Guy And Dolls

By Mary Valle

When I, a newlywed, am asked to produce my ring, the ritual goes all wrong. I am supposed to brandish a good-sized diamond to a brood of women who will coo over it like it's a towheaded newborn boy. But my ring is Depression-era, very small, with seven tiny bead-set diamonds. I love it. Two month's salary? Tee- hee. Try one week's. Of a teacher's salary, no less. My husband is a 1st grade teacher.

I must admit, I never had thought much about teaching before Josh entered graduate school to get his master's degree in education. This was when I got my first taste of my unique role, and he of his. He was a man in a woman's world. His fellow ed school students were boy-crazy and cute, in a junior high kind of way. They took it as their mission to edify him on a number of topics: why "girl butt" is the worst thing ever on a guy; the relative merits of cold, sweet, frothy, coffee-flavored beverages from Starbucks and the Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf; and the latest plot twist on Party of Five. Josh perfected one line for the latter topic, which he rendered in the uneven tones and incorrect emphases of someone practicing colloquial business English: "Julia is such a bitch."

Teachers tend to congregate at mediocre Mexican restaurants. Take a look around next time you're at an El Whatever. You will know them by their cardigan sweaters, large blended drinks, and air of wholesome bad-assery. I mean that as a compliment: Many teachers deal daily with children whose families have been destroyed by poverty, drugs, and violence, while often teaching in facilities far worse than prisons. Yet, they soldier on and try to remain upbeat for the sake of...