Return of On Teachers
Years ago when I was first learning to drive in my parents’ aging Honda Civic, my father decided to bring my niece Yvette on one of our jaunts. I was in my mid-twenties, but driving was new to me, and while we practiced parking and handling in a sparsely populated parking lot, Yvette sat in the backseat fidgeting, humming to herself sometimes talking to my dad or trying to talk to me. She must have been thirteen or so at the time. I remember brushing her off, intent on piloting the car. Eventually, I checked the rearview because she hadn’t made any noise in a while, and saw that she’d fallen asleep. Her dark curly hair spilled out behind her, and her mouth hung heavily open. Her eyes were shut, and she was entirely gone. When I saw her that way, I was overwhelmed by her trust in me. To her, I was an adult, and she trusted me to see her safely through my lesson.
It’s not that I don’t think of myself as an adult. I have the problems and responsibilities of a man. I care for myself, I work to build my own life and household. Part of me, though, still feels like a boy. A teen at the oldest. It feels strange to me when students call me “Mr. Jennings.” I prefer to be addressed in the local style as “Mr. Alex.” Hearing that name never makes me think it’s my father being addressed. Seeing Yvette asleep in the backseat brought home to me my responsibility to keep her safe, to do my best to stop trouble before it started, to smooth her way for lack of a handier metaphor. Since I began teaching in 2016—first as a substitute, then as an instructor of Speculative Fiction and Detective fiction writing at Duke TIP, and now as an Adult Education Instructor at Delgado Community College’s eLearn program—that realization is never far from my thoughts. My students see me as an authority, no matter how much I go out of my way to make them comfortable, to make sure I’m not talking down to them, asking too little, too much… and it’s my job to guide them through the material.
I care deeply about teaching. This profession is the only thing that’s ever come close to fulfilling me the way writing does. It’s not just a day job that helps me make my way in the world, I consider it a calling. It adds more to me than it takes. One of the reasons I feel so fulfilled by it is that I’ve been fortunate to have so many truly inspired, truly skilled teachers to learn from throughout my life. They’re the reason I don’t fear the responsibility or how much it matters to me that I serve my students well.
I’ve also been fortunate to have many teacher friends, near and far, and each of them are dedicated, talented, and inspire by their example. Tanks Transfeld, my friend since boyhood, who has left the teaching profession, but continues to show me new things about science, technology, language, and honesty on nearly a daily basis. Renata Brito in Wilmington who has taught me about fitness, mental health, art, and storytelling. Sara Mulholland D’Antoni, my friend here in New Orleans since before she finished her degree and took her post at Chalmette High. David Williams in Nagano, Japan—my old roommate from Evergreen. Preston Spradling in Manila, my old school-mate from Tunis, son of another teacher-turned-administrator, Doctor Richard Spradling, a brilliant educator who had to put up with more than his share of assholery from me and my friends. Sarah Debacher and Jennifer Kuchta from my years at the University of New Orleans. Melissa Pandiani, Brittany Wright, and Michelle “Miss Sparkle” Perez at the Homer Plessy Community School—the first place I worked as a substitute. Lea Downing, M. E. Riley, and Evelyn Jackson, at Delgado. Most of these friends display their teaching style and strengths without my ever having seen them inside a classroom, but I can tell from the way they discuss their students and their teaching work that they care deeply and truly about their work.
Every teacher must be a learner first, and I’m lucky to have so many sterling examples of what teachers should be and do. Part of the reason my job is so important is because my students have often been failed by education in this state. Our program gives them a chance to pursue their education and surmount some of the barriers that have been thrown in their path by accident or design. These are adult students from underserved communities across the state, studying for Louisiana’s High School equivalency exam. I don’t often get a chance to see my students face to face—usually, all I get is a photograph if I’m lucky. The face I see when I think of them is Yvette’s, as it was that day years ago, asleep and untroubled, and that’s enough to spur me on when I feel like I’m reaching the end of my endurance.
Anyway, I think that’s a fitting end to my little series on teachers and teaching. I was low-key hoping to write “Son of Return of On Teachers,” but I’m not going to force it.