....or not to teach.
no longer an undocumented, transient teacher...as lovely as the lifestyle seemed to be...
now, i have papers. the official stuff. after a few observations, a lot of paper work, some classes, deductions from my paycheck, and, of course...a sit down, bubble the dot, timed test with weakly worded questions and...i'm official...not sure what i should make of that quite yet. nonetheless...
my memories of miss acosta and miss rivera (my fourth and fifth grade teachers who seemed quite the quirky couple to most of my friends) seem quite cloudy. like some story i never really lived just got told about by my mom's tio who knew a friend who happened to live right next to their caretaker's primo...
...regardless, i wish they were around. somewhere close by, where i could help miss rivera with that crumpled paper bag full of old books she was carrying one time to the local public library. perhaps she'd let me keep them. perhaps she'd enjoy knowing that i, like her, have fallen in love with old books...
...im too scared, however, to look them up when i go home. for fear that theyll be gone, or something of the sort.
as if my not looking for them will somehow keep them here forever.
and im scared to look for mr. guilliard, my high school english teacher who introduced me to poe, told me once that i wrote well and, most importantly, entertained us with a comical rendition of the crazy couples kissing quickly in the hallways, trying to beat the bell...
now, it's me. attempting to teach and beginning to think it may be for good.
not sure i care too much about the standardized tests my kids have to endure these days. i do, however, care and hope that one day they'll fall in love with old books and have the courage to look me up and tell me about it...
not much more.
