Twenty-Three

Salvete Monstronauts,

Apologies for being absent from the Blog scene for several months. I guess I needed some time to process this next big step we're all taking. Whenever I sat to write something, I would just scrap it because it didn't bring me closer to any new truth or feeling. I have something to say now though.

I'm working full time at a high school right now. I teach, I administrate, I do a lot of varied activities. I wake up at 6 and work until 4 or 5 typically. A lesser man might say, "So this is the real world--I'm finally all grown up." Not I. As I read this blog, or in conversations with college friends, or in remembering the e-mails of disgruntled graduates of years past, I pick up the subtle or blatant feeling that old-age has really kicked in. Some of us have rent, jobs, serious relationships, loans to pay back, etc. All the fun of college seems a life time away for some recent graduates. The undertaking of new responsibility, coupled with shrinking "playtime," feels like how we imagined old-age would be.

To those who feel old, I say to you: start a career in teaching where the faculty is on average 15-25 years older than you.

I feel like a baby. Someone reminds me of that fact daily. I totally overcompensate by dressing professionally every day. My colleagues wear shorts. Still, when I wear a collared shirt, I'm told, "maybe you should wear a tie." And when I wear a tie, I'm told, "this is a casual work environment, don't feel compelled to dress up so much!"

I was taking stock of some vans the school uses in a shirt and tie one day and someone drove by asking where there was parking. I told her and she explained she needed to drop something off to the director of student activities. I said, "I work with her, I'll do that for you." To which she replied, "oh are you a student?"

Lady--I'm in a shirt and tie, with a clipboard, during class. I just told you I work here. I should be asking you what it was that got you into teaching, because it certainly wasn't your deductive skills.

Whenever someone points out my boyish looks, I want to snap back, "how much does social security pay out?" I find myself wishing I'd gone back to school, just to give myself a few more years to get some gray hairs or start balding.

Coming soon...the high school mixer I just prefected. 1500 kids trying to cope with their adolescence as the walls sweat.