Teachers are real people, too.

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Before I became a journalist, I taught. My first job in New York was as a high school English Literature teacher. Back then, I was only six or seven years older than my students, which to me seemed like a lifetime and to them felt like 10 minutes. I lived in a different part of the city, so rarely encountered my students outside school. I can only remember one occasion when seeing them flustered me. I was at a bar in SoHo when two or three walked in. As we caught sight of each other my face fell, while their faces lit up.

"Hey Miss Gilbey," they sang out. "Seeing as we're all in a bar, can we call you Emma?"

"No," I replied briskly. "You may not."

Jessica Rosevear reminded me of all of this when she sent in today's piece about being a teacher in a small town. She never gets to escape from her students. She has my sympathy.

I laughed in recognition at Emma Pillsbury, the young, goody-two-shoes educator on Fox’s new smash-hit show Glee. Five days out of the week, as a public high school English teacher in New Jersey, I was exactly her, right down to the red hair and overwhelming sincerity. It wasn’t because I wanted to be, but because to be a role model and win the respect of my students and colleagues, I had to be. The only problem was that unlike most teachers who go home to their real lives and take off the stiff sweater sets at the end of the school day, I lived in the 4.4-square-mile town where I teach. As a single 26-year-old, this makes things tricky.

It started out as cute. I’d see students in the produce aisle at Stop & Shop, give a friendly wave, and turn back to the task of selecting a head of iceberg lettuce. I didn’t realize how much of a problem it would be until one day, while buying a bottle of wine at the liquor store, I spotted a senior trying to pick up a case of beer. Throwing my money at the cashier and rushing out of the store, I felt more like I was the one committing a felony, not him. The tired human being craving a peaceful evening at home with a book and a glass of white suddenly became the wayward teacher, buying booze that she would drink alone in her yoga pants.

It snowballed from there. On a jog after school one day, I was mortified when the entire cross-country team passed by me on the sidewalk during their practice. I’ve been spotted on dinner dates with my boyfriend. When I got pulled over for talking on my cell phone while driving, I was more upset at the thought of being seen by students from whom I’d confiscate cell phones regularly than the thought of receiving a ticket. Last year, after realizing that two families from the school lived in my apartment building, I began covering the pajamas and thongs in my laundry basket with a big towel every time I went downstairs to the laundry room. I stopped ordering takeout for fear that one of my students might take an after-school delivery job.

“Be careful,” my colleagues warned me. “People talk in a small town.”

Paranoid, I envisioned the board of education discussing my tenure at a public meeting. “Her skimpy workout clothes, her traffic tickets, her boyfriend—she is a depraved, promiscuous young woman,” the board members would say, looking at each other and shaking their heads. Mothers fan themselves; fathers purse their lips. “How can we, in good conscience, keep this young woman working in our public schools?”

On the flip side, some kids enjoyed these run-ins that I found nightmarish. After running into one of my pupils several times between trips to CVS and Starbucks, I finally confessed my residential status. “I might move, though, so I don’t run into students as much,” I told her.

She looked chagrined. “But I love running into you!”

“You don’t need to see me buying US Weekly and cookie dough at Stop & Shop.”

“But it’s nice to know that you’re a real person,” she said.

Yes, teachers are real people who engage in real-life activities. And sometimes, being a townie helps me to connect in ways I never expected. Last year I frequently ran into one student’s mom in the mornings at the local bakery. At the end of the year, she told me how much her son enjoyed my class as we stirred our coffees at the milk counter during that last week of school. “He said he hopes his little sister gets you next year when she starts her freshman year,” she added.

I drove the rest of the way to school on a cloud that day. There are few compliments better than a student saying he hopes you go on to teach his little sister. Sometimes those moments happen more easily while ordering lattes than when erasing the blackboard. Maybe it’s good to get a little personal, not just be a talking head at the front of the classroom.

But I’m still picking another jogging route ... at least until I turn 30.

Jessica Rosevear teaches at the former high school of Glee star Lea Michele, writes for Instructor magazine, and blogs at www.jessicarosevear.com.

Photograph of teacher by Comstock Images/Getty Images.

Tags: Emma Pillsbury. New Jersey, Glee, kids, teaching

Emma Gilbey Keller ’s book, The Comeback: Seven Stories of Women Who Went from Career to Family and Back Again is available in paperback and makes a great gift. Emma lives with her husband, Bill Keller, their two daughters and their dog. Follow her on Twitter @EmmaGKeller

Comments

It's true

By: justamoment | Tue, 12/01/2009 - 09:14

I'm also a high school teacher, also in a fairly small town, and it can be a bit uncomfortable when I bump into parents and kids in public. When I finally leave my classroom and hit the parking lot I want to be DONE with work for the day (or at least until I have dinner and a drink in my hands and settle down to grade papers in my PJs, that is). I hate having to discuss Missy's grades in the cereal isle or Johnny's behavior while walking my dog. I like to have my private life be private, so I live in a town about a 30 minute drive from the one I work in. Still, this is not really because I'm afraid that my kids will see that I'm not "perfect" all the time. I believe in being my most real self as much as possible with my kids, and not hiding the fact that I have ups and downs and a real life- mostly because they need the assurance that they don't have to have some perfect attitude or life to be successful. They need to know that normal people, with struggles and cruddy families and new boyfriends and all of that can make something of themselves if they work hard enough. I let them know who I really am as much as I can, but I agree, they still don't need to see me taking the dog out at 1 a.m. in my nightie. I'm glad I live a town over, but I wouldn't be paranoid about it if I didn't. You don't have to be a granny-pantie wearing, celibate, tee-totaler in order to set a good example, you just have to be aware of the image you portray and be consistent.

