Beef

I’ll accept the standardized exams because I expect my own kids to ace them. I’ll accept the data collection because this is the twenty-first century and to forgo data analysis on behalf of our students is to deny them one of the chief privileges and principal powers of modernity. I will accept explicit instruction because, in the end, it is still the teacher’s job to make things clear. I believe in reading skills because I believe I have them. No, if gripes were a meal, all of this would be little more than salad.

I’ll get used to this enormous edifice, poured from the same mold as prisons and sanitariums but still a home away from home. I’ll wince and endure the oddly-timed but evenly spaced electronic shrieks that go by the euphemism bells. I’ll make use of these sparse, never-were and loveless texts because I don’t need more than a sheet of loose-leaf to blow your mind. I’ll turn a blind eye to the absence of the enormous little niceties that make school bearable for all the squares: teams, clubs, dances, plays, bands, committees and all the frivolous accompaniments of grandeur.

I’ll accept the fact that it’s just a job. I’ll choose my battles and draw my lines in the sand. I admit my utility, and sympathize with the many uses to which my colleagues are put. I’ll go home at the end of the day, as if I lived in the suburbs. I’ll get real and be practical and do what I have to do.

So what’s my beef?

I’ll have to think about that.