In
by Susan — Age 60 — Arlington, VA
I was afraid of work because I didn’t know what people did all day. I pictured myself in some office, hiding at a desk, wondering what to do. Even if someone told me, I figured I wouldn’t know how to do it. They would tell me to call the agent, and I wouldn’t know who the agent was! They would tell me to set up the meeting, but I wouldn’t know what they needed! So I became a teacher–the only job I had actually seen performed, over and over. And I was betting I could do it better. First job: tenth grade, big trouble. Then I got smarter, went to grad school, landed a slot teaching comp at a community college. I was so interested in giving assignments clearly. Not dumb, fill in the blank, but complex, creative, and still clear. Like this: draw a map of your neighborhood; which features draw people together, which separate them? We can talk. What do you mean, my neighborhood? What if nothing draws people together? What if they’re all honkies? I love teaching. Nobody tells me what to do. I have to figure it out.
My students come from all over the world. They ask me about America: Do you also elect the heads of corporations? Do some Americans actually cook at home? What does can of worms mean? Where’s the library? I love answering: clearly, clearly. Grammar is a mess. So we don’t say gerund, passive, possessive, clause. Say it like this, I say. Say this sentence a hundred times, with different words. We read the Declaration of Independence. Such sentences, such words! Write your own list of grievances, I say. Declare your own independence. The room gets very quiet. The keyboards click. Because they still treat me like a baby. Because she always wants to go to these chick flicks. Because he never respects me. There is snuffling in a corner. I go to share. I declare my independence from alcohol, she has written. Because it made me lose my parents and my boyfriend and my car. I look at her, and I think she’s going to do this, and she seems bigger than I am.
I never declared independence from school; I’m still here. But most days, that’s good.
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