To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment.
I am a good teacher. I am not even close to the greatest teacher in my building, but I am okay with that. When I first started teaching I dreamed of being the greatest teacher, and I still do, but I have a long way to go. I guess that is one of the things I love about teaching. Every day, after each hour, I sit and think about how I could be better--a myriad of ways, usually--and I start getting excited about making things better. This realization, admitting I am not flawless and I don't know exactly what will work all the time, was painful to admit, especially as a new teacher, but it was my students who helped me get here.
When I first started teaching, in my first classroom (the same room I am in now) five years ago, I had a plan. I would know my stuff, I would manage my classroom, we would get the job done, and everyone would go home educated and happy. There would be no need for excessive emotionalism or connection, we were going to be an academic environment that would benefit my learners. There was no need to get overly personal. I am a professional! I have advanced degrees! I could not wait to enlighten the eager to learn souls who entered my classroom. If a student had a personal issue, that would be directed to the counselors who know how to deal with that sort of issue. Excessive emotion was unnecessary in a classroom setting such as I was going to create. I had lesson plans, supplies, and vast knowledge of my content area. I was perfectly personable. I liked my students and they seemed to like me, and that seemed to work for us.
There was one young man in my 7th hour, the last hour of the day, who puzzled me. He was from a farming family and school was definitely not his priority. We got along okay, but he rarely did his work. He failed the first semester and we discussed it academically, and I moved on. He showed up every day. He was never disrespectful, and we proceeded down my challenging academic path. I knew he understood what I was teaching because in class discussions he was on point, but he refused to do the work. High school held very little value to him. One day, right after Christmas break, I got to school early, as was my usual practice, and I had an e-mail from our counselors. This young man's father had passed away in our school parking lot while waiting to pick him up after my class. He had had a heart attack, and when this young man got there, he tried to resuscitate him for approximately 15 minutes to no avail. I sat in shock. This could not be real.
I shook throughout the entire day as rumors swirled throughout the school about what had happened. This young man was well liked enough but had no real clique that he belonged to. When my 7th hour arrived, I was scared and devastated. I had a lesson plan; I had important academic content to deliver. I got up in front of the class, all 26 pairs of eyes on me, and I started to cry. I told them, honestly, what I knew. Many students started to cry. We talked about what we could do. We made cards and took up donations. We thought about how to help his farming family. That day, and forever after that, my plans changed. I left behind the teacher who didn't want to be involved. I had cried with my students, for my student, and we were all changed. We all learned more that day, and from then on out, then we had all year.
While all this was going on, my students asked real, difficult, impossible questions. I had to be honest, I had no idea what the answers were to the questions they were asking. Again, this was against everything I believed I needed to do as a teacher. I was supposed to have the answers. I was the educated teacher adult human in the room. In order to help them learn I was supposed to have what they needed. But I didn't know what I was supposed to do in this situation. I asked them what we should do. They taught me about compassion and collaboration and community and we truly all became authentic learners. When I showed up in my best black dress to the funeral, I held in my hands gift cards from the class for groceries and restaurants. I cried when I hugged my student. He cried. I didn't know what to say, so I let him talk. I hugged his mom and I handed her the cards my students had made along with the gift cards we had saved up for. I told her we would do whatever we could to help them. I left that afternoon knowing that I would never be the same.
From that point on, I became real. I had admitted I didn't know stuff, and my students had not revolted or lost faith in me. I had showed true emotion and again, they did not take this as weakness. I opened up to them, and for the first time, I realized what it really means to be an educator, not a teacher. I admitted when I didn't know things, and we found them out together. I was willing to take risks with the students, confessing I was unsure how certain projects would end up, but explaining why I felt they were important. For the first time, the students understood where I was going. They felt emboldened and asked questions and really became engaged. The amount of work students turned in went way up because for the first time they felt free to challenge me and I was willing to listen. Instead of giving them stuff, I started to listen to them about what they thought and where they wanted to go. Yes, we have to read and write every day, but I asked them why they thought it was important. I asked them what they wanted to know, and I attempted to design our plans with their help. I put my real self out there. I admitted that I was terrible at certain things and allowed them to teach me.
