Vocation

Voc means having to do with the voice. A vocation, as most know it, is a job-- though the word's definition also generally includes the phrase "a calling."

Tomorrow is the first day of school. Agh. At times, I wish summer vacation was less time or that I could find a "summer job" that would pay decent and be "fun." When it comes down to it, not working for two months makes it extremely difficult on the eventual evening before you go back to work.

I have to do seating charts, make some cut-outs for the bulletin board, and do some other mundane tasks. I've stayed in all day and basically done nothing except eat exorbitant amounts of food and flip-flopped through the various marathons on TV: 90210, Housewives of NJ, and The Office.

Of course, part of me is nervous about tomorrow morning--- the first impressions the students will form about me, especially.

Many times, people have asked me (students and adults) whether I think you need to be smart to be a teacher. While intelligence is a factor, when you get down to it, you just have to be a few steps in front of the students. Not exactly genius work, especially at middle school or primary school level.

At this stage in the teaching game, I feel like confidence can make you rise above any missing intellectual components. Act like you know and act like you are spectacular at what you do and people, notably 13 year olds, fall for it.

I feel like I am the other way around--I have the intelligence part down-pat but am lacking the confidence part---which makes going back to work tomorrow even more challenging. Nothing I will do with my classes tomorrow will be particularly deep or thought-provoking. I just need the confidence. Argh.

As thoughts are swirling around me about the idea of going "back to work," the following poem aptly arrived in my inbox as poem of the day.

Vocation
by Sandra Beasley

For six months I dealt Baccarat in a casino.
For six months I played Brahms in a mall.
For six months I arranged museum dioramas;
my hands were too small for the Paleolithic
and when they reassigned me to lichens, I quit.
I type ninety-one words per minute, all of them Help. Yes, I speak Dewey Decimal.
I speak Russian, Latin, a smattering of Tlingit.
I can balance seven dinner plates on my arm.
All I want to do is sit on a veranda while
a hard rain falls around me. I'll file your 1099s.
I'll make love to strangers of your choice.
I'll do whatever you want, as long as I can do it
on that veranda. If it calls you, it's your calling,
right? Once I asked a broker what he loved
about his job, and he said Making a killing.
Once I asked a serial killer what made him
get up in the morning, and he said The people.