of teaching can say the same thing in journalism: a profession exerted with passion and in return for meager social rewards.
teach for 18 eighteen. My first job was at a pre-college academy whose owner was the father of my friend David Novoa. Verbal reasoning showed the kids at school and university applicants capable of anything but to learn the meaning of words. But that did not matter to me at least. What I wanted was some money agencies to survive. From this first experience has been a pleasant memory for how well they treated me there and, above all, by what I experienced earlier in the flesh: that in addition to food be an official teacher is a dramatic way know the reality of the country.
My second job was connected to teaching at an art school, where students found more dismissive and more immature than the pre-university academia, although most was nearing twenty years: These young people were from middle social strata and poor and aspiring, in some cases, to become secondary teachers, and others, professional actors. Their aspirations were undoubtedly noble and legitimate, although, with few exceptions, none had the talent to do no less courage to impose their vocation. Moreover, the place where they studied did not meet the minimal conditions to be a training center. The wages were meager, the students were scarce, the atmosphere was mediocre (a group of students complained that the had read many books) and the authorities struggled to keep the close. My stay here has enriched my training. It was at that school, I think, where I contracted a debt of gratitude to the teaching, an occupation that henceforth spent part of my life. The other parts are devoted to journalism and literature.
Before these early experiences, I had been assistant to two professors of law, but had not developed an emotional bond with teaching, which I did manage in my third job, this time in a private university, where students not lacking complain because the teacher requires them to read books over 200 pages! Teaching is no longer a monetary aid and became a sudden passion, a sudden taste. I became a professor of journalism without knowing exactly how. The rudiments came with me, but I never trusted that could serve to overcome a venture that now has more time than initially projected. Clear that with time I tried to enrich my academic work which, as everyone knows, involves investment of time and money.
Throughout my professional life I pole vault responsibilities, I have committed grave mistakes with others and had very few times in the white teach and write for a newspaper, for example. First, because if I put in a provisional balance satisfactions and disappointments, the first gain from the fair, but earn; the latter, because I know differently and better to help those seeking information on a daily basis to help them make less boring life they lead.
There is something, however, will not let me be all natural to want to teaching. I have tried to establish the causes and have not yet given them. I can not say it with full joy of journalism that says Gabriel García Márquez: the office is more beautiful land. Perhaps because teaching is not a profession but a way to save his skin, perhaps because the poor conditions under which the Group exercises have become a stain that soiled the good intentions of being a better professional, or perhaps because it is difficult to accept that teaching is a form of self-deception of false consolation induced error. What I mean is that when one teaches it back he charged for a parcel is too heavy and get rid of him in anger without getting never-or rarely-positive results. Or maybe not, maybe the love of students is worthwhile, perhaps the teaching profession itself is the most beautiful in the world and nobody, not even the teachers, we have realized it yet.
teach for 18 eighteen. My first job was at a pre-college academy whose owner was the father of my friend David Novoa. Verbal reasoning showed the kids at school and university applicants capable of anything but to learn the meaning of words. But that did not matter to me at least. What I wanted was some money agencies to survive. From this first experience has been a pleasant memory for how well they treated me there and, above all, by what I experienced earlier in the flesh: that in addition to food be an official teacher is a dramatic way know the reality of the country.
My second job was connected to teaching at an art school, where students found more dismissive and more immature than the pre-university academia, although most was nearing twenty years: These young people were from middle social strata and poor and aspiring, in some cases, to become secondary teachers, and others, professional actors. Their aspirations were undoubtedly noble and legitimate, although, with few exceptions, none had the talent to do no less courage to impose their vocation. Moreover, the place where they studied did not meet the minimal conditions to be a training center. The wages were meager, the students were scarce, the atmosphere was mediocre (a group of students complained that the had read many books) and the authorities struggled to keep the close. My stay here has enriched my training. It was at that school, I think, where I contracted a debt of gratitude to the teaching, an occupation that henceforth spent part of my life. The other parts are devoted to journalism and literature.
Before these early experiences, I had been assistant to two professors of law, but had not developed an emotional bond with teaching, which I did manage in my third job, this time in a private university, where students not lacking complain because the teacher requires them to read books over 200 pages! Teaching is no longer a monetary aid and became a sudden passion, a sudden taste. I became a professor of journalism without knowing exactly how. The rudiments came with me, but I never trusted that could serve to overcome a venture that now has more time than initially projected. Clear that with time I tried to enrich my academic work which, as everyone knows, involves investment of time and money.
Throughout my professional life I pole vault responsibilities, I have committed grave mistakes with others and had very few times in the white teach and write for a newspaper, for example. First, because if I put in a provisional balance satisfactions and disappointments, the first gain from the fair, but earn; the latter, because I know differently and better to help those seeking information on a daily basis to help them make less boring life they lead.
There is something, however, will not let me be all natural to want to teaching. I have tried to establish the causes and have not yet given them. I can not say it with full joy of journalism that says Gabriel García Márquez: the office is more beautiful land. Perhaps because teaching is not a profession but a way to save his skin, perhaps because the poor conditions under which the Group exercises have become a stain that soiled the good intentions of being a better professional, or perhaps because it is difficult to accept that teaching is a form of self-deception of false consolation induced error. What I mean is that when one teaches it back he charged for a parcel is too heavy and get rid of him in anger without getting never-or rarely-positive results. Or maybe not, maybe the love of students is worthwhile, perhaps the teaching profession itself is the most beautiful in the world and nobody, not even the teachers, we have realized it yet.
----- Image: Taken from the magazine Letras Libres .
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