Now, after four years of training and preparation, I am doubting my desire to teach. Today was the most brutal day I have ever endured. I cannot imagine doing anything other than teaching, yet right now I cannot imagine ever surviving teaching.

Today I taught a class of freshman that almost drove me to a point of frustration that I have never before experienced. It was ineffably chaotic. There was absolutely no respect in the room. I went in with an open mind; I went in expecting bright students who were merely chronically unmotivated. Instead I found children with whom I had to consciously restrain myself from screaming “You are the dumbest bunch of people I have ever encountered!” I was so frustrated, and that frustration led to incredible anger. Yet I had no where to direct that agonizing exasperation. I couldn’t hold it against the kids that they had never been in an environment in which learning was admired. I couldn’t blame then for merely continuing the cycle set forth by ignorant parents. I couldn’t blame them for any of it, yet there they were, begging for attention in their own ways, and all I could muster was a desire to physically harm them.

There have been times in the honors freshman class that I felt as if I was about to lose control, as if the kids were going to manipulate me so that they ended up running the class. Such was the case in third period. They knew exactly what they were doing; they knew that they could drive me crazy. And I let them. I simply ran out of ways to explain things, ran out of ways to try to grab their attention. And most obviously I simply ran out of patience. There came a point at which I didn’t have any idea what to do — and they kept on going.

What made it so doubly frustrating is the fact that I was trying and they were not. Well, they were not trying to learn, that is. They succeeded in their efforts; I failed in mine. All I ask is that they try. While we were going over “The Invalid’s Story” (I certainly wasn’t teaching it), they kept saying “It’s stupid because it makes no sense.” Yet they didn’t try to understand it. They read it; they didn’t understand it; they closed their minds to it. I don’t think they wanted to understand it either. They just did not care and I was trying desperately to care; I failed in that too, for I finally threw my arms up and said, “Screw it!” At that moment I lost all credibility with them. I will never be able to win their respect; they won.

Such language as “they won” points out that which is obvious about education: it’s a game. Students try to wear down the teacher’s patience while the teachers try to wear down the student’s ignorance and lack of understanding. The only problem is that right now they have more experience playing their role than I have with mine.

I was trying so hard not to be an authoritarian about keeping class order, yet they were dictatorial in their attempts to inflict chaos and confusion on the whole class. I found myself wondering if things would have been different if I had had them from the beginning of the year. I had ninety minutes to establish a presence; that must certainly be too little time, for anyone, much less an inexperienced student teaching. If I could have had an opportunity to foster mutual respect from the beginning of the term then things would be significantly different. I didn’t want to yell and scream; I didn’t want to force them to stay in their seats. Yet their lack of discipline demanded nothing less.

What made the situation seem almost helpless and hopeless was the fact that there was nothing I could do about it. There is no form of immediate discipline that I could think of which was ethical. The only response I could devise would be infliction of physical pain. Yet what would that accomplish? I couldn’t give them detention because making them stay after school would only make them hate school even worse; it would serve only to make my job even more difficult.

Almost inevitably I took out my frustrations on fourth period. I gave them a quiz on “The Invalid’s Story” and it was so difficult to work out with the students an adequate way of off-setting the quiz’s ambiguity and difficulty that I just told them to forget it. “I’ll just give you all full credit and be done with it.” Yet their lively spirit eventually brought me around, and their eagerness to understand what we were going over was gratifying — I smiled.

Yet the day was not over. Not even close. During the last ten minutes of class — time I needed desperately — there was a fire drill.* So I fell even further behind schedule which means to catch up I have to assign more homework.

Of course all of this calls into question whether I can survive being a teacher. I felt so inadequate and ineffective today. And yet after a soothing bowl from my new brier and some time to fume and reflect, I feel much better. I am almost willing to give it another shot. What holds me back is a fear that tomorrow (or Tuesday in this case) will only bring more of the same. I wonder how anyone can endure this emotional boxing match for year after year. Mr. DePriest is entering his thirtieth year of teaching. Thirty years! That’s about 5,400 days. I find myself in awe that he has endured that long, for I am certainly wondering if I can survive a mere nine weeks. Or look at Doc Maples (whom the school gave a 70th birthday “bash”) who has probably been teaching at least twice as long as I’ve been living.

And what about the Peace Corps? If I can’t handle this then I certainly could not handle such a daunting adventure. If I can’t do any better than what I’ve done today then I might as well call Dot Kelly right now and tell her, “I’m out!” I know I’m bigger than that; I know I can accomplish these things; I know I can teach. I’m just having a little trouble believing it right now.