The Futility of Hope

I am retiring, leaving teaching , ending a long career that routinely assigned me Herculean tasks… six impossible things before breakfast.

You see, no one ever succeeds in teaching.  Not completely. It is – by its very nature –  well, impossible.

You cannot reach all children every day. You cannot guarantee that every child learns what your district foolishly decides you’re going to teach them. You cannot meet with every family, and follow up on every concern and grade papers ad nauseum.  “Classroom management” is an art, not a science, and it is not for the faint of heart.  Any teacher who tells you they’ve never cried secretly, or felt like crying, is lying or comatose. Call a teacher you know right now and ask them. I’ll wait. It shouldn’t take long.

While you’re at it, reassure your friend on the phone. Things do get better with experience. And there’s always retirement to look forward to, right?

But  – as luck would have it–  I am retiring just in time to help humanity face a truly Herculean labor. Should we actually decide to avoid extinction, our task is to defeat

this three-headed Hydra monster:

Climate change

A health pandemic

Systemic inequality

The planet is grieving.  It is hard for me not to feel broken-hearted most days. Hope offers comfort, but Dickenson’s gentle ‘thing with feathers’  keeps whispering in my ear…  

“Hope is not enough. What we need now is COURAGE.”

And I know this is true. I cannot retire compliantly. There is no room for despair.

Therefore:

I hereby pledge to undertake one act of courage every day.    Please write and give me your additions. We’ll find courage together.   

• Educate myself on inequality and racism, learning all the history they didn’t teach me in school. Pass on this new knowledge to anyone I meet – shared indignation is powerful.
• Look at my own hidden biases – in all culpability – and reject them. Teachers, make sure you don’t subconsciously attach lower expectations to minority children, even if you think it’s well-intentioned. I’ve caught myself doing this, and it’s damning.
• Educate myself on sexism, and – why is this so freakin’ hard? –  learn how to set boundaries rather than fall back on centuries of stoic docility. Take a deep breath and tell a friend, colleague or (hardest of all) a family member how I honestly feel, even if it is hard for that person to hear.  Support other women trying to recognize and discard the restrictive expectations put on them.
• Make decisions about Things I Am Willing to Sacrifice in order to help restore the planet. In ascending order of difficulty: Cut out plastic bottles? Eat less meat? No meat?  Use only public transit?  Buy fewer things? Pay higher taxes?  Travel less or differently? The pandemic is training me in all this as we speak.
• Speak up or write against injustice.  As the Quakers say, “tell truth to power”; exhibit the courage to confront. And more, to be confronted and still listen. (Why  is listening so freakin’ hard?)
• Volunteer in the low-income school in our neighborhood. After all my years of frustration and tears, after denying it for decades,  it seems teaching is in my blood after all.