The young man whose father passed away returned to school about a week after this event occurred. I didn't know how to talk to him. So, I asked him what he needed from me. We talked for a long time. He had made some poor decisions in high school, believing that he didn't really need a diploma, but he knew that he had to grow up. He wanted to make a change, but he understood how difficult, maybe impossible, that might be. From that moment on, I did everything in my power to ensure he graduated. I worked on his schedule. I called mom frequently to check on the family. I stayed in contact with him during his senior year to make sure he was doing what he needed to do. Although many people thought it was impossible, through summer school, credit recovery, and lots of hard work, this young man graduated with his class. I stood with him in the tunnel before he walked out to receive his diploma, tears running down my face, and thanked him for everything he taught me.
I know more today than I did five years ago. Certainly, my content knowledge had vastly improved, but so has my fear of being my true self. I am open with my students, quick to give hugs and become involved. I usually begin each year asking them what they want to learn, and discussing with them how we might get there. I get to know my students on a personal level. After they graduate, I consider many of them my friends, and stay in touch with these people who have become important in my my life. Last week, I took a group to hear a lecture from one of my favorite authors, Tim O'Brien. I had taught his novel, The Things They Carried to them, and I told my students when we got there, we might learn that our ideas about the novel were entirely wrong. The students were so proud when he started to talk because their ideas and thoughts were validated. They owned that novel and that learning. When we went to meet him, my students told this man about our class, and he was thankful to us! Although he wasn't taking group pictures, he took one for my students and I. I showed my students my fan-girl self, we laughed together and were giddy over our experience together. I will never forget that night. It would never have happened if I would have maintained my cool, separate, TEACHER persona. It happened because I was real with the students, allowing them to be real with me.
You see, I will probably never be the greatest teacher in my building. I will never have the perfect knowledge or the perfect lesson plan. All I can do is be who I am. I know a lot of stuff about my subject area, but my teaching should not be limited to what I know. The room that I teach in does not belong to me, I am not the boss. I am a guide, showing them interesting things, explaining why certain people do things certain ways, and challenging them to challenge me. I have never regretted letting my guard down, showing my true self, and asking my students for help. I have learned more and become an entirely different person. What I cherish is authenticity. That is my goal. To be as real as I possibly can, allowing mistakes and pain and silliness and love into my classroom every single day. As scary as it is, the pay off has been extraordinary.
When I first started teaching, in my first classroom (the same room I am in now) five years ago, I had a plan. I would know my stuff, I would manage my classroom, we would get the job done, and everyone would go home educated and happy. There would be no need for excessive emotionalism or connection, we were going to be an academic environment that would benefit my learners. There was no need to get overly personal. I am a professional! I have advanced degrees! I could not wait to enlighten the eager to learn souls who entered my classroom. If a student had a personal issue, that would be directed to the counselors who know how to deal with that sort of issue. Excessive emotion was unnecessary in a classroom setting such as I was going to create. I had lesson plans, supplies, and vast knowledge of my content area. I was perfectly personable. I liked my students and they seemed to like me, and that seemed to work for us.
There was one young man in my 7th hour, the last hour of the day, who puzzled me. He was from a farming family and school was definitely not his priority. We got along okay, but he rarely did his work. He failed the first semester and we discussed it academically, and I moved on. He showed up every day. He was never disrespectful, and we proceeded down my challenging academic path. I knew he understood what I was teaching because in class discussions he was on point, but he refused to do the work. High school held very little value to him. One day, right after Christmas break, I got to school early, as was my usual practice, and I had an e-mail from our counselors. This young man's father had passed away in our school parking lot while waiting to pick him up after my class. He had had a heart attack, and when this young man got there, he tried to resuscitate him for approximately 15 minutes to no avail. I sat in shock. This could not be real.
I shook throughout the entire day as rumors swirled throughout the school about what had happened. This young man was well liked enough but had no real clique that he belonged to. When my 7th hour arrived, I was scared and devastated. I had a lesson plan; I had important academic content to deliver. I got up in front of the class, all 26 pairs of eyes on me, and I started to cry. I told them, honestly, what I knew. Many students started to cry. We talked about what we could do. We made cards and took up donations. We thought about how to help his farming family. That day, and forever after that, my plans changed. I left behind the teacher who didn't want to be involved. I had cried with my students, for my student, and we were all changed. We all learned more that day, and from then on out, then we had all year.
