bs wizard

My sister was convinced until she was about fourteen years old there were purple panda bears alive somewhere in the world. They are very rare, I had told her. But they exist, in very secretive locations in China. She was definitely not yet six, and had been given a stuffed lavender panda bear as a gift. She looked to me, her authoritative older sister, I who had read many glossy pictured books about all sorts of animals. I delivered my verdict: Yes Cecile, there are purple panda bears. I crafted my lie so convincingly, so confidently, I even sort of believed it.

For better or for worse, I’m still spinning stories. Every single day I stand in front of 35 kids at a time and act like I have some sort of idea about what’s going on. I’ve made friends with a couple other new teachers, and I’ve caught myself saying the teaching equivalent of “yes, purple pandas are real” — I’ll look thoughtfully into the middle distance, set my mouth as though I am mildly troubled but resolute, and say as though I’ve seen the scrolls of creation themselves— Do you want me to teach you how to get mad at them? I usually find getting mad at them works. Or just really glaring quietly, as though you’re an owl with a splinter. Or, I’ll say something like, I give them photocopies but when I’m reading to them I always make sure to read from a book. That’s why my classroom is stacked full of them. I want them to see they can know everything we do, they just need to surround themselves with books.

This is what I say, anyways. When it comes down to it, I read from books because I find them comforting and wonderful. Staring down the barrel of 35 sets of teenage eyes can get terrifying, and this teacher needs all the comfort items she can get — be it Grimm’s Fairy Tales or The Truth About Stories.

My sister told me a little while that when it comes to being a counsellor, the best approach is to pick a system that makes sense to you and go with that. I’m beginning to see it’s somewhat similar as a teacher — you come up with some kind of marking system your brain and heart can live with, and you just go for it.

Earlier in the semester, I made an extremely elaborate “ungraded” course outline. I agonized for days over each assignment option. You’re overthinking it, one admin told me. Just do it the regular way and you can give kids options down the line — but don’t tie yourself to something that may have unexpected consequences. She was referring to the option I had listed where students who didn’t necessarily want to obtain a high grade could opt out of one of the more creative, exploratory assignments. Especially since this semester runs til the summer. As soon as the sun hits, the grade 12s stop showing up for school. I’m sure my face registered nothing but horror. In grade 12 I might have skipped many a math class, but English? Who knew what else these adolescents capable of. I retreated to my cave for further tweaking. In the end I went with the usual course outlines, but slapped some Calvin & Hobbes comics on them. Yay. I had been hoping to impress my principal, who had the same Ungrading¹ book on his shelf, but when I went in to show him it turned out he’d been given the volume as a gift and hadn’t cracked it once. Later that day, I said he looked sad and he asked jokingly if I could feel his sad energy.

I’m worried he thinks I’m a complete woo woo nutjob, I ranted at the third admin, who looked mildly alarmed. Don’t worry, I said. I don’t need you to do anything about this, I am just talking in your direction. Don’t put on your problem solving hat. The third admin looked mildly less perturbed and more curious, in a bemused fashion. As we talked, it came to light that in his final year of teaching secondary sciences, he’d been about to roll out an entirely new way of assessing curriculum — students would assess themselves on assignments, check their knowledge through standardized quizzes, and then confer with their teacher over a final grade percentage. He only hadn’t implemented it because he’d been called to take Vice Principal training. Hot dog, I thought to myself. I’m not a complete woo woo nutjob. Someone thinks this is a good idea. Then again, I reflected, the jury is still out on whether or not he is also complete woo woo nutjob. I weighed what I knew about him… very little. I had heard that he was very passionate about making sourdough bread, so it could go either way. I resolved to leave this as a problem for future Jordan.

Back in my classroom, future Jordan’s problems lay stacked in my little class hand in bins. Don’t let your marking pile up, I heard my practicum teacher’s voice echo in my head. I whined back at him internally. The problem with working in a school is it’s such a fun environment. There are so many nice people to talk to and events going on. At the school where I work, one teacher even has a classroom lizard. Who would want to mark? Not me. But I guess that’s why they (the taxpayer) is compensating me to do so.

I couldn’t sleep the other night, and for whatever reason decided to read a little bit about Lacan, some philosopher guy that smart philosopher guys seem so confused by, he must be smart (I’m absolutely going to butcher this following summary because I am a complete hack who got a B in Lit Studies, so please bear with me). Lacan goes on and on about all the different conditions under which love isn’t true, or real, or authentic. He finally gets to soullove, which he says has nothing to do with sex. He’s referring here to a romantic relationship, but I’ve been carrying it around in my mind ever since, like stream-fresh water in cupped parched hands. Lacan notoriously defines love (quoth the article²) as consisting in giving nothing of what one has… To love is to recognize your lack and give it to the other. I told a teacher friend about this and she chortled. Sounds like marriage, she said. Sounds, indeed, like any relationship worth anything.

All I’ve got to give you is this nothing, shining here in my chest. And from that absolute nothing I’ll weave lesson plans and read monster stories and play hangman on the board at the end of class. I’ll bring a blanket made by my mother for the girls in their crop tops, because I want them to be cozy and warm. I’ll hang streamers from the ceiling in the shapes of comets and stay late to fix the fucking photocopying I fucked up again, yet again, yesterday.

One day, I swore to myself, all the students will mark their own work. All I’ll need to do will be to show up in a cute new pair of boots. I’ll hand out assignments and talk to my students and be magnificent. I’ll have a purple panda as a classroom pet and no one, no one, will ever say they don’t get the assignment. I thought it with such confidence, I almost believed it.

Then I sat down, a woo woo nutjob with nothing to give, and resigned myself to my marking.

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ps. Just kidding I obviously went home. The marking pile is Future Jordan’s problem.

1. link to the book on Amazon -- it's pretty dope, lots of case studies and examples and handy tips

2. link to Lacan summary