Teaching at the college level is not nearly as satisfying or important as teaching kids. I'm fine with that. It's still a billion times more satisfying and important than explaining to yet another Microsoft "editor" why beginning a sentence with the word because is no different from beginning it with any other subordinating conjunction. (And then explaining it again using smaller words. Fruitlessly. And then going home and explaining it to Ed. Who gets it the first time.) Once a year, I replenish my soul in the classroom. Once a year is fine. It gives me the feeling of professional substance I crave.
The students with whom I stay in touch are the cream of the crop. By definition, my students are upperclassmen at a liberal arts school. Educated, bright, driven, well-read, well-rounded sorts. And from this pool, I cherry-pick the few I want to help out. And you know what? Despite all the filtering, they invariably disappoint me. Yesterday I found myself trying to cajole a fellow into bathing before his interview. And maybe not toking up during the drive there.
Now, I'm not saying that I didn't disappoint a few people when I was their age. Or beyond. Or now. This isn't about them; it's about me. I don't think I'm cut out for investments of the human kind. Whatever the altruistic stuff is that allows teachers to encourage and believe even after students have been flunked/fired/arrested/knocked up, I don't have it. Being disappointed by someone in whom I've invested is devastating. It feels almost like a betrayal of sorts. It wipes me out. And like I said, I get to cherry-pick students. I can't even imagine what it must be like for the blind trust that is parenthood. Any given kid must disappoint twelve times daily. Hats off to parents. You're made of sterner stuff than I. Do y'all just get jaded to it?