When a Class Made Me Cry

I’m a guest teacher.

That’s my job, and it can be difficult. Particularly the students.

Not too long ago, I was teaching 8th graders (age 13-14). We were going over an Edgar Allan Poe story as a review for the quiz they were about to take. I was excited talking about Poe, obviously, he is my homie. (Also his birthday is tomorrow!) Even still, I was already stressed, and this class was not helping.

They were loud and obnoxious and argumentative and rude and made fun of Poe, of his story, of me…

And I cracked.

I was silent. No noises. And I tried to hide it, but tears were a-flowin’. I simply handed out the tests to a now-shocked class and sat behind the desk, facing away, dabbing my tears (gotta preserve the makeup; it’s my only dignity at this stage).

What makes a job so menial that students think it’s okay to treat us like dirt?

And why does society accept it?

Maybe I’m just a cry-baby.

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