Chronicles of a Tormented Teacher
Lately, I've been designing tests that are like a serene field until the unprepared wander carelessly not knowing that it's all a minefield. Last week a few students blew up. While it served as a rude awakening for them, my suspicions were confirmed. We are cultivating a corrupt society. Sorrow crept inside me, yet I wielded the lesson like a sledgehammer. Better to die in my war than to live in a land where real terror dwells.
Consequences must be real. I know this, yet I did not push for suspension. Instead, I found solace in arranging a silent, quiet torment. I hand out rewards to those worthy of receiving them. For this semester, the wounded will lose out on that privilege.
Amazingly, the kids have noticed something different about me this year. Some don't like it. Perhaps they see an emptiness in my eyes, or an intolerance built by time. I'm trying to do my best. I learned many years ago from one of my great teachers that I should always do my best and let God do the rest. While I try to walk in the light, I gravitate to darkness. It's who I've always been. Such a delicate dance between dark and light, fire and ice.
Ah well, I must rest. Maybe tomorrow the light will win. Maybe...maybe not.