I’ve been thinking about teaching. I was whinging to the Snook the other day about my dissatisfaction with I.T. work when he suggested that I go back to school. Since I had so much fun leading training courses in London, he thought I should look into getting teaching credentials here. It’s an interesting idea. Max teaches, as do my friends Liz and Kel in California. Ma Snook is a teacher-librarian. If you’d asked my second-grade self what I wanted to be when I grew up, I’d have said “a teacher” without hesitation. So I decided to look into it.
Unfortunately, it seems it’s a lot more difficult than I anticipated. Not only would it take two full years for me to get my Masters of Teaching from Sydney Uni, but as I’m still classified as an “International” student (because my permanent residency won’t be fully “permanent” for two more years), I’d have to pay about four times the tuition that Australian students would. Then there’s the question of whether my enthusiasm for training eager adults would in any way translate into enthusiasm for teaching sullen and obligated young people. I’m not sure. I just finished reading this five-part story about a journalist who took a year off to teach seventh grade English. His experiences are pretty eye-opening. I was always a good student, and in class I resented the teacher having to go so slowly and repetitively for the sake of other kids who couldn’t care less. Apparently, though, that’s exactly what teachers are forced to do. I like the idea of “breaking through” with a difficult student and teaching them something new, but realistically, how often does that happen? I’m not sure I could deal with putting out a lot of effort and seeing it go to waste. Someone once told me that journalism and education are the most cynical professions and that you lose your youthful idealism pretty quickly. I get depressed enough in I.T.; would it really be wise to make a move? (Article link courtesy of Moire.)