The Paris Review

One Word: Salty

In our new column One Word, writers expound on their favorite words. 

One kid raises their hand.

They ask, “Miss Gurba, why’d you become a high school teacher?”

This is a classic time-killing move.

My tone turns serious. I respond, “It was an accident.”

Hearing a public school employee be so blunt widens kids’ eyes.

They’ve baited me into a tacit game of truth or dare and I’ve knowingly broken the rules. I’m pretty sure they expect me to belt out the opening lyrics of “Greatest Love of All.” They want a saint.

What garbage. Catholics raised me, but I’m not a martyr. Still, even teenagers know you’re not supposed to admit that you stumbled into their classroom, but who cares? I did and I stayed and I continue to stumble in every morning.

Something my students ask me less often is whether or not I like teaching.

Something they ask me even less often than that is what I like about my profession. 

“I do enjoy my paycheck,” I inform them. “Great benefits. Also, this schedule

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