I never thought that the thirty-minute commute that I now experience from Biddeford to North Berwick would fly by me, just like every single day, every single period, every presentation, demonstration, every research project and every complaint about the way I grade or the deadlines I set. I am looking at this diary, neglected and dusty, and it's mid-October, already one-sixth of the way through the tenure of my yellow, crumpled, one-year probationary teaching contract. Now, it's not that the kids are bad. They're not, believe me. They're good kids, and they want to do well. But the truth of the matter is that because my class is required in order to depart with a diploma, things are different. I don't have classrooms so easily converted to a love of physics. I don't have a small legion of students who are developing their passion for learning, their passion for fulfillment of curiosity. I have instead an army of drones, many of whom can't write a lab report, take a piece of data, form a scientific argument, and will never care to do so again after my class. My passion for my science isn't a candle that burns slowly, calmly, a subject of attraction, a beacon of steady and profound enlightenment for my students. It is a floodlamp shining directly into their deer-eyes, blinding them cruelly unless they were smart enough to bring sunglasses and enjoy the view of the filaments. So, what exactly has kept me going? It's not the money. Trust me, it's not the money. It's not my fellow teachers, who are a month in and are feeling the same strain as me, who has less experience than almost four-fifths of the staff. It's not title, it's not the touted idea that teachers have one of the most difficult jobs, and one of the most rewarding. I've actually found it interesting that the people who tell me teaching is 'rewarding' have never had any idea what education is or should be. Because the best teachers, those most interested in education, I've found, don't get into it for a reward for themselves. Instead, it's the feeling that I got when one of my students that I help after school felt for one moment that she could handle physics when a group of caseworkers and edtechs believe she can't. It's the feeling of reaching out to the kid in the black sweater, who has openly admitted she hates your class and your curriculum, and in so doing, finding a way to give her the motivation she needs simply to do what she must do. It's the idea that, slowly but surely, you can chip away at the hard, ignorant stone surrounding the guy who knows he's intelligent, can't understand those who aren't, and puts them down as often as he feels he should. It's the sight of completed projects, balances made of straws, cups, paper mache, pins and cardboard, and the idea that they made them, they used them, they knew for just a second that maybe they are capable, and were all along. It's the idea that when the bell rings at 7:55, it's a new day and the bumps in the road, while unknown to you, might be interrupted by short bursts of straightaway. It's hearing from a best friend just before my wedding that what I would be doing is not going to be personally rewarding, but instead, important. Crucial, even. It's coming home, tired beyond belief, knowing that someday, somewhere, one of your students will need what you teach them, and also hoping that when that day comes, they will not thank you, but that they will instead thank themselves. That's the reward I seek. That's what I've been wishing for. That my students leave my room on June 10, 2006 and graduate not with the knowledge necessary to live in a world where knowledge is not free, but instead the will and the strength to create knowledge without me, or any other teacher. If one student has that from me this year, that will and strength, then I can go home happy on June 10. All that I will wish for is the chance to do it one more time. --------------------------------------------- I'm sorry for those of you who read this, but I just had to get that out. Let's get onto news, shall we? So, Shannon and I are finally married. We were married on August 19th, 2006, in a small ceremony held at Library Park in Bath. After fifteen minutes of me fumbling my vows and snapping tons of pictures, we proceeded to the best wedding reception we could have asked for: a gathering of close friends and a few family members for pizza and beer at a local pizza place. Cheap, easy, and most of all, memorable. A lot of people told us that it was the best reception they had ever attended (we believed those who had been to other weddings). We now live in Biddeford, Maine, so that I might commute to my school in reasonable time. Shannon works in Bath full-time, and has arranged a four-day week so that we might have more time together. It really is a nice arrangement. We are thankful for health insurance: Shannon needs knee work, and I need a cleaning. Such is married life for two of the most eccentrically simple people we know. Maybe, when I get around to it, I'll upload a picture or two. For now, I'm gonna get back to enjoying what continues to tick off of my weekend. Also, one piece of advice: see Memento.