Last night, my mother got the family together for my younger sister's birthday (she's 23) and I found myself rambling on and on about everything from CFL light bulbs to the misinformation campaign that got us into Iraq, and I realized that I am so desperately starved for a place to debate, I have resorted to my mom's dinner table. Now, there's nothing wrong with having a spirited discussion at the same table upon which, twelve years ago, your mother dumped a shopping bag full of pot paraphernalia she found in your top dresser drawer, but there has to be a healthier place to vent. Later on in the night, as I contemplated the reasons for my existence, I realized that I have to get some things out of my head before I have an aneurysm or throw a student out the classroom window or crane-kick a republican.
My conundrum is pretty simple. I can't disclose my political beliefs to my students because their parents would go to my boss and cry about the crazy-hippie-liberal teacher corrupting their poor children's minds and making them, of all things, think critically! And they'd fire my ass. I can't discuss matters of political importance with most of my friends because the last thing they want is to listen to another one on my rants on a Friday night when they there's a hockey game on. I can't talk to my colleagues because most of them are old and bitter and shouldn't be teaching anyway, and the younger teachers are so overwhelmed with grading and classroom management, that they can't talk about anything but school. I can talk about things with my wife, but the problem with finding someone perfect for you is that you have such common beliefs, it's more or less like preaching to the choir. And she has a life, and entertaining another one of my psychotic tirades is not always on the top of any of her seven to do lists.
So, here I am. I've tried this before, twice, both times resulted in my entire posts being deleted because I was too stupid to figure out how to post them. Deep down, I know I subconsciously deleted them in fear that everyone was going to laugh at my feeble attempt to record the incoherent thoughts that go through my head. My goal, wake up every Saturday morning, put on my sweet blue robe and Homer Simpson slippers, take four Excedrins for my hangover-induced migraine, and write all of the things that I didn't have a chance to say to my brainwashed and cultureless tenth graders throughout the week. We'll see how it goes.
