Confessions of a Retired Teacher

Nothing in life was harder. Not even close. And nothing gave me a greater sense of purpose ... then, now and for the future.

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It’s been five years since I gave up tension for a pension.

Retirement suits me. I was ready for it, but not in the way most people assume. I’ve taken a different trajectory. I’m not a layabout, a habitual socialite, or a searcher for creature comfort. Nor have I taken residence in a cozy Florida beachfront duplex wearing a Hawaiian shirt and coddling umbrella drinks.

The thought repulses me. Not my gestalt. I’ve found satisfaction with other pursuits: traveling (with a purpose), rekindling my writing career and finding community with other writers, surrounding myself with high-character people, pushing hard for my physical and mental health, chasing unknowns of the universe, playing Golden Bachelor and filling this space once a week or so with critiques, reflections and other bon mots.

So I don’t miss working. I don’t miss waking at 5 a.m., a practice that spanned 14 years. I don’t miss the mind-numbing 90-minute curriculum meetings or desperately downing a Cup-o-Noodles during the 20-minute lunch period. Never mind the stack of 100 essays to grade over a weekend.

Most of all I don’t miss fatigue, that all-consuming feeling of being fully drained by 3 p.m., having willed myself through my daily performance. I don’t use the word “performance” lightly; my teaching style was akin to Robin Williams’ portrayal of the maniacal “Mr. Keating” in Dead Poet’s Society. More on that below.

It was exhausting physically and mentally. I entered each day with a requisite smile and full-throttle energy — then spent the next eight hours dodging teenage landmines with no assurance that it all worked. Teaching was hard and stressful. It was the most challenging thing I did as a professional by several orders of magnitude.

That said, those 14 years as an educator gave back so much more than I put in. I still reap the rewards, and will every day until my last day.

It sharply enhanced both my sense of self-awareness and personal discipline. I discovered the utility of the types of knowledge that I now employ in formulating my current thoughts, opinions, research and writing. It expanded my worldview beyond an admittedly insular existence. Most importantly, I found there was so much I didn’t know, yet teaching gave me the impetus for a renewed life of learning.

That said, those 14 years as an educator gave back so much more than I put in. I still reap the rewards, and will every day until my last day.

Making a difference in a young person’s life is laudable. It’s part of a teacher’s “calling.” I think I did that. (see below) Now, in retirement, I’ve put to use the wisdom from teaching that made the effort all the more worthwhile.

Life Before Teaching

So much I didn’t know

I changed vocations at mid-life, at age 48, to become a teacher. Before that, I was a journalist, P.R. executive for a professional sports franchise, magazine writer and publisher, communications consultant and content developer for a software company. I count myself as fortunate; I liked what I was doing — my work wasn’t simply a means to an end. It was rewarding (if not financially).

During that time I acquired skillsets that would carry me through my professional life — I could read, write and speak — skills transferable to most fields. I also learned how and when to listen and adapt. Those count as virtues, I suppose, but are essential to achieving competence in any field.

Still, though I didn’t realize it, I entered teaching at mid-life with so much more to discover.

Lifelong learning

I was a high school English teacher specializing in British Literature. In my previous life, communication and executive skills focused exclusively on adults within a business environment. There was little time or utility for any other pursuit. I was always “in the moment.”

Teaching classical literature, most of it centuries old and vaguely relatable to Gen Z, was a redoubtable challenge. I loved the “thees, thines, thous…” and unlocking the power and beauty of Chaucer, the Brontë sisters, Lord Byron and Shakespeare.

The trick was how to make them love it. This required a whole new dimension of thought processing and communication totally foreign to the business world. It required critical thinking and an open lens on the many ways to teach and learn the written word.

The fancy term for gaining knowledge is epistemology. It was essential for me to teach myself these concepts before I could transfer any expertise to the students.

It was a revelation. I found there was no strict orthodox set of rules on “how to.” As long as I met the daily standards, and followed the general suggested teaching guidelines, there were no blueprints. I could fashion my own “model.”

