What teachers make

When I was in grad school, I spent a semester teaching a poetry workshop at Valhalla Prison to female inmates. It was one of the most gratifying things I've ever done.

Without question, every single one of my students was a teacher to me. Despite their situation - the inability to simply breathe fresh air (even the exercise yard was indoors), constant lights and alarms in the night, the "Ninja Turtles" assault troops ready to tear apart cells, strangers doing cavity checks, other humiliations - they taught me courage, optimism, the richness of a good laugh, the utter surprise to hear that I thought about them when I'd gone back out through the gates, past the razor wire, down the interstate to home. It seemed like the only thing they took for granted was their invisibility.

I like to think they don't feel invisible anymore because a bunch of us got together and they discovered they have a way with words. They have a voice.

And I discovered I have a way with teaching. I'm looking all over for a teaching job these days but, even with the MFA, I'm not certified and the private schools and colleges are full up, it seems, the colleges in particular looking for fresh young blood with books and a name. I can't do much about the years but I'm working on the rest thanks to the Dodge Foundation and some wonderful friends. And some of that optimism I take from my former students that there's always a chance to turn things around no matter how many years have gone by.

What could be a better calling?

For anyone who questions this most noble (and humbling) of professions, here's another great Taylor Mali poem:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RxsOVK4syxU