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Being a teacher can be frustrating.
Meetings with parents after school, tutoring sessions, late nights and weekends spent preparing lessons, constructing tests, grading tests, getting really depressed over test grades – it’s all part of the job and as masochistic as it sounds, I love it.
But there are things that do get you down. For instance, paper. Yeah, those 8 1/2 by 11 inch flexible flash drives we use for kinesthetic education.
Maybe you remember these from before the computer age?
You hold a stylus (called a pencil) in your hand and enter data (called writing) onto the information pad (called a piece of paper).
Teachers employ every possible means of communication in our arsenal. We draw on the board. We project on the screen. We dance and sing out melodies of learning in the hopes they will hear us.
And of course, we hand out written material. Written on paper, not on Abraham Lincoln style slate boards.
But now I find myself walking the streets begging for alms.
Perhaps you’ve seen me before? I’m the guy wearing the sign, “Will teach pupils for pulp.”
Last year, the school budget was cut again. Getting nickel’d and dime’d to death is bad enough, but they really hit us low this time. They cut our Xerox paper budget.
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