“Speechless” (Part 1)

By: Corey Thompson, “The Thirsty Quill”

It was a very, very rough week… This article was originally scheduled for completion and publication last Wednesday. However, a nightmarish week at work, a car crash, and a computer malfunction all played a role in derailing that plan…and, as you will see, I’m so glad that they did…  

I’m always a little sentimental this time of year…

While most people are eagerly anticipating vacations and soaking up the first rays of the formerly hibernated sun, as a teacher, I often greet the summer months with a strange sense of loss.

It happens every year. Yet, I think it’s how I should feel. It means I’m doing something right, I suppose.

I spend a great deal of my workday, and the majority of my free time, running my mouth. Whether attempting to engage students in a discussion on a particular topic in American History, or encouraging them to step “outside the box” with their writing (and thinking) skills, I typically do most of the talking.

Likewise, my nonverbal rants that help plug the cyberspace black hole here at ‘The Quill,’ along with my feeble attempts to complete one of the handful of books that I’ve started writing, literally leave me in the ‘driver’s seat’ of the majority of my one-sided editorials. All-too-often, I have the responsibility of gripping the wheel, allowing me in-turn to steer the debates, discussions, and the dialogues in whichever direction I want things to go.

As a teacher, that naturally comes with the territory. And while it isn’t written into our uniquely shaped job description, it is easily understood that the teacher does most of the talking…well, at least in regard to curriculum and instruction anyway.

As an amateur writer, the role of “speaker” is protected by the unyielding and impenetrable walls of the 8 ½ by 11 inch ivory tower that imprison me daily. Projected through a thin veil of Plexiglas, those walls, just like my students, seem to do a great deal of listening whenever I’m around…

The more that I think about it, the more I have become convinced that I talk too damn much…

As a man of faith, I begin each day with a simple prayer. Usually I find myself reiterating the same lines that I used the previous day, and the day before that, as if my conversations with God have become little more than a worn out script in the hands of a failing actor.

After I bring down the final curtain on my little performance with a half-focused “Amen,” I usually wonder what God thinks about my daily recitation for an audience of one. I’m quite certain that He isn’t impressed. I imagine He often wonders how somebody who loves to talk, and lecture, and write, and tell stories, and engage in deep debate on a range of “important” issues, can justify a meager 30 seconds of reheating and serving up the same old, shallow leftovers from the countless days before.

Yet, tucked neatly inside the vestibule of my daily essay to God, and lost somewhere between my requests for forgiveness and for help in the life He has so graciously granted, I do ask for something a little less obvious…

In addition to my desire that I be allowed to teach something on that particular day, I ask that I also be granted the opportunity to learn something as well. From my wife Jenny, my son Charlie, my students, my family and friends, or perhaps, maybe even from a complete stranger…it doesn’t matter. I want to learn at the same pace at which I teach, and I prefer to accomplish both of these tasks within the same audience whenever possible.

To do just that, I first need to learn the art of shutting up, and second, I need to become a master listener. While I humbly admit that I have often tried my best to listen intently to the hopes, dreams, questions, and needs of others through the years, I think improvement in this area is something that we should all strive for each and every day.

I’ve taken stock of the landscape of my life recently. In the process, I’ve been fortunate to find myself surrounded by some pretty amazing folks who, quite honestly, have helped me find a little perspective and peace of mind.

I had started to focus more and more on my own personal problems in recent weeks, and I began to turn inward with my analysis. I started to feel like I was “the only one” who was wading in the current muck and mire of financial and professional pressures. All I could see was my own image, and all I could hear was my own voice…because I was doing all of the talking.

I started writing this article out of frustration after looking at our most recent paychecks. There they were, the last checks until August 31^st, and the state had deducted 0.5% of our annual salary, all at once. It was a huge dent into our already shallow pockets.

We had survived the first “cuts” of layoffs within our district, yet we did so at the expense of watching some of our friends and colleagues receive their notices of termination. And just when we felt like the worst was behind us, new rumors began to surface of deeper pay cuts and further layoffs looming just around the corner.

I was beyond mad, and I was ready to unleash the fury of ‘The Quill’ about how “speechless” I was in regard to what I saw happening to those in my profession, and the disappearing act that was taking place in my own bank account.

I felt alone. I felt like the whole world was caving in around me, and that I was the only one who was struggling to make sense of it all.

I was frustrated, angry that I had not yet been able to secure a summer position that would guarantee at least some form of income for July and August. I was growing weary of all the talk of layoffs and pay cuts, and I had had enough. I didn’t know what else to say, although I wanted to scream and shout and make enough waves so that somebody, somewhere, would listen. But yet, I was speechless…

And I’m glad that I was… (To Be Continued)