Is All This Trouble Really Worth It?

May 28, 2008 in Personal Reflection
Tags: 15, bare, bones, center, committee, do, edublogosphere, education, flair, hate, horrible, i, i hate, imposed, keyboard, legal, maggot, master, mind, minimum, misery, numbing, of, painful, pieces, redo, rot, russian, sadism, self, student, taskstream, tasktream, teacher, teaching, the, tort, ultimatum

I’d fill you in on the details of the meeting that decided I was to redo — depending on how you view it, do in the first place — the TaskStream busywork, except a certain unnamed source specifically requested that I not quote him.

Not that I’m bound by his ultimatum, legally speaking. Any first-year law student could tell you that truth is an absolute defense against libel, the tort most commonly used in cases involving the written media. However, I’ll honor his request.

After explaining to the makeshift committee about my conviction that, for some reason, everyone involved with student teachers I’ve ever met excepting one has decried the “uselessness” — their word and mine — of credential programs, the committee was unconvinced.

I hadn’t taken that TaskStream stuff seriously. After all, all these credential programs lack merit, I quoted. Paraphrased, their response:

Not this one.

There was, admittedly, one quite convincing personal protest by he-who-shall-not-be-named-or-quoted, but I won’t name or quote him, even though it does him an unfair disservice. I’d much rather quote him, to be honest, and if he revokes this stipulation I shall do so willingly and without hesitation.

Suffice it to say that the committee wasn’t amused by my complete lack of regard for the documentation component of my student teaching semester. Expletives had been involved, and I hadn’t bothered to do more than what I thought was the absolute, bare-bones minimum. In effect, one observed:

What kind of teacher only shoots for a two out of four, for barely passing?

My mind flashed back to 15 pieces of flair, and the rot at the center of the maggot.

This meeting was last week.

As of 13 hours, 52 minutes ago, the first half of my student teaching project was officially redone. Mind-gaggingly painful, headache-inducing sadism. Only Russian has strong enough words to describe the pain of my self-imposed misery.

Screw this, he wrote in a moment of undirected anger and frustration. What’s the big deal with teaching, anyway? Why can’t I be a pilot, instead?

Yet I know I’m going to actually do the assignment this time, and do my God’s-honest best. Hell’s bells.