Teachers are NOT Real People

"You have an iPod?" the 7th grade boy asked me, as if even the thought of such a thing were as impossible as life on Pluto.

 

"Yes," I replied, "and I breathe air and ingest food too." He smiled sheepishly at the point I was trying to make but I could tell that his conscious mind would not allow him to accept the truth I was spoon-feeding him. Instead, he was content to remain comfortably oblivious. After all, his version of reality was easier to swallow. In his (and countless other kids') world view:

 

Teachers are NOT real people.

 

And as a kid, I completely agreed with this same belief. In fact, all through elementary school I thought teachers lived in their classrooms, keeping a cot and a hot plate somewhere hidden in a desk drawer. They lived only to serve us, right? Absolutely.

 

I did have one surreal episode, however, that obliterated this false belief even as I desperately tried to rebuild it afterward. Third grade had just ended, and with it, a glorious nine months spent in Miss Cochran's class. To this day I have no doubt that I was one of many boys who harbored a deep crush on her during the 1975-76 school year. Miss Cochran seemed - to a 9 year old's developing brain at least - to live only for us.

 

Thirty-seven years later the moment remains crystal clear.

 

My mom and I were walking into Johnson's Department Store in Cloquet, Minnesota (when small-ish towns still had non-Walmart department stores). As we bound up one step to the glass door, it swung outward from the inside. Emerging into the sunny, warm afternoon was none other than Miss Cochran. But it wasn't Miss Cochran. This version of Miss Cochran wasn't wearing a conservative pantsuit or dress. She wasn't acting professionally, making sure that people kept their hands to themselves or their butts in their desks. This Miss Cochran was youthful and wore a carefree smile. Still, all of this would have been manageable for me to comprehend and work through over time. But the fact that this Miss Cochran was also wearing short shorts (Daisy Dukes before there ever was Daisy Duke) created a disconnection in my mind that lingers to this day. I'm sure the fact that she looked straight at me with her most winning smile  and enthusiastically said, "Hi, Eric!", didn't help either.

 

The only thing about that moment that I have no memory of is my reply. I might have said hello. I might have stared open-mouthed. Certainly, I was pleased to see her. Whether my reaction communicated this pleasure, I can still only hope. But one thing was certain. From that day forward, my perception of teachers as non-human was shattered, as hard as I might have tried to reassemble the myth.

 

Now, as I start the 17th year of my own teaching career, it should be easy for kids to spot these small but consistent chinks in a teacher's non-human armor. In the classroom, my personal likes and dislikes occasionally pop up in conversation. Often, I am more me than teacher. But, not surprisingly, the more kids change the more they stay the same. The 21st century still has its share of disbelievers - kids who cannot wrap their minds around the fact that teachers don't spring, alien-like, from a pod each morning to serve their educational needs. So be it - probably for the best.

 

Besides, teacher-first is the preferred way I would want to be perceived by almost all of my former students. I doubt I'm alone. A little separation is still a good thing. To this day, in fact, that is how I still view my former teachers. And I like it that way. A reminder of all they did for me - including Miss Cochran. Especially Miss Cochran. No doubt a favorite of many, many of her students over the course of her 35+ year teaching career.

 

Short shorts and all.