Parent teacher conferences are over. I love love loooooove most of the parents. They are, by and large, sweet rational helpful human beings who try in all things to do the best for their children, and I'm privileged to be a part of their educational efforts. A new parent came in to tell me how happy her girl, Jasmin*, was in my class, and how much more confident she is in her own abilities. I just about started sniffling, right there.

On the other hand, there is the occasional nutter. I feel sorry for the children of such parents, but really, I'm not doing the kids much good. The model that their parents give them will affect their lives far more than any of my natterings on morality or the pursuit of truth for truth's sake or the importance of not being an utter pain in the arse all the livelong day.

So, really, I'm quite superfluous. The kids of good parents will turn out more or less all right, and my example is not needed; they already have a love of learning and the virtuous life modeled at home. The kids of nutter parents will walk in the way of their forefathers no matter what I say. So why bother? Why not just pack it all in and choose a profession with more dignity and and cash flow...such as, say, a garbage collecter, or meter reader?

Such thoughts occasionally cross my mind. But then I think of Jasmin, who is one of the sweetest kids I've ever been able to teach. When she entered my class, it was obvious that her previous school had let her down. She was afraid of saying a thing in class, afraid of looking foolish, afraid of being mocked. It took some time to convince her that learning can be enjoyable, that the word "test" wasn't something to flinch from, that I would never give her sarcastic answers to her honest questions.

So, in the warped set of scales which measure my overall sense of fulfillment, you have on one side: a happy child who needed my help. On the other, among other things: attempting to teach the first declension to hormone-addled proto-adolescents, having to wonder whether one more car ailment will mean ramen for dinner FOREVER, and the occasional nutter parent (and offspring thereof).

I can't tell whether I'm taking this life thing too seriously, or not seriously enough.

*not her real name