My first adult professional job was teaching high school English in an inner city school in Miami, and Principal Freddie hired me. .
I went to the interview and told them I’d be willing to take over the debate team but I didn’t know anything about competitive forensics. I bragged about my sister being a state champion on her high school debate team as if I could pick it up by breathing the same air. Then Principal Freddie, this boozy old former Dolphin, slurred,
"Thass’ OK, young lady. It’s easy! They win awards and what not. Plus, there’s a two thousand dollar extra bonus and what not. You’ll learn it. Ain’t a thing to it and you know, you’ll see…” then he leaned way back in his chair, laced his hands behind his head and looked like he might be falling asleep.
He rallied and went on, “…these chirren will teach you. They win trophies and what not! Coach! Get this lady some paperwork to sign!”
At last. A real adult career-style job was just what I’d worked toward, but panic set in. I knew nothing about debate, needed to brush up on English rules about gerunds and dangling participles, and when I looked at myself in the mirror I saw a kid pretending to be an adult. That's before I knew the secret: all adults feel that way some time or another.
Plus, I was nervous about the teaching gear they’d given me. Namely, none. No textbooks to scan, no literature lists to start reading. Marta's boyfriend Mark said, "The only gear you'll need for that school is a .38 caliber gun and a mirror so you never have to turn your backs on those little thugs."
I called to see what I’d be teaching and Principal Freddie put me on speakerphone. It sounded like a party in the background.
He said, “What are you teaching? What are you teaching!? That all depends. What department are you in?
I said, “English. And debate.”
He said, “Then you’ll be teaching English and debate, I guess. They’re still working it all out. Anyway, I was fixin’ to call you. You want to teach newspaper, too? There’s a fourteen hundred dollar stipend and what not. And the chirrun' are good. Goooood chirrun’. Yes, Lord.”
I said, “Well...ummm...OK, sure. Yes ”
“Good! Now who is this?”
The cartoon is priceless! As are the words of wisdom--shhhh, don't tell my 17 year-old what all adults see when they look in the mirror and especially don't tell him that when I look all stern and serious about his latest exploits I'm really laughing my butt off inside thinking about my OWN exploits as a misguided yoot. You never did say, WAS there a party going on in the background? And what was the occasion? Were there baked goods? And in future parties, did you get to join in?
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