Papers, Papers, Papers

With just six days class days remaining in the semester before final exam week, I once again find myself buried in papers. This happens every semester. I come to a point where I seriously don't believe I'm capable of getting it all done. It feels impossible, insurmountable, and hopeless. Everywhere I look is another stack of papers to be graded. Shulamith offered this encouragement today: "You will get all the papers graded. You always do. But it will probably suck a lot."

I'm afraid she's right. The next two weeks will, indeed, "probably suck a lot," but then, let's get real. This is simply the plight of the English teacher. Papers, papers, papers. I remember once a very long time ago I thought I'd try teaching high school. For so many reasons, I hated it. I have absolutely no clue how to discipline kids, so my classroom management was atrocious. I don't even discipline my own kids; how on earth would I know how to discipline other kids? It was a complete disaster. However, I have one fond memory. One day in the faculty lounge, I was lamenting the fact that I had a bunch of essays to grade, while the P.E. teacher was on his way outside to play kick ball with his class. "This is just not fair," I protested. His reply: "Hey, I knew what I was doing when I chose a field of study. You made your choice as well."

And that is the truth. I made my choice. To be perfectly honest, I can't think of another subject I would choose to teach. I love English. I love watching students' writing skills mature and develop over the course of the semester. I love watching their confidence level as they set out to write their final essays. Yes, I made my choice, and it wasn't P.E.

Or math.

Or communication.

Or science.

It was English. And that was a good choice. Very good. But oh the papers!

Papers, papers, papers.