Hear Us Teach; A Poem By Scott C. Waring

Hear Us Teach; A Poem By Scott C. Waring

To be a teacher, a sculptor of a child’s destiny, was always my goal.
I wanted to enlighten their minds and release them back into the wild.
I wanted to stop wars, and end world hunger with my teachings.

I believed I could make a difference in someone’s journey though life.
A belief I still hold today.
I never chose this job for the money, but for the sparkle in the eye that tells me the child gained enlightenment.

Parents complain often of what children should and shouldn’t learn.
They censor our books, our pledges, our souls.
There might as well be a sign on the door that says “Notice: No God, No hugs, no service.”

Students yearn for knowledge of the world around them.
They thirst for it.
They hunger for it.
They even sometimes fear it.
Most often they get board with it.

So we as teacher jump up on chairs and make funny faces.
We use unusual voices.
We use elements of surprise.
This we hope will keep their attention.
This we trust will captivate their imaginations.

Teachers are more than parents, because the parents don’t want to be themselves.
Quietly we teach children ethics, morals and proper behavior, without the parents consent.
We listen and assist the students in a way that they don’t get at home.

Those who don’t want to learn in class are those we worry about the most.
They are the ignored, the single parented, the broken horse that could have used gentling, but now lacks spirit.
When you show them a kindness, they are the ones who appreciate it the most.

For in their world, it’s dark and cold.
They feel ignored, in the way and a Burdon to others.
It’s a dreadful place to be, a youngster without a childhood, without a parent, without a hug.
These are the students who stay in at recess to talk alone with the teacher.

Parents say teachers must treat all children equally, but I have yet to meet such a person. Perhaps the one who could stroll upon the surface of water. Yes - a teacher.
Parents preach that which they themselves can not possibly do.
They choose to have children.
They choose to ignore them.
They blame the teachers for their child’s shortcomings.
These we call parents.

Through years of teaching, colors gradually fade in the grass and flowers and in the sky above.
Through the obstacles and the hardships, teaching for us begins to loose its appeal.
We as teachers begin to realize we are trying to move a mountain with a spoon, one scoop at a time.

We teach.
We remember how we felt in the beginning, our hair now gone gray and we teach.

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