Novels such as Of Mice and Men, The Great Gatsby, and Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein could be read, re-read, analyzed and updated for historical and literary references. Every review of these texts revealed something original or fresh to me, with unique examples of literary devices, or interesting story angles or connections that could be explored.

Compare, for example, the primary theme of Frankenstein — “man playing God” — published in 1818, to today’s breakthrough genetic therapies. Is there a commonality? Is choosing your baby’s eye color a modern example of “man playing God?” Might we suffer the terrible consequences as Victor Frankenstein did? I challenged students’ critical thinking by reading modern texts on genetic research and connected them to Mary Shelley’s gothic masterpiece.

Such self-scholarship was never possible from behind an office desk.

Today, this process is an essential part of my becoming a life-long learner.

Expanded communication skills

Most experts agree that between 70 and 93 percent of communication is nonverbal and vocal (not specifically what you’re saying, but how you’re saying it). Nonverbal includes eye contact, countenance, hand gestures and posture. Vocal encompasses the tone of voice, speech rate, silence (the “pregnant pause”), common volume and emphasis.

Despite spending a significant portion of my life as a professional communicator and competent public speaker, I was sadly lacking in the classroom. Addressing local businessmen at a Lion’s Club luncheon is a lot different than facing a classroom of distracted and sometimes disinterested teenagers.

Within two years, I discovered a major flaw in my style. I spoke too fast, and was told by a co-teacher “Don’t machine-gun them with words,” she said. I needed to speak at a measured pace … more deliberately … with elongated pauses for processing … ask rhetorical questions … and provide tangible references that students could easily comprehend.

I’ve tried to adapt this communicative style in retirement. Thinking first, choosing words, speaking with purpose, repeating another person’s conversant point for understanding.

Better yet, I’ve learned when to shut up … and that “I don’t know” is a perfectly legitimate response.

Creativity: Do it with passion

“Make it interesting and do it with passion.”

The trick is to make learning fun, and engaging, with physical and mental movement, or doing anything allowable by rules to trigger critical thinking. A teacher’s “style” is intricately involved. Some, like me, occasionally resorted to acting, dramatization, impassioned histrionics, mobility, lots of arm waving and a very loud voice. (That sometimes happens when you teach Shakespeare)

The trick is to make learning fun, engaging, with physical and mental movement, or doing anything allowable by rules trigger critical thinking.

I am reminded of the day I recited an oratory originally delivered by Puritan theologian Jonathan Edwards on July 8, 1741, a firey 45-minute sermon called “Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God.” I stood before the entire 11th-grade class in the school theater fully outfitted in a robe and powdered wig. Big hit. Got a standing ovation.

I try to follow the same model in my writing: “Make it interesting and do it with passion.”

“Making A Difference”

Sadly, because of social circumstances there are days that a teacher is the only stable adult a child will see all day. Comes with the territory. You are not just a teacher but a mentor, confidante, nurturer, role model, disciplinarian, supporter and, if you do it right, an inspiration.

As a teacher, you have the chance — a responsibility really — to be a positive influence on the students who come through your classroom door every day. Some lessons may be forgotten but others may last forever. You are in a unique position to impart wisdom to the next generation of adults who will become leaders in their homes, jobs, and communities.

Nothing compares to teaching, both in difficulty and total effort. Conversely, there is no greater reward. Nothing. Not even close. I have at least a dozen former students, most dating back 15 years ago, who are friends on Facebook. They are in their 30s now, many with growing families and careers. I touch base with them from time to time, and many have reminded me that I “made a difference” in their lives.

There’s an old saying that stubbornly persists today: “Those who can, do; those who can't, teach” from George Bernard Shaw's 1905 stage play Man and Superman.

With all due respect to the inimitable Scot, whose skill with the written word far exceeded mine, he was dead flat wrong.

There’s another old saying that teaching is a “calling,” where the motivation and reward far transcend other accomplishments or monetary value. (oops)

I must confess in retirement that I’m forever grateful I took that call.

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(Please feel free to share this with your favorite teacher)

Jim Geschke was inducted into the prestigious Marquis Who’s Who Registry in 2021.