Play the Role

One thing my students would never guess about me but I wish they did: I cry at movies.

Even as my plane to Seattle punches through the prevailing cloud cover, revealing the spectacular, angular peaks of the Cascade Mountains, the final scenes of our on-board Disney entertainment play out: A sometimes Antarctic adventurer returns to the site where, months before, he was forced to abandon his sled dogs, and after a tense Hollywood moment when we are left to speculate the unthinkable, his dogs come bounding over the snowy hill to leap into his grateful, parka-enclosed arms. In these sentimental moments, torn between the scenery of our final approach into the Emerald City and the final resolution of this movie, I am struck with a palpable choking sensation how close I am to you know who, our nearest physical proximity since we broke almost six months ago. But there would be no tearful reunions awaiting me this time--just regular life. After the long walk from the gate to the baggage claim, I complained to my parents about my back pain and told them about the retired couple who sat beside me on the plane, returning from their cruise in the Mediterranean. How could I possibly explain this stupid, sentimental movie or what it felt like to be in Seattle now, knowing that SHE was out there somewhere? And how do you know two people your whole life--take your very DNA from them--and still have less to talk about with them than one person you only knew for two years and barely even speak to anymore? We talked about the weather.

The night before, my classmates and I had gathered at the Downtown Grill in Oxford, Mississippi, to celebrate the completion of our initial summer training. Awards were bestowed, mostly of the tongue-in-cheek nature. Mine was for “Most Laid Back With a Beard,” which, it might be added, is not saying so much, considering mine is by far the most profound beard in this year’s crop of Corps. Admittedly I was somewhat jealous not to win the “Most Likely to Walk Calmly Out of His Burning Classroom” award, but I choose to look at the bright side and take the award as evidence that I possess no glaring social flaws I was previously unaware of. Or perhaps my social flaws were actually SO glaring that no one had the heart to poke fun of me so publicly. Whatever the case, I feel vaguely flattered by the award, because I want to be easy-going and all that. Strangely I feel guilty, though, and wonder if my family or my students would nominate me for the same award.

Then there was an after-party. After a lengthy period of phlegmatic mellow-ness during which one or two beers may have been imbibed, my classmates were introduced to the illegitimate dancing skills of Mr. A. That is to say, some lucky few caught a rare, probably surprising glimpse at a more energetic, less inhibited aspect of my personality. Comments afterwards confirmed the remarkableness of this alcohol-aided transformation.

Been thinking a lot lately about the different roles we play and how different people see us differently, depending on the context of how they know us. Troubled how my reputation as laid-back or “nice” (from TEAM) does not seem to reconcile with the perceptions of my students or co-teachers during the summer school in Holly Springs, where I was called "militant" (somewhat unfairly I think) and worse. I do believe there is no one correct teacher personality, that the key is to find the teaching persona that works best for you and fits true to your personality. But this summer has been a wake-up call. I do not want my students to hate me. (Then again, I would rather have them hate me than an out-of-control classroom or students not learning.) What I really want is to carry my authority well--gentle but firm. I am naturally all-business and no-nonsense as a teacher, but I want my students also to see my humanity and know that I care about them. Why is that so hard for me?

A family get-together in Arizona: Six fair-skinned little munchkins who know me as uncle. Two married siblings who know me as their baby brother. One former classmate who knows me as brother-in-law. We “talk to Jesus” a lot and eat vegetarian food. Drive around and get short with each other. See the Grand Canyon in all its crowded, sweltering, visitor center glory. You know, the usual. I play the roles, and my sister teases me.

On the drive back to Flagstaff, I remark to her how similar the scenery is to Namibia, and suddenly I am overcome with nostalgia for that life I left behind. There was something very simple about the Peace Corps lifestyle, something comforting. There was nothing you could do, no decisions to make except where to go during the next school holiday. Everything was out of our hands, even transportation, so in a way, there were no worries. Just meet me in the capital next weekend, and together we look forward to our freedom at the end of these two years.

But here I am: Free. So this is what “readjustment” feels like! We play ping-pong in the morning and then they drive me to the airport. I finally roll into Cleveland, Mississippi, at 3 in the morning and crash on a classmate’s floor.