swung shut behind them.
"Once," I said. "It didn't go so well." I took a breath. "It was my first year teaching. It was her first year teaching. We were both nervous and went to all the meetings together and we bonded. You know, you go through something with someone and you sort of feel connected. We'd take our lunches together. Worked together during planning periods. We clicked."
"Doesn't sound too bad."
"It was good until it wasn't. We spent so much time together, other teachers would make fun of us for it, but we just played it off as harmless teasing. Until one night around Christmas there was a party at school, then a bunch of us went to a bar after."
"Christmas party." Rodney laughed. "So cliché, but that shit happens, right?"
I nodded. "Totally. We had a few drinks. Then a few more. Everyone's getting all crazy because we're going on break for the holidays. We're sitting at a table, you know, the whole group of us, and she puts her hand on my leg and starts, like, stroking."
"Your dick?"
"No, just my leg. But, we've never done anything before, so I'm playing it cool, thinking she's just playing around. A few minutes go by, another round comes, and she starts rubbing my nuts, right there, with our team right there. I look over at her and she's totally into the conversation with someone else. You wouldn't be able to tell. Finally, she looks over at me and winks."
"What a pro."
"Except now I gotta problem, because things are winding down at the party and I've got a hard on like the Eiffel Tower. Thank god it was winter and I could hold my coat over my crotch."
"What happened, she get under the table like in the pornos?"
I laughed. "No, when we all took care of the bill and said goodbye, I could tell she was a little tipsy. And we'd been friends for a while, so I knew that if we got together, it would make things really weird. But she was like an animal. We made small talk until everyone else left and I was like,
What the fuck was that?!
I wasn't mad or anything. I mean, it was hot as hell. But I didn't expect it from her. Next thing I knew, we were in the backseat of her car making out, she gets on top of me, pulls her sweater off and opens her blouse, and she's got this lacy red bra on and she shoves her chest in my face. It was hot, man. I almost shot in my pants the way she was grinding me."
"Damn, dude. So far I don't see any downside to this."
"Then, while she's on top, she unzips-"
The bell rang marking the end of lunch period. Only a few minutes until next period. Rodney and I cleaned up our sandwich wrappers. We walked back toward the hallway and Rodney's office. "So, was she hot?"
"Redhead," was all I said.
"Damn."
A few kids filed into the gym wearing their awkward uniforms (Go Cougars!). Rodney grabbed two basketballs from the rack and rolled them down the court at them. "Let's get warmed up."
"All right, man. I gotta go give a quiz. See if these kids are grasping two-digit multiplication." We fistbumped.
"We still going running later?"
"Yeah, for sure."
