The life of a high school English teacher, according to the late Frank McCourt

One of the most poignant sections of Teacher Man was when McCourt discusses his “life outside of teaching.” I was so captivated by his writing and his experiences because I could so vividly relate to him. And, not to mention, it is so true. He writes,

"If you asked all the students in your five classes to write three hundred and fifty words each then you had 175 multiplied by 350 and that was 43, 750 words you had to read, correct, evaluate and grade on evenings and weekends. That's if you were wise enough to give them only one assignment per week. You had to correct misspellings, faulty grammar, poor structure, transitions, sloppiness in general. You had to make suggestions on content and write a general comment explaining your grade. You reminded them there was no extra credit for papers adorned with ketchup, mayonnaise, coffee, Coke, tears, grease, dandruff. You suggested strongly they write their papers at desk or table and not on train, bus, escalator or in the hubbub of Joe's Original Pizza joint around the corner.

If you gave each paper a bare five minutes you'd spend, on this one set of papers, fourteen hours and thirty-five minutes. That would amount to more than two teaching days, and the end of the weekend.

You hesitate to assign book reports. They are longer and rich in plagiarism.

Every day I carried home books and papers in a fake brown leather bag. My intention was to settle into a comfortable chair and read the papers, but after five classes and 175 teenagers I was no inclined to prolong that day with their work. I could wait, damn it. I deserved a glass of wine or a cup of tea. I’d get to the papers later. Yes, a nice cup of tea and a read of the paper or a walk around the neighborhood or a few minutes with my little daughter when she told me about her school and the things she did with her friend Claire. Also, I ought to scan a newspaper in order to keep up with the world. An English teacher should know what’s going on. You never knew when one of your students might bring up something about foreign policy or a new Off-Broadway play. Your wouldn't want to be caught up there in front of the room with your mouth going and nothing coming out.

That’s the life of a high school English teacher." (Teacher Man, pages 187-188)

And... it is so true.

While reading, I could only picture myself doing exactly what McCourt says he did. It is rare that I am ever not thinking about teaching and everything I need to do for the next day in order to be prepared and help my students learn and achieve. There are always more papers to grade, more journals to read, more lesson planning to be accomplished, more studying and reading of literature and books I need to teach to my class, more parents to call, more observations of veteran teachers to conduct.

When I get home, I think about my students. I think about their successes and their struggles. I think about their lives and the difficult things they experience at such a young age. I rarely am detached from my job. In many ways, my inability to separate and distance myself from teaching during my first year inhibited me from seriously reflecting on how I was doing and what I needed to do in order to become a better teacher. I was so wrapped up in my job and my attempt to be the best teacher I could be that I lost sight of everything else in my life. I dove under September 1 and didn’t come up for air until June 26. Only then could I finally see clearly. That was when the true reflection began. After all, I could finally breathe again.