I don’t
usually romanticize teaching. Most days
I don’t feel like I change anyone’s life.
I feel like I misfire more often than not. Much of our time is spent wrestling copy
machines, asking students to stack chairs, reminding adolescents not to run in
the hall, and dodging groans as you torture kids by requiring them to read
eight pages on their own. It’s kind of
like parenting in the mundane repetitive tasks required to care for little
people. But every once in awhile I have
a moment where the magnitude of what I do on a day to day basis takes my breath
away.
I started
this year a little grumpier than I would like to admit. Twelve days before the students showed up I
learned about Amendment Three which will show up on Missouri's ballot come November
and which will allow many people with very little understanding of how teacher
tenure really works to vote to eliminate it while tying teacher evaluation to
student performance. As someone who
solely serves students who perform below grade level this scares me. Because you know I love a good medical
analogy, I quickly decided that being a reading intervention teacher is kind of
like being an oncologist. Yes – success
feels that much better when the stakes are high, but it’s harder to come by,
and we fail more often than we would like because of factors often out of our
control. I spent the next few days
talking to Sephus about the absurdity of the assumption that there were these
amazing potential teachers who could save us all waiting in the wings foiled by
sucky teachers with tenure standing in the way…
Nine days before students showed up I found out that I would not have
the salary step that was frozen in 2009 restored despite believing all summer
that this would finally be made right.
Many of my colleagues will finally be earning the minimal amount more
that they should have been making for over four years now, but I won’t. I am being punished through a technicality
for taking a little bit of time off to better myself through earning my
PhD. This came on the tail end of six
volunteer days for the district during what should have been my last days of
summer with my own children. Four days
before the kids came I realized that the set up of my classes would prevent me
from using the units I worked so hard to plan last year. All this plus a lack of time to really get my
room and lessons ready left me feeling stressed and under-supported and under-appreciated.
Don’t get
me wrong. I was not grumpy with the kids
for a second – well except for maybe once during my overfilled seventh hour on a
brief occasion when I had to ask too many times for their attention. I truly enjoy my students. I lit up when my advisory students returned
to me a year wiser and taller. I fell in
love all over again with 6th graders who asked me adorable questions
like “what do you do for a living” and “are you new around here because I don’t
recognize you” (after setting foot in the building for the first time). I smile and exuberate energy all day, but
when the kids leave I slump in my chair overwhelmed by what the year holds for
me. Some of this came from juggling
Maggie being sick the first week of school, but a lot of it came from how
incredibly unromantic and taxing teaching can be,
I often sit
at teacher of the year presentations and think how desperately I want to win a
recognition like that some year – not because of the accolades, but because as
I hear the winners described I want to be them.
I want to care that much and work that hard. I teach classes at MU each year about being a teacher, and I share all the
secrets to being great while knowing how
impossible it can seem to be all those things at once. It was easy to talk about when I was not in
my own classroom. But this year, I am
teaching five hours a day – I haven’t done that since 2006 – and I have about
twenty more students than I did last year.
I decided this would be the year that I gave it my all every hour. I lesson plan for two hours a night after my
own children go to bed; I have already conferenced with my students one on one
to give them formative feedback; I implemented cooperative learning that
required a new room set up during week one; I have asked for letters from
parents about children and read them voraciously. I am trying to be the teacher I would want
for my daughters, and it’s exhausting, and I came home grumpy today…
Then I went
to Avery’s softball practice. She has
the sweetest coaches. They exemplify the
passion I hope to emulate in the classroom.
They are cheerleaders, and instructors, and buddies. They redirect with kindness. And the best part is that one of them was my
student my second year of teaching. I
watched him today as he (in my opinion) gave Avery the tiniest bit extra attention
as her coach. He was concerned when she
didn’t get to bat when it was her turn.
He quietly offered suggestions after each swing with a voice that
implied he wanted her to make a hit as badly as she did. It occurred to me that he did this because of
a relationship – the relationship between teacher and student. Maybe she means a little more to him because
I knew him at age 14. He is not a
student I have really thought about much after he left my room because he came in
and did his job without making a big splash. Plus, after 15 years of 80-100 or even more
kids a day it is easy for them to run together. We meet too many students to maintain
ongoing relationships, but for the year we have them they are ours and we are
theirs. I started thinking about how
wonderfully unique teaching is, and I was moved beyond words. You see your doctor once or twice a year,
your banker maybe once a week, your waiter maybe only once period… but teachers and students are together five
days a week, 180 days in service. Who
else can you claim that about? I felt so
blessed this evening when I realized I am in the business of building
relationships and therefore, building people.
And I looked at this student and the good man he had become – not because of
me or Oakland, but because that’s what most of them go on to do. They become good people, people who are kind
enough to volunteer coach ten little girls in softball, and we get to meet them
and spend meaningful time with them along the way. Someone that lucky has no right to be
grumpy.
What a blessing my job is. What a joy teaching can be. What a beautiful romance to be a part of.
