I Got Fired

"I Got Fired." Possibly the most pride swallowing three-word combination in the English language. It ranks right up there with "she dumped me," and "I've got herpes." It must be one of the worst phrases to have to utter to friends, family, and acquaintances. But invariably, we, or someone we know, will have to say it sometime in our lives.

I've had to say it to friends and acquaintances since July and each time I do it feels as if a little bit of the light, that was my dignity, is snuffed out. Now, the circumstances are such that I am not really ashamed of my recent dismissal, but I know that even when I try to explain the circumstances to people, they are still judging me on some level. "Sure, your boss was wacko," they say out loud, without sarcasm. But in their minds they are saying, sure your boss was wacko... with sarcasm.

Now, most people would think that a sense of humor would be an asset to a high school teacher. At least, that's what my students and many of their parents told me. In fact, the only person who told me otherwise just happened to be the person who held my tenuous position at that school in her dry, bony hands. Let's call her Skeletor. Skeletor was the school director and ran the show with carte blanche authority. She was one of those people who compartmentalized human emotions into different sections of life. Sure, humor had its place. But a school full of teenagers certainly wasn't it. I mean, c’mon.

Skeletor was supposed to be my mentor. She told me, in not so many words, that under her guiding wing and strict tutelage I would someday make a fine teacher of youth. Ironically, she was the most uneducated person I'd ever met. (That's not true. I once knew a homeless guy named Polaris that used to bathe himself in the sink and eat his lunch on the toilet of a public restroom. What I meant was, she was the most uneducated person in the field of education.) It wasn't unusual for her to be confused by words used in everyday conversation, like "ironically".
Skeletor actually only came to my class and observed three times the whole year. (Where was the guiding wing of knowledge and power, I cried from within as I struggled through each class alone.) After the class ended and the students walked out she pulled a seat to my desk so we could go over her meticulous notes and the real training could begin. The only thing I remember from those enlightening conversations was that my humor made me both unapproachable, and un-relatable to the students. I think you've let your life as a stand-up comedian cross over too much in to your teaching career, she would say. I never was a stand-up comedian, I explained. Well, I understand you did comedy, she persisted. I didn't understand what she meant, but the idea conjured images of a man who had a physically intimate relationship with comedy. I laughed to myself and when I did, I realized she was right. My two lives had crossed over. I was laughing at school.

In one breath she would say, I know the kids are having fun in your class, but are they learning anything? And in the next breath she would tell me I'm requiring too much. I was stuck between a rock and a dumb place and wasn't sure how to proceed. In the end she decided that a personality like mine wasn't fit in the world of education. And maybe she was right. If anything can be said of the youth these days, it's that they're studying too hard and laughing too damn much.