Which Wydeven Are You?

Your students all gasp as you enter the room, wondering who the new substitute is…and they’re not wrong: you’re practically a new man. Fresh and clean-shaven, there’s a bounce in your step and a twinkle in your eye. A coffee in one hand and copies of a surprise reading test in the other, you’re ready for a day full of joy and jubilee.

It’s May. AP season is officially over. You’re currently reading a contemporary novel with your class and they all love you for it. You’re planning on assigning them a 150 point project soon but what they don’t know is that you’ll let them self-grade it in class, you’re just that chill. You’re practically best friends with all your students and you even let them call you by your first name occasionally. Your shirt is untucked and unbuttoned at the collar and your beard is coming in nicely. You’re calm and relaxed and you know it’s all because you’re about to escape the clutches of the Austin Independent School District for three sweet, sweet months.

Darkness. Chaos. Disarray. An ominous cloud has been cast over your portable. Most days you can be found sitting outside in the rain playing the blues on your guitar so that everyone knows that you’re in a mood. A stack of papers lies on your desk waiting to be graded but you can’t be bothered. You’re too busy wondering what your “real truth” is. During class, you gaze out across a sea of 16-year-olds and know that they’ll never really understand you.

All work and no play makes John Eric a dull boy! You’re a social butterfly and everyone wants to be in your squad. Even Mr. Carcione is trying to break his way in. Your portable is the go-to spot for all the hip teachers to eat lunch. You love your bros and would do anything for them. Just remember that it’s important to balance work and fun.

Grizzly, raw, and rugged, you are a true Man Of The Earth who’s always DTC (Down To Climb). You’re at peace with yourself and with nature, you love your gear more than life itself, and your favorite snack is probably a Clif Bar™. The whole reason you teach is so that you can sponsor the rock climbing club.

You’re a real man’s man. You roll up your sleeves and stroke your goatee, groomed to perfection. You eat the Wolf’s chili that’s been sitting in your room for the past four months because real men aren’t afraid to get food poisoning. You don’t show emotion because you have nothing to prove, especially not to these weak-minded, technology-addicted millennials. Like A Farewell to Arms, you are straight-forward, to the point, and, most importantly, impossible to read. After all, this is what Ernest Hemingway would’ve wanted you to be.