Why I teach . . .

I'm not even sure I like John Steinbeck with his "doomed before you start" philosophy, but I sure wasn't going to stay home another day no matter how bad I felt and let a substitute finish "Of Mice and Men" with my 10th grade classes. Each time I read the book I am struck by the power, pathos and sheer perfection of this cyclical, pessimistic novel; in my mind, it's probably tied for first place with "Huck Finn" as the great American novel.
And even better, Gary Sinise has done a masterful job with his recent version of the story in which he plays George, so I couldn't wait to watch my students reactions' to the ends of both the book and movie and talk them through from shock and dislike to at least a reluctant understanding. The day before, 3 kids had tried to sneak a book out of class to read on their own and finish before the rest of us; what a happy, satisfying problem to have - they'll do anything to see how it turns out!
Sure enough, you could hear a pin drop as Lenny "does a bad thing" and events lead George to the heart-breaking, inevitable conclusion; they were gasping their dismay and tearing up right along with me. "Pretty powerful for them. . . " I said to myself as the movie was ending with George remembering Lenny's face, and suddenly, it wasn't a ranch and his choice but hospital rooms and nurses telling me that we'd need to think about when to end heroic measures for Laura and then for Mom. I felt the horror of George's predicament through my eyes, and I was crying for real out of sympathy for him and relief that I did not ultimately need to make the choice as to what was best for them.
The students watched me, puzzled; I grabbed for tissue and mumbled something about this movie never failing to move me. We moved on the our discussion of why we read this difficult story and to whether George made the right decision and to their written responses, but my sense of "losing it" - the agony over the messiness of life and love and what it sometimes requires of us - was slow to leave me, and still, as I type this, prickles my eyes with tears and constricts my throat in sorrow and loss.
A few students later said, "Thanks for reading this book with us," or "I hate it but I love it." I know what they mean; great literature binds us in our humanness and asks us the hard questions. I've read this book so many times, but each time there is something new and poignant for me to discover, both with my students and in the reflections of my own heart. This then, is why I teach; why I love this profession and my subject even though the stress of the workload sometimes drives me to use sickdays. I can't thank Mr. More enough . . .