A letter...

Dear Superintendent:

I am contemplating another leave of absence because I am mentally and physically incapable of writing a letter of resignation. Quitting. After 14 years of thinking about becoming a teacher, going to school to become a teacher (whatever that means) and actually teaching. Quitting means acknowledging on paper and with a signature that I am a full time mother. This is my job. Who I am? This is what I do. Dishes. Laundry. Diapers. Clean. Noses. Feed. Water. Plant. Tub. Vacuum. Laugh. Chase. Sweep. Come. Go. Play. Teach. Worry. Worry about not worrying. Love.

I am contemplating another leave of absence because I am terrified of becoming intellectually stale and uninteresting. Teaching has given me reason and desire to inform myself, to think so that I can teach others to think. Teaching gives me permission to obsess, which is something I am good at. Reason for me to research a piece of literature, talk ad nauseam about a book. Research an author. Think about time, place, other works that relate to the piece with which I am obsessed. And it's ok to talk, over lunch, about my obsession. Let's say, Animal Farm. Discussions that involve working definitions of capitalism, socialism, communism. Discussions that involve talking pigs and their politics and the music of Billy Bragg. And it's ok to go to local tavern at the end of the week to finish, as much as they can be finished, these conversations.

Contemplating a leave of absence frustrates me because I think that mothering my children is more important than teaching, though I don't expect others to feel this way or to have the luxury of feeling this way. It's entirely personal and the word "caveman" comes to mind when thinking about those who insist that mothering, teaching happen ONE way.

So then it is for selfish reasons that I don't want to quit. It is because I feel like a piece of me is dying when I say the word "resign." How dramatic, but I am serious. Maybe it's because I've seen too many people go to jobs that they despise, some because they have to, some because they don't know any better. With teaching, I dislike aspects of the job. I dislike these apsects a lot, but the opposite extreme is the satisfaction that comes from watching students form ideas, think, discuss, think some more, struggle with ideas, write persuasively, creatively and often honestly, ferociously, and eloquently, sometimes with humor, with dignity, about these ideas. At least as much as and most likely more than I hate my job, I love it. And how many people can say this about what they do? For money.

There is reason then for contemplating, but I am not allowing myself to do any more of it. I am going to resign. Today. Letter in mail tomorrow, though my letter will sound nothing like this. It will be written in resignese--toneless and faceless (do you remember me from Virgilio's) and struggleless and hollow.

In the end though, the outcome will be the same. With or without details. But not without my realizing that the details are what matter. It matters that I work at not becoming an intellectual slug. It matters that I love my kids but find subjects to talk about not related to what comes out of or goes into an orifice. It matters that I find some thing or some things productive with which to obsess. It matters that I go to Rhumbline on Monday nights. It matters that resigning matters.

I quit. I'll get used to saying it. And I'm wearing sweat pants to prove it.

I quit.