A place to unwind

Istumbled upon it one evening after an education conference downtown. I kept hearing about it in whispers and nods and felt like I was on the outside of a good joke. Finally, a friend who had retired let me in on the secret. “They’re talking about the Teachers’ Lounge,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “It’s a bar near Stifft Station in one of the old homes there. All the educators in the area visit it.”

“I’ve been in education 25 years,” I said, “Why have I never heard of it?”

The friend laughed. “Because you’re an administrator. Teachers don’t relax around administrators. But you’ve been around long enough so they’ll probably let you in the door. Piece of advice? Don’t wear one of those lanyard things you guys like so much. That’s like wearing a sign that screams ‘administrator on duty.’ Also, buy a round for the house right off the bat.”

I walked onto the creaking porch, noticing paint peeling off the siding. Bug carcasses dotted the porch lamp above my head and the old wooden door looked like it weighed half a ton. The brass doorknob glowed like a just-polished vase.

I slowly opened the door. My eyes took a minute to adjust and when my vision returned, I saw two dozen people staring at me. They lined a deep wood bar and sat at various tables in what was once a living room. I cleared my throat. “Bartender, a round for everyone on me.”

The bartender allowed a smile to creep across his face and nodded. The talking resumed. I approached the bar and sat on a stool next to a man in a white shirt and dark tie. The man stared into his beer and looked as if he’d been crying.

“Let me guess, you’re an administrator,” the bartender said when he returned with my beer.

I checked my chest for a lanyard. Nothing. “How did you know?”

“Comfortable shoes, pants a little too long, reading glasses you don’tlike-to wear-because-they make-youlook-old stuffed in your shirt pocket. We can tell.”

“And I assume the sunglass tan line on your face means you’re a coach.”

“Retired. I own the place. I’d finish football practice and the wife preferred I unwind a bit before coming home. I figured that’s a good recipe for each of us.”

I looked around. “Everyone here teachers?” I asked.

“Yep. Like I said, that’s what this place is for. Just to give educators a place to relax without their ‘stakeholders’ nearby. Man, I hate that word. We used to call them parents and kids.”

I nodded. A table full of colorfully dressed women erupted in laughter right behind me. Coach, the bartender, smiled. “Pre-K and kindergarten teachers. They’re the wild ones.”

The table next to them looked serious. Men and women spoke in low tones and scribbled on napkins. I looked back to Coach. “Math. Doesn’t matter what grade,” he said, cleaning a glass. “They like things in order.”

A large group of men and women surrounded another table. The men had rumpled, untucked shirts and the women constantly fidgeted with loose strands of hair. The conversation grew loud, then soft again, then exploded in volume once more. They cradled their drinks and hoisted them in the air after a comment they liked. “English?” I asked.

“Of course,” Coach replied. The guy next to me hadn’t moved. He stared into his beer mumbling something unintelligible. I motioned in the guy’s direction.

Coach leaned in and whispered, “He’s a school IT guy. Hasn’t been the same since last March.” I nodded slowly in understanding.

“It’s great that teachers have this place.”

“You can say that again. Teaching is the best profession in the world. Use whatever cliché’ you like and they’ll all be true. Teachers impact the future. Teachers are immortal in the minds of their students. Teaching …”

“… is a calling,” I finished for him. “Exactly. But the profession has its own issues today. Teachers are part of the service industry in many respects. More importantly, they’re caring for more than just an insurance policy, a cell phone plan, or luggage on a trip. They’re in charge of OPC.” “OPC?”

“Other People’s Children. Can’t get more high-pressured than that. Most teachers just want to do the right thing. No, that’s not it. They want to do more than the right thing. They want to protect their kids, enlighten them, form relationships with them and help them tap into potential. It’s all about helping a child build confidence so he or she can face the beauty of independence well-armed.” “That’s well said.”

“These people come in every day a little tired but full of hope. Their eyes look weary but you can also see determination. Things have gotten a little freaky these days. Parents are on edge and kids are anxious, fighting battles they don’t have to fight. So teachers get the task of being Gibraltar. They get to model stability in the storm. Most do it really well. They get back in the ring no matter what. When they make mistakes, they own them. The weak ones or disloyal ones don’t last.”

Inodded. “Bartenders give advice, right? What do you tell them?” “I tell them never to let the noise around them overwhelm. Never be a bystander to their important work, always keep their integrity on full display, and teach each day like it’s the most important day of their lives. In a world where the default is outrage and anger, their default must be compassion and courage. Focus on the kids. The rest will fall in place. Then, I pour them another round.”

I swirled the last few sips of beer in the bottom of my glass. “Conversations like this remind me I have a lot to learn. You mind if I come back someday?”

Coach smiled. “Just don’t wear a lanyard.”