revising goals

I've learned a few things whilst preparing my curriculum for the upcoming year.  The first is this: my teacher fantasy of being the world's most influential, kind, and effective educator is, in a word, ludicrous.  Duh.  In response to this realization, I developed a more realistic goal/fantasy: to not psychologically, emotionally, or physically damage my students permanently (I'd rather not damage them at all, but especially wish to avoid permanent corruption).  I take solace in the fact that I cannot be the worst teacher in the world.  I may be the second worst, but cannot clench that awful title.  Why, you may be asking yourself, is Regan so assured of this feat?  Well, friends, it is because I had the world's worst teacher.  And she is still teaching.

Cue: my 8th grade year at Canyon View Jr., art class.
The following was said to me verbatim by my art teacher, in front of the whole class:
"Regan.  (Pronounced, incorrectly, Ray-Gun).  You think you're so cute and popular, but nobody will ever have any fond memories of you.  You're the kind of girl that makes people go to therapy." This was in response to me asking a neighbor for a glue stick.

I remember every last word because, how could I not?  You're the kind of girl that makes people go to therapy.  After that line, and when my teacher had turned her back, I whispered to my table: "If any of you have to go to therapy because of me, I'll totally cover the bill."  Also, let it me noted: I did not think I was cute and popular.  If I could erase any year of my life from memory, Eighth grade easily gets the ax.

In my teacher's defense: I wore too-thick black eyeliner and was sporting not-subtle-enough blonde streaks.  Also, skinny jeans were not yet fashionably acceptable, so finding pants that didn't look like floods on my giant adolescent frame was difficult.  These things almost justify what my teacher said.

I guess what I'm saying is this: the next year may be a total disaster, but as long as my students know I love and respect them, I can live with the other failures.

And fine.  I'll admit one last fantasy.

{I get hired at the same school as above-mentioned art teacher/slasher of dreams.  I love the students, and they love me back.  Art teacher struggles with a student named Joe; he displays open animosity to most authority figures, but hates her especially. (Good choice, Joe).  Joe transfers to my class.  Art teacher (forgetting she ever knew me) warns me about his behavior problems.  Joe responds phenomenally to my teaching practices and, with my help, decides to take school more seriously and turn his life around.  One day, after school, Joe stops by with a gift to thank me for my belief in him.  The classroom door is open and Art teacher walks by to witness the exchange.  While still listening to Joe, I quickly lock eyes with the Art teacher and, ever so subtly, reach to the side of my desk where Art teacher alone can see my hand.  I flip her off.}

Regan
(And, Art teacher, it's pronounced Reegan).  

*ADD-indulgent side-note: I went to play some outdoor basketball this morning, but ended up sitting on the grass, chatting the morning away with my assistant coach turned close friend.  We were apparently stationary for most of our three-hour talk, because the left side of my face is burnt, while the right side is untouched.  My nose is divided exactly in half.