Nope. I’m not going to let you get away with it.

You think you’re slick with your off-kilter jargon and smooth delivery, but I see right through you.

Before I continue, I need you to step away from the children.

You’re passionate about your subject area, but not about the kids you’re teaching. You say you love teaching, but never actually want to talk to the kids before or after class. Actually, you don’t actually want to talk to the kids, but at them. You refuse to understand where they’re coming from and defer to good old days that never actually happened in times that weren’t as gilded (trust me). You think the kids are cute, but hate the adults they become, no matter what they become.

You read this blog thinking I’m some exception, but don’t want to see our kids as exceptional in their own way.

You keep telling people that not every child is going to college, but are fully OK with children from your family or background getting every opportunity handed to them to succeed as college grads. You think my skin is the only reason why kids might gravitate towards me, yet you refuse to ask what else I’m doing. You look at custodians like serfs and vagabonds instead of people just like you who have kids to feed. You think it’s OK that the demographics in our central offices are the cultural inverse of the populations of children we have in schools.

You think I should come into discussions on race and class with a Coke and a smile.

You question every thought your colleagues have because of their appearances without wondering how they got there. You never realize why you don’t have the buy-in from the students, so you make your lesson plans and maps difficult enough for administrators to admire you. You don’t get why I get frustrated with kids who don’t even make an attempt at the math, and why I still keep kids who are failing their classes under my wing. You think what’s happening in schools right now is just fine, but would never accept that for yourself … or your children.

Your discriminating tastes make you and everyone else around you bitter.

Do us a favor; step away from the kids. And watch the door behind you, because I’m swinging it hard.

Mr. Vilson, who tries to be fair …