By Gemma McWhirter
I recently finished the longest acting job of my career. I pretended to be a high school teacher for 15 years. Sure, it was method acting, and I was pretty authentic in the role. No one knew it was just a front—no one knew that I was making it up as I went along. Now, I’m not saying I wasn’t qualified; this isn’t a “Catch me if you can” scenario. No, I had the quals. I just never quite nailed the identity. We now know it as “imposter syndrome”. I just knew it as my life.
Why didn’t I ever get there? I think partly it was because teaching in a high school was never my intention. Even as I studied for my Diploma in Education, my plan was to teach English and Health in a developing country, not in a Sydney school. I also never quite thought I had the courage required for high school teaching.
Let me explain. I have a friend who came to Australia as a refugee. She now works in Western Sydney and has experienced the usual ups and downs of teacher life. She has occasionally been threatened by a student, and her usual retort is: “I survived a civil war. Do you think I’m scared of you?”. I just love that response. But I suspect it could work in reverse as well. If we ever ended up in a civil war and she was threatened, I am confident that she could say to her assailant “I’m a high school teacher. Do you think I’m scared of you?” And the assailant would back down, knowing that she must be formidable… or perhaps just thinking that she has already suffered enough.
Because teaching in a high school is tough. I have noticed when I say that I’m a high school teacher, it has been met with a mix of fascination and respect. And I commonly get another response. Something along the lines of “I could never do that” or “Better you than me”. It makes me realise that despite the English language having the widest and richest vocabulary in the world, we do not have a word that represents the opposite of envy. But that’s what I encounter when I say I am a high school teacher. The opposite of envy.
Why? Not because of a perceived physical danger—instead I have discovered that most people are low grade scared of teenagers. Teens are a unique subculture in society and once you exit the age group, you not only don’t belong, you just don’t understand them. Quite literally. Apparently the peak age to be on the cutting edge of the latest youth speech is Year 8. So, I’ve been getting a front row seat to all the latest terms for the last 15 years. I have often been the first one to introduce terms like yeet, skibidi, rizz, 6-7 and ‘du bist gut genug’ to my young adult children. Young adults who are hopelessly old in the minds of my teen students. And by the way, teens love sharing their words with you. If you know a teen or two, ask them what the latest word for a crush is, or a turn off, and you’ll be spellbound by their enthusiasm to enlighten you. But beware, they will always share more in a group, bouncing off each other, rather than having to represent their generation alone.
I think most people are envy-opposite of high school teachers because they remember all too well what it was like to be in high school. The strange transition from childhood to adulthood which takes place across those six years has left scars for far too many people. The equal and opposite tension of fitting in and being unique makes this time of identity-forming confusing and painful. And teachers can be collateral damage in this dynamic as we often represent the authority that an emerging identity is pushing against. We are neither friend nor family, yet our influence is great and this power imbalance can be hard to navigate. It isn’t always navigated well. Ask someone about their high school experience and you’ll usually get more than you bargained for. Because high school is formational.
So, as I leave this job, I wonder… where to now? I genuinely don’t know. But I do know that I will miss getting a scoop on the latest words and being ringside as our next generation make their way from childhood to adulthood. I don’t know what I’ll be saying when asked what I do for a living, but I’m sure it won’t be met with the same hushed awe reserved for high school teachers.
But some things I do know. I know I’m stronger than I thought. I’m not the quitter that I thought I was. I have more perseverance than I realised. That teenagers are funny, fragile, belligerent, scared, witty, confused, hopeful, hope-less, clever humans who need to know they are loved no matter what. I know that I can do hard things. And I know that I can look my fears in the face now and say to anything that comes my way “Do you think I’m scared of you? I was a high school teacher”.