I have never had a job for this long ever in my life. I knew when I became a teacher it was bound to happen. I am not the new teacher I see myself as, mainly because now I know too much. I wish I could get that old new teacher feeling back.
I know how education changes with the government. I know that we change the names of strategies and reuse them again years later. I know that although we are always changing, teachers are stubborn, including me. We all struggle with these untested strategies, one after another. One year we care about reading, the next year bullying, the next math facts, and on and on; never focusing on one thing long enough to make any difference.
I do not have the sunny disposition I had when I walked into Room L thirteen years ago and started with only standards in hand and a hundred teenagers. My college classes and my student teaching didn’t prepare me for the other things teaching involved. It did not prepare me for the politicians and parents and poor administrators and tattletale colleagues. I never realized the teachers were as cliquey as the students.
I thought teaching was about inspiring the students and making them individuals. My job was to make them love reading and writing as much as I did and to prepare them to go on to high school and even college. I am sure I did this for some, maybe not at all for others. I hope I was able to balance all the crap from the really important part of teaching, the students.
Now I have students with spouses and children. I have Princeton graduates and high school drop outs. I would love to claim all their success and failures as my own, but I doubt I had that much of an impact. What do I even remember about my middle school teachers? I think I know all my teachers, but I know that some are forgotten. After twelve years of students, I have over a thousand people in the world that know my name or have some memory of me, good or bad.
Of course, I want all the memories to be positive and happy with a rosy finish, but I know that it doesn’t matter. If I made someone happy, I made someone else cringed. If I inspired someone to use a little more effort, I made someone else feel trapped enough to cheat. If I made someone laugh, I made someone cry, and I probably laughed about it later.
As a student, I was that crying girl at school dances. I wanted everyone to be happy, but I never wanted to apply myself until I was in college. Now I am teaching those kids like me that cry at the drop of a hat; those kids that want friends and laughs; those kids that struggle to put forth any more effort than to get their parents off their back. I can’t imagine how hard this task is nowadays. I only had to deal with the television and telephone as distractions.
Still, twelve years of teaching is a amazing feat. I find myself reminiscing about the old days, the golden days. The days when I thought I could make a difference. When I thought I could change everyone for the better and couldn’t understand why veterans teachers had given in to the routine of education. I know why teachers give up now.
This has been a thankless job. It was a great job when I had few responsibilities and hours to hang out at the school. Now, I feel like just being at school is like being in prison. This person that I don’t trust is bossy around another person I don’t trust, and somewhere down the ladder they are grading me as a teacher. Neither said persons having any teaching experience. When I didn’t realize that politicians and media controlled education, I actually thought I had a chance to inspire people.
In reality, their futures are probably already mapped out for them by the time they are teenagers. James was already destined after years of continued support from his family and values to go to Princeton. Poor Lisa was doomed to teenage pregnancy regardless of her new love of reading. It would only help her if she could find time to read as a fifteen-year-old mother. Derek never needed English, even though I drove him up the wall for a year about homework. He tattoos people now, and the protagonist of the Where the Red Fern Grows is no longer needed.
I have to look at teaching from a different perspective. Government looks at my test scores and improvement. I am not sure that matters really, expect for my job security. I wish things were different. I wish middle school was just that. Practice for the being an adult in a place where students can make mistakes and learn from them before high school, when everything counts. Middle school is a time for life skills like making deadlines and managing time. My students have a difficult with managing family, school, and personal life all at once for the very first time. All this on top of this ever-changing world of hormones and maturity and testing limits, middle school students have it rough. It is basically a holding place for all kids. We are waiting for them to mature enough to tackle high school.
In reality, elementary schools introduce everything over the course of six or seven years. Then the middle school reinforces the same exact information in two years. Notice students learn their states and capitals in fifth and eighth grade. Students learn nouns and verbs starting in kindergarten; this doesn’t mean they know what they are in middle school. High school is when the real separating begins. Students are able to branch off into their different interests that obviously have been introduced in grade school. Some students choose to continue on to college; others make other choices. We need all the different jobs, so we can’t all end in the same place. The state testing proves nothing really. The real proof is the jobs filled. It has little to do with the hours of summer work I put into my job. It’s about making positive experiences to make positive independent adults, regardless of whether they become professors or waiters.
I hope that in the grand scheme of things I made a difference. Yes, James went to Princeton. He also was sure I hated him. Perhaps I taught him to deal with difficult people or to stand up for himself. And Lisa just needed someone to care for her. Her mother, at only thirty-two, left her for foster care for her next boyfriend. Maybe my support for Lisa will make her a better mother or a high school graduate. As for Derek, ironically he could tell you all about the Red Fern; it was probably one of his most memorable classroom experiences because his teacher (me) hogtied him to demonstrate what was done in the book. Derek loved that day at school. He was happy the rest of that week. Maybe I gave him at least one fun experience from school.
I could go on and on. Sure, I don’t remember every single student, but certain ones definitely stick out for me. That isn’t the point though. The point is that I have made impacts of all sizes and shines. I have done something for the world, hopefully more good than evil. The education system doesn’t reward teachers for all accomplishments. I didn’t get extra money to challenge James to do more or to give an ear to Lisa’s problems. Starting this year, lucky year thirteen, I could be graded on the fact that Lisa never read on grade level and never passed English. I could be graded on James’s top scores preventing him from educational growth, or sadly, I could not even meet someone like James because I don’t have honor students.
Although a lot of things have changed since that first year of students, my philosophy hasn’t changed all that much. I don’t spend as much time at school, but I am still there longer than most. The kids, regardless of color, ethnicity, location, are always the same. Some want attention. Some want stardom. Some want to disappear. Some want to just pass the class for once. Some push themselves; others prefer me to push them. Some who won’t do anything, others that never leave school. The nerds, the preps, the jocks, the goth or emo or whatever….kids are the same underneath. They need love and support and someone who will listen to their needs. Sometimes those needs do not include memorizing the Gettysburg Address or math facts.
I may not make it in teaching, but I will know that when I taught, I did it with the students in mind. I taught skills and life lessons over nouns, hyperboles, and foreshadowing. Year twelve was the worst. I have positive hopes for thirteen; I plan to go down with the ship, if needed. I just know that as I go into this year being judge by thirty minute observations and test scores that this could be the end for me. The teacher that wants to inspire could be killed by the teacher that has to teach test skills. I will make the best of this year and the students that I meet. I will continue to inspire until they throw me out of the school or begin to plan my daily lessons. I won’t conform because although test scores can be important, the students are more important, and I will NEVER forget that.
Mishaps Today 