In 2005, the host of “The Tonight Show,” Jimmy Fallon, starred opposite Drew Barrymore in a little romantic comedy called “Fever Pitch.”
Fallon plays a lovable teacher named Ben, who has an unhealthy obsession with the Boston Red Sox. It’s a delightful picture featuring strong direction, a clever script, and heart to spare.
It remains one of my favorite rom-coms of all time, despite the sinister path it would send me down, plunging me into a madness men should never face.
The way Jimmy played a teacher inspired me. I felt like he and I have similar temperaments, and the way he had fun in his classroom made me think that maybe a life change was in order.
“I should become a teacher,” I thought.
At the time, I was a waiter at a pasta restaurant, so clearly, I was apprehensive about giving up such a lucrative career, but I thought, “What would Jimmy do?” I took the plunge and applied for my first high school teaching job.
Having no experience, I thought it might be difficult to get a position molding young people’s minds, but it was shockingly easy, which should have been a red flag.
I applied to be an English teacher as that’s the language I speak, but the principal told me she needed a science teacher.
“I don’t know science,” I said eloquently.
“I need a science teacher. Is that you, or are we wasting our time here? Just take the damn job,” she said.
And just like that, I was a science teacher.
I tried my best to emulate what I learned from Jimmy in “Fever Pitch.” On my first day, I wore an untucked white button-down shirt with a trendy sweater vest and made sure to muss my hair in a way that would communicate to the kids how cool, young, and hip I was.
I stood before my first class as a teacher, prepared to wow them with my sense of humor and passion for science. I opened my mouth to introduce myself, and a kid in a yellow beanie in the back yelled, “GAY!”
The class erupted in laughter.
The sounds of young people laughing used to be joyous to me. Now, I’d rather listen to my mother cry in the shower.
Jimmy had a class full of wide-eyed dreamers who hung on his every word. He drove them to field trips in his car and electrified his students with his wit.
I had a three-hundred-pound, sixteen-year-old who smelled punk on me from day one.
He’d stand close, too close, looking down, eyeing me like a panther would a HoneyBaked ham. He’d crouch next to my desk, whispering, “Mister Bitchhhh….misterrr bitttcchhhh.”
Jimmy would have deep conversations with his students about life and the human condition. There was mutual respect. His classroom was a sacred temple of discourse.
I asked a student her name, and she threw my stapler at the bulletin board.
Jimmy’s class would have lively group activities where all of the kids participated with such gusto that the stodgy principal would check his classroom to see what the commotion was about. Jimmy would playfully mock the dreary administrator, further endearing himself to his students.
My principal came to my door to check on my class on that first day. She looked around and said, “Yep, she’s here.” Two cops then entered the room and arrested a student for stealing a local judge’s car.
She maintained her innocence as the police dragged her out of my classroom. She looked to me, her teacher, her only hope.
Again, I thought back to what Jimmy would do in this situation. I dug deep and approached the cops.
“Hold on there, officers.”
I gently held the handcuffed student’s wrist, trying to ease her pain.
“This is my student.”
I pointed to the entire classroom.
“These. These are my students.”
At that moment, the kids actually looked at me how I always hoped they would. As a mentor, a confidant, someone they know has their back no matter what. I stood up for them when no one else would.
I walked to the back of the class and put my hands on the shoulders of the student with the yellow beanie.
I looked at the police officers and said, “This kid has drugs in his bag. Take him too.”
The police dragged them both out of my room, and I returned to the front of the classroom, cursing the day I ever saw “Fever Pitch.”
Thanks for nothing, Jimmy.