Maintaining Boundaries and Appearances

By: Teacher0109 | Sun, 11/29/2009 - 20:44

I had a good laugh reading Ms. Rosevear's essay. I don't know why it would confuse readers as I think the idea is clear: as a young and single woman, it is easy to be either misread or be viewed as more accessible, especially when teaching high school. As an under-30 female, I completely understand the desire to establish professional boundaries and to be taken seriously at work. Teaching high school is a sport not for the faint of heart.

In college I had a younger (that is to say, under 30) female psychology professor who was tired of being pressed for extra credit assignments and demands from students who wanted to barter for a higher exam grade. She stopped in the middle of the lecture one day to ask, "Would you dare address Mr. Jones [an older distinguished male professor] in this manner?" The class fell silent. The unspoken response was, of course, no.

Ms. Rosevear points out the difficulty in maintaining the "Ms. Rosevear" facade as she is forced to do real-life things (gasp- a bottle of wine! and underwear!!) that are seemingly innocent, such as a date with her boyfriend, but can be fabulously misconstrued and turn her into Ms. Rosevear, the teacher who is seen about town with a man, some liquor, and perhaps some lacy undies. As her students' and their parents' perceptions of her affect her daily existence, I wholly understand her desire keep her image clean and avoid a sticky situation. I wish Ms. Rosevear the best of luck handling in-school and out of school life, and I concur: maybe a private jogging route is the way to go!

Anonymity through blogging?

By: oldblighty | Thu, 11/26/2009 - 12:47

I don't get this. She seems to crave anonymity and is accomplishing this by... putting this essay on her blog and getting it on Double X? She would be mortified if her student's family saw her thongs and pajamas, yet she's hung them out here for all to see - including any of her male teenage students. I mean the URL for her blog is her name - it's not like it would be hard to find. Does she think the families in her small town are not connected to the Web? Is this another online dichotomy of Gen Y?

Ok I was following this story

By: buggie | Wed, 11/25/2009 - 21:13

Ok I was following this story until the idea that having a boyfriend could be used against her, and then the end when she "until I turn 30." First, being a "really" single woman, I know that there is much more stigma attached to that than being a young woman with a boyfriend. To parents who might be as judgmental as imagined here, your having a boyfriend would be evidence that you're normal. Then the turning 30 part...I'm really confused about why any of the behaviors mentioned here would be more acceptable after 30. I know 30 sounds like some magic adulthood threshold when you're in your mid 20s, but it's not. After 30, you'll still be the same but the situations described would just get worse- running in work out clothes just gets even more embarrassing because the only magic thing that happens at 30 pertains to your metabolism. After 30, when the parents see you out with your boyfriend, they're going to start gossiping about why you're "still" single.

My math teacher's groceries said "I'm Lonley and Bitter"

By: edengardens | Wed, 11/25/2009 - 16:44

My high school math teacher turned a challenging subject (for me) into an embarrassing nightmare of a class. After three years as her student, my resentment towards her had grown to monumental levels.

However, shopping for graduation party supplies I ran into her in the grocery checkout line. Her cart was filled with nothing but Swanson frozen meals, ice cream, and dog food. To this day thinking of her as a lonely, miserable woman who took out her dissatisfaction with life on her students makes me feel better about math.

It would have been awesome if there had been a vodka bottle included in the cart as well...

It's also the community

By: jillian07 | Wed, 11/25/2009 - 12:24

We're pretty conservative down here in the Bible belt, or at least we have to pretend we are on the way to church and back. A number of my students have families who believe *no one* should drink beer, teachers included and in particular.

Never understood this issue

By: stljd | Wed, 11/25/2009 - 11:48

I too was a young, high school teacher who lived in the small town where I taught, but I never really got this "but my students will see" paranoia that some teachers have. I never had a problem with what students or their parents saw me purchasing at the grocery store, getting pulled over, or anything like that (although as a homeowner, I fortunately never had to worry that my students might accidentally stumble upon my dirty underwear in the laundry room). In general, I don't see why teachers should put themselves on a higher pedestal than parents, and I don't recall my parents being particularly squeamish about buying a six pack at the supermarket.

Maybe it's a cultural male-female thing? It seems like the biggest reason to avoid these encounters is so that a teacher can maintain moral authority in the classroom. Maybe male teachers are more inclined to take that authority for granted and not worry so much about about encounters outside of the classroom.

OMG, teachers buy beer!

By: igardner | Wed, 11/25/2009 - 11:35

I was babysitting a friend's seven-year-old daughter, an adorable and gabby first grader named Elizabeth. We stopped at the grocery store and almost immediately Elizabeth spotted her teacher, Mrs. Miller. We said hello to Mrs. Miller and then we went on our way. As we walked through the store, though, we crossed paths with Mrs. Miller a few times until finally, as we walked down the snack aisle (which is also the beer aisle), Mrs. Miller came the other way, opened one of the coolers, took a six pack of beer out and put it in her cart. Elizabeth's mouth fell open and her head whipped around to me. "Mrs. Miller just bought beer!" she exclaimed, loud enough for everyone in the aisle to hear. Mrs. Miller looked embarassed and hurried away. My friend later told me that Elizabeth had informed everyone in the house about what she'd seen, then told her regular babysitter and finally her entire class. I have never felt so sorry for a first grade teacher in my life.

Teaching in a Small Town Means I Never Escape My Students