I never wanted to be a teacher.* Not ever. Not when I was a kid. Not when I was taking a literature class from Mrs. Borsberry in the seventh grade. Not when I was taking a high-school English class with the slightly odd Miss Barrientos (All I remember is that we, the class, almost literally dissected Beowulf, and that we listened to Rod Stewart’s “Forever Young” at full blast during one class period.). Not even when I was in college or grad school and was under the tutelage of some of my favorite professors. No, teaching never attracted me. I know myself too well. I can be a harsh taskmaster with my standards and expectations. I’m evil when given a red pen. Nobody needs to witness that sort of slaughter.