While all this was going on, my students asked real, difficult, impossible questions. I had to be honest, I had no idea what the answers were to the questions they were asking. Again, this was against everything I believed I needed to do as a teacher. I was supposed to have the answers. I was the educated teacher adult human in the room. In order to help them learn I was supposed to have what they needed. But I didn't know what I was supposed to do in this situation. I asked them what we should do. They taught me about compassion and collaboration and community and we truly all became authentic learners. When I showed up in my best black dress to the funeral, I held in my hands gift cards from the class for groceries and restaurants. I cried when I hugged my student. He cried. I didn't know what to say, so I let him talk. I hugged his mom and I handed her the cards my students had made along with the gift cards we had saved up for. I told her we would do whatever we could to help them. I left that afternoon knowing that I would never be the same.
From that point on, I became real. I had admitted I didn't know stuff, and my students had not revolted or lost faith in me. I had showed true emotion and again, they did not take this as weakness. I opened up to them, and for the first time, I realized what it really means to be an educator, not a teacher. I admitted when I didn't know things, and we found them out together. I was willing to take risks with the students, confessing I was unsure how certain projects would end up, but explaining why I felt they were important. For the first time, the students understood where I was going. They felt emboldened and asked questions and really became engaged. The amount of work students turned in went way up because for the first time they felt free to challenge me and I was willing to listen. Instead of giving them stuff, I started to listen to them about what they thought and where they wanted to go. Yes, we have to read and write every day, but I asked them why they thought it was important. I asked them what they wanted to know, and I attempted to design our plans with their help. I put my real self out there. I admitted that I was terrible at certain things and allowed them to teach me.
The young man whose father passed away returned to school about a week after this event occurred. I didn't know how to talk to him. So, I asked him what he needed from me. We talked for a long time. He had made some poor decisions in high school, believing that he didn't really need a diploma, but he knew that he had to grow up. He wanted to make a change, but he understood how difficult, maybe impossible, that might be. From that moment on, I did everything in my power to ensure he graduated. I worked on his schedule. I called mom frequently to check on the family. I stayed in contact with him during his senior year to make sure he was doing what he needed to do. Although many people thought it was impossible, through summer school, credit recovery, and lots of hard work, this young man graduated with his class. I stood with him in the tunnel before he walked out to receive his diploma, tears running down my face, and thanked him for everything he taught me.
I know more today than I did five years ago. Certainly, my content knowledge had vastly improved, but so has my fear of being my true self. I am open with my students, quick to give hugs and become involved. I usually begin each year asking them what they want to learn, and discussing with them how we might get there. I get to know my students on a personal level. After they graduate, I consider many of them my friends, and stay in touch with these people who have become important in my my life. Last week, I took a group to hear a lecture from one of my favorite authors, Tim O'Brien. I had taught his novel, The Things They Carried to them, and I told my students when we got there, we might learn that our ideas about the novel were entirely wrong. The students were so proud when he started to talk because their ideas and thoughts were validated. They owned that novel and that learning. When we went to meet him, my students told this man about our class, and he was thankful to us! Although he wasn't taking group pictures, he took one for my students and I. I showed my students my fan-girl self, we laughed together and were giddy over our experience together. I will never forget that night. It would never have happened if I would have maintained my cool, separate, TEACHER persona. It happened because I was real with the students, allowing them to be real with me.
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| My students and I with Tim O'Brien (acting crazy as usual) |
You see, I will probably never be the greatest teacher in my building. I will never have the perfect knowledge or the perfect lesson plan. All I can do is be who I am. I know a lot of stuff about my subject area, but my teaching should not be limited to what I know. The room that I teach in does not belong to me, I am not the boss. I am a guide, showing them interesting things, explaining why certain people do things certain ways, and challenging them to challenge me. I have never regretted letting my guard down, showing my true self, and asking my students for help. I have learned more and become an entirely different person. What I cherish is authenticity. That is my goal. To be as real as I possibly can, allowing mistakes and pain and silliness and love into my classroom every single day. As scary as it is, the pay off has been extraordinary.
Thank you for sharing this! I feel validated having read this! You are a wonderful writing and a fantastic teacher. Thank you for all that you do, from inspiring your own students to inspiring me.
ReplyDeleteSuch a great post. Thanks for sharing!
ReplyDelete