I told a student the truth about the teacher shortage.

I told a student the truth.<br><br>The student is a bright senior. She intends to be a teacher.<br><br>Me: You might want to reconsider becoming a teacher. I love teaching, but I don’t think I’ll have a classroom of my own in five years. I might not be teaching then at all.<br><br>Student: Why? What will you do instead?<br><br>Me: I might just quit. I can’t afford to keep doing this, and my health is suffering. I’m not the only one. There’s a teacher shortage because too many of us are quitting. It’s hard to recruit new teachers when so many of us are leaving.<br><br>Student: Yeah, I heard that’s been a problem for a while.<br><br>Me: Oh, is that what they’re saying? It’s been “a problem for a while”?<br><br>Student: Yeah, didn’t you hear that?<br><br>Me: Well, let me tell you what’s really going on. There is a massive exodus. So many veteran teachers are leaving the profession or retiring early. We’re saying we’re tired, or we’re worried about health insurance or medical bills or student loan debt, but the truth is we’re leaving because we are utterly unappreciated and disrespected. We’re treated like we’re not professionals, like we’re baby-sitters or substitute parents or something.<br><br>Student: Well, if parents did their job…<br><br>Me: Don’t even get me started. Parents need to be parents. I get that. But it’s not the parents that are the problem. I’d rather deal with sixty parents who don’t parent than with one politician or superintendant or administrator. See, teachers are trained to teach, to counsel, to care for children. Politicians don’t care about that. They want to control us. They want to tell us what to teach and how to teach it. They want to legislate everything we do. It’s been going on forever, but it’s worse now than ever. I’ve been teaching since 2000. I used to love teaching. I used to be so excited to come to school every day. I loved seeing my students every day. I did it for the kids.<br><br>Student: I want to do it for the kids.<br><br>Me: I know, and that’s why you’re going to quit.<br><br>Student: What? Why?<br><br>Me: You will love teaching. You will love the kids. But they’re not going to let you teach. If you try, they’re going to watch you and harass you and intimidate you until you’re too damned scared to teach anything. They’ll make sure you teach what they want you to teach, how they want you to teach it, when they want you to teach it. They’re going to make you do exactly what they tell you, because they fear you. They fear that we’re teaching kids the truth, and they don’t want that. They want to control everything, even your mind. They’re afraid that you know better than they do. They’re afraid that you might actually get an education. They’re afraid because they know damned well that you’re smarter than they are.<br><br>Student: I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to think.<br><br>Me: Then don’t listen to me. I’m just a bitter old-ass bitch. I’m just a teacher. I don’t know shit. Go talk to any of your other teachers. They’ll tell you the same thing.<br><br>I had undergone this conversation without any passion or emotion until that last sentence. Then, my eyes filled with tears. I tried to explain why, but I couldn’t speak. The student got up and left. I cried in my classroom alone.<br><br>I later apologized to the student. I told her I wasn’t trying to be negative or bitter. After sitting on it for a couple of days, I realized that wasn’t it. I was sad. I was grieving. I was mourning. I was saying good-bye to teaching, and it made me incredibly sad.<br><br>I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to do this.