CARVSMARK

Okay, I don’t usually like to talk about being a teacher.
Not because I’m shy—but because teachers are the only profession that is simultaneously beloved, despised, blamed, thanked, ignored, and expected to single-handedly fix society before lunch. With no budget.

Ask anyone and they can name their favourite teacher instantly.
Then—without oxygen—they’ll tell you about the worst teacher who ever lived, who apparently ruined their childhood, their GPA, their self-esteem, their trust issues, and possibly the global economy.

I started teaching in 1995.
And I’m still here.
Barely.
But… here.

Which means one of two things:
I either deeply love this job… or I have developed an Olympic-level tolerance for chaos, noise, and emotional damage.

So, let’s talk about teaching. Not how it’s “evolved”—because that sounds like a TED Talk with a wireless mic. Let’s talk about what it actually is now.

People say teaching is like juggling seven balls.
No.
Teaching today is juggling seven balls made of different materials: lead, titanium, copper, lithium, emotional trauma, Wi-Fi issues, and one unidentified object that is actively on fire.

You’re teaching content, confiscating phones because students are chemically bonded to them, and hoping—praying—that what you say captures their attention.

And if it doesn’t?
You demand it like a hostage negotiator who hasn’t slept since Sunday.

It’s a bubble we live in every single day:

Bell.
Coffee.
Chaos.
Bell.
Retirement fantasies that feel both too close and wildly unrealistic.

Now listen—I love teaching kids. I wouldn’t have survived 30 years otherwise. But holy cow has this job changed. Teacher burnout now looks like a rerun of Wipeout. Sixty percent of us are slipping on the foam obstacle and getting launched into the water while society yells, “Have you tried better classroom management?”

Is there another job with that kind of burnout? Probably.
But this one hurts—because teaching is incredible. It literally shapes the future. Also, minor detail: we spend more time with your kids than you do.

Which raises the question:
Where did “it takes a village” go—and why did it quietly move out, block us on social media, and leave us holding the bill?

Sorry, parents—but somewhere along the way, we stopped being on the same side of the coin. It’s become us vs. them, and when something goes wrong—

Surprise!
It’s the teacher’s fault.

Kid skips class? Teacher wasn’t entertaining enough.
Kid doesn’t make the basketball team? Teacher hates them personally and probably coaches the team out of spite.
Interim report shows missing assignments? Teacher didn’t emotionally convince the student to care.

STOP.
Just… stop.

Teaching is about teaching kids to love learning—with support from home. I raised three boys. And shockingly, the teacher was never the problem. My rule was simple:

You don’t have to like every teacher—but you will respect them, because they are professionals who actually want you to succeed.

Didn’t make the basketball team?
Practice. Try again next year.

Got an interim?
That’s not a punishment—it’s a warning label. Like the check-engine light, but for school.

Just today I had a student who, in Grade 8 and 9, was… let’s call him a hallway-based performance artist. Running. Door slamming. Chaos with cardio.

And today?

Graduating.
Headed into trades.
Came to see me—politely—to plan graduation while starting his program.

That’s it.
That’s the win.
That’s the whole paycheck right there.

That’s why I’m still here.

CONNECTION.

In the middle of this insane, borderline inhumane workload, we’re writing report card comments that read like short novels that nobody reads… except that one parent who highlights a sentence and comes in furious.

Meanwhile, a face-to-face conversation would solve everything in ten minutes. Possibly five. With coffee.

Teachers are now the secondary parents for many students. We tell them when they’re wrong, when they’re right, and how to succeed. We run teams, clubs, and events. We teach subjects—but also citizenship, leadership, compassion, and perseverance.

In this anxiety-filled world, we try to keep your kids safe. We try to help them laugh. We try to help them grow. And remind them to be kids—because let’s be honest, being an adult is a scam.

Because in the end—
They’re not grades.
They’re not data.
They’re not problems.

They’re humans.

And honestly?
So are we.