I like to think of myself as a pretty cool customer even in the face of threatening circumstances.

I’ve walked with confidence through the townships of Cape Town.

I’ve gripped for dear life onto the stay of an East Indian Trading Company era ship as it nearly capsized into the frigid waters of the IJsselmeer, yet I didn’t yell for help.

I date Hannah Serrano and all I got was this lousy T-shirt.

But teaching is a different matter altogether. The night before teaching a class for the first time I’m scared as a spooked little kitten.

On the eve of re-entering the classroom, this time to teach English 110 at ODU, I couldn’t sleep. I paced my apartment. “What’s wrong with you?” my girlfriend asked when she found me cleaning the little area between the bottom lip of the fridge and the ground.

“It was dirty,” I said.

“Liar.”

For the record it was pretty freaking dirty under there, but she was right. I was cleaning there because of my night-before-teaching jitters. A dozen questions fought for space in the most insecure part of my consciousness: Am I prepared? What if the students are too smart and there’s nothing I can teach them? What if they’re too–sorry–dumb, and the semester is spent teaching them the difference between a noun and the word ‘now’?

What if I sweat profusely? What if I get chalk mouth? What if no one shows up? What if 75 students show up? What if… what if… what if…

The thing about teaching is, whether or not you do it well is a judgment on so much more than just one isolated vocational skill. Teaching will tell you if you are truly intelligent. It will deem you patient or short. It is a test of your communication skills, your interpersonal savvy, and your bravery.

To teach well makes you kind of a hero.

To teach poorly means that you are weak, selfish, immature, and/or just plain dumb. And the worst part is, you aren’t just failing yourself, but you’re failing this group of people sitting in front of you, counting on you to teach this one essential skill to their lives and career.

When you fail as a teacher you kind of fail society. Teachers who care know this. And that’s why teachers who care often can’t sleep the night before re-entering the classroom.

On the eve of returning to the classroom, I eventually fell asleep around two, only to wake up again with a start at six.

“What’s wrong with you?” Hannah asked.

“I love you,” I said as I cuddled up.

“Liar.”

For the record… well… you get it.