Dispatch from the Front Lines: Retreat

Dear Mother:

The bloodletting continues. All around me casualties stumble by shellshocked and deformed. We’re losing, Ma.

I’ve come to a realization in my teaching career. The realization is stark in some ways, nebulous in others. But I have come to a conclusion. I’m getting out.

This poor, idealistic teacher has a certain belief that many will laugh at, while others will only nod in kind carelessness or utter oblivion. Literature is secular salvation. Because literature encompasses human experience (much of which we would never experience in our real lives, thus enriching them), language, reason, logic, and humanity’s affinity for story (among many other, probably countless things), it is one of our greatest achievements. Someone who is able to become even the most basic student of literature becomes equipped with multiple weapons to combat all that seeks to keep him down. And let’s get this straight, there are things that seek to keep us down.

I’m not here talking about the students of America becoming literature scholars, or of the citizens of America throwing their TVs in communal fires and dedicating their free time to reading. I’m merely talking about the ability to understand what one is presented with and then offering their commentary. If one is able to reason, to assess, and to act – which reading literature teaches us to do – then that person is able to handle all that life that throws at them. That person is able to set a goal, forsake and defeat those things that loom large in the way of personal success, and become a well-rounded individual. It is possible, and literature is the means.

I’m not the type of teacher or person that believes all students can reach the stars. I haven’t set out to be the Jesus Christ of teachers and save every last student left in my care. I’m not even out to save the one conventional educational wisdom says I’m able to save. I’m out to provide the A student with a stable home life, the D student with limited intelligence and a poor family, the F student so fucked up nothing but Jesus will save him with the skills necessary to become something. Whether that something is a doctor, a business owner, a trash man, a janitor, or a clerk. It doesn’t matter. They all need the same thing.

I do believe this. No matter what or who you are, you believe something. If I ask you, “What are your thoughts on God?”, you’ll have a response. “I don’t care” and “I don’t believe in Him” are responses. If I ask you, “What is your favorite soda?” you’ll have a response. From the utmost important to the mundane, you believe something. And if you believe something, you need to have a reason. The course of your life depends on it. Your family, friends, acquaintances, coworkers, etc. are all in your life because of what you believe and why you believe it. If Barack Obama runs for reelection against Sarah Palin (this is for illustrative purposes only, so quiet down for a minute), and you believe ________________ should win, you need to know why. Because if you don’t, people are going to treat you a certain way and certain things will happen because of it. If you support _____________, and are unable to give a reason for that support, people on both sides will not take you seriously. As humans, we need to be taken seriously. If you support ______________ and know why, then you’re probably going to lose some friends unless you keep your mouth shut or live in a totally isolated community. The point is your life will go a certain way depending upon your ability to defend what you believe. And “I don’t care” is a belief that needs to be defended. If you help elect _______________, and that person takes the country in the wrong direction, you’re responsible. No one will come to your door in the middle of the night and demand an explanation of your vote. That kind of Gestapo resides in your heart and is commonly referred to as a conscience. Many of us have defeated it by thinking of it as a Gestapo and disbanding it. But again, what you believe and why you believe it affects real world situations.

I am unable to cause this change in my students. The reasons are myriad and best left to another post. Or perhaps for the conversations, debates, and wars held deep in my soul. But there’s one aspect of it I will discuss here.

My interests and skills are not tailored to a 7th grade audience. I need to be teaching college. That fills me with dread, fear, and because of that, apathy. But it needs to happen. I don’t believe in Fate or Destiny, and though I believe in God, I don’t believe He is a puppetmaster. I believe in Chance and the course of Life. But as I look back over the last thirteen plus years (from the time I first started to become interested in literature and writing until now), I see a definite course. I see my abilities growing, and more importantly to me, I see my interests expanding and deepening. I’m interested in what few people are, and to a depth which even fewer people are. There’s no place for me in a 7th grade classroom. I was born – not physically, but perhaps born again upon my love of literature and writing’s advent – to have literature and writing be the missions of my life. I have a heart for the students I teach, and I say this with no boasting at all, but a purer heart than many I know. If I could go to a specialized surgeon and have him cut out the boundless, wild passion I have for literature and writing, I’d be the best damn 7th grade English teacher in the world (allow me a bit of hyperbole there). But that surgeon doesn’t exist, and soon I as a 7th grade teacher won’t either.

We’re losing many soldiers, Mom. Veterans, those more skilled than me, talking about not signing up again. You know what that means. Replacements. They’ll come in here, dig in, and simply be another statistic of this endless war. We need a war against this war, but those fighting that war are traitors, cowards, sycophants, and seekers of the greatest god of them all, “Me.” I’ll be home soon. They’re sending me off to another theater. I might not come back from that one, but if I don’t, know your son will have died fulfilled. Let that be a comfort in your darkest hours. And please don’t think less of me because though I know “retreat” is a dirty word, it’s not to those forced into it.

Love,

Your son.