“I
am sorry. I am sorry because I have failed to give you what you have
the right to demand of me as your teacher: sympathy, encouragement,
and humanity… by so doing I have degraded the noblest
calling that man can follow—the care and molding of the young.”
~
Andrew Crocker-Harris' final speech, The Browning Version (1951)
This
is not a post about the school I taught at.
Nor
a post about how I became a teacher.
(There
will be time for those things.)
It
is instead a post about two forces
That
kept me from giving up on being one again.
(This is the 5th installment of a series introducing my blog.
I spent thirteen
years of my life teaching, without some form of certification. I taught at a
private school that did not require it—the school’s founder
considered it worthless. In fact, I entered the career without any
formal training or experience. And, from the beginning, it showed.
I jumped head first off a rocky cliff into the ocean below.
Looking back,
some sort of knowledge of teaching would have been beneficial. It
would have helped me avoid certain mistakes, reducing some of the
daily anxiety I endured. Also, it would have saved a lot of wasted
time and energy. A study of basic child psychology and cognitive
development would have made it clear how outrageous some of my
expectations were. Watching a veteran teacher manage a classroom,
even for a week, would have provided examples of how to be effective
at day-to-day tasks. And having a mentor providing regular,
constructive feedback before certain crisis arose, would have
prevented my own personal meltdowns.
I might have enjoyed my first two years in front of the classroom.
I might have enjoyed my first two years in front of the classroom.
While learning
under duress may produce interesting results (i.e., lots of stories
to share later), it fuels anxiety that harms, causes
burnout, and leaves students at a loss. While some mistakes do make for
better lessons than others, certain errors leave no room for
improvement.
But it was done,
and when that job ended, I had decided to find another one. This time
I would enter the public school system. That required certification.
As someone who has not done an accredited four-year program in
education, I had to do the alternate route. Among other things, it
involved a six hour class, held on Saturday mornings, that ran for
eight weeks. It provided a very general overview of the process of
becoming a certified teacher and what to expect on the job. The final
exam was a fifteen-minute presentation to your classmates of a lesson
you designed.
And, from the
start, I found it insulting. Most people have this kind of emotional
reaction whenever someone questions their abilities to do something
they believe they can do. It becomes a habit, one that gets in the way
of self improvement. Fortunately, I figured out by the first day of
class that I needed to shift emotions, from stubbornness to openness.
I had to embrace the possibility that I could learn more, change
myself, and grow. More importantly, I had to accept that others have
lessons to teach me. One would think thirteen years of teaching would
impart enough skills and knowledge to prepare someone for any
classroom. However, all that experience is worth nothing, unless you
take the time to analyze it effectively. Taking this class was a
necessary step.
In the end, I
came out smarter. I had a clear list of specific steps to follow for
certification. The official website for alternate route was
convoluted and byzantine. I was not accustomed this level of
bureaucracy. The class instructor clarified the rules and
regulations, and shared hints to help navigate the meandering lists
of requirements. I also grew wiser. I had a comprehensive list of
what I did not know about teaching. The instructor revealed the
expectations of a typical public school system, and her personal
experiences with it, some good, some bad. She shared outside
resources for further professional development. By mapping all this
out, the course had alleviated one level of anxiety I had with
certification: losing myself on the uncertain and unfamiliar path to
teaching again.
However, it is
not enough to know how to teach. You have to want to teach. For me,
the desire never completely faded away, but it did diminish. Learning
that your approach to teaching was not the most effective, and at
times was somewhat counterproductive, makes you start to doubt
whether you should be doing it at all. Sometimes in life we become
comfortable with things unfolding in a certain way. It could be
the way we cook our daily meals, converse with a new-found friend, or
interact with our students. These are habits, and they are not
necessarily wrong. The meat was never dried out, and people ate it
with little complaint. The conversations were relaxing and fun, and
both people enjoyed them. The students learned something in the end,
and thanked you for it. But life challenges our habits all the time,
revealing a better way, but also introduces doubts. You discover new spices and cooking
techniques, and start to wonder why anybody ate your meals in the
first place. You start having difficulties in life, and realize your
new friend has never seen you vulnerable before. You discover the
science behind learning and learn more about classroom management, and it
begins to expose your misunderstandings of both. In all three cases,
doubt creeps into your mind. You hesitate to move forward.
And you look
back on those thirteen years, and ponder the damage you may have
done to yourself and to your former students. So you question
whether you should continue down this path, or seek a new one.
The process is
like standing naked in front of a mirror surrounded by people you
know. You see them staring, waiting, and possibly judging. You cannot
read their minds, so you interpret their thoughts by relying on your
own. How you feel about yourself becomes how you think they see you.
You can see your body react to all this: your face turns red, you
begin to sweat, you try to hide yourself. It is scary on so many
levels, leaving scars. But some scars eventually fade, and become a
reminder of what was, and how you persevered. They inspire you to be
a better person. And that means accepting your nakedness in the first
place.
Transcending the
feeling of vulnerability, overcoming old fears of meeting new people
and visiting unfamiliar places, and welcoming the opportunity to
better myself, I attended the class, and looked forward to the
final assignment: deliver a fifteen-minute lesson to the class. It
would be an ELA lesson meeting certain Common Core standards,
targeting fourth graders (played by a group of young adults),
integrating modern pedagogical techniques. Except for standing in
front of a classroom of fourth graders, this would all be new to me.
From the
comments my fellow classmates gave me, on pieces of multi-colored
Post-It notes, and my instructors final words to me, I felt like a
new person. I was willing to teach again. From that day forward, my
dreams would include me, standing in front of a class of children,
educating them about the universe.
"Very energetic and enthusiastic personality. Makes for a great teacher. It helps keep the students’ attention."
"Your tone of voice and pacing were perfect for 4th graders.I love the story you picked and the pictures that go along with it."
"Very lively and exciting narrative. You are a real teacher. I definitely would want to be in your class."
"Your instructions were very clear. I liked how you gave us images both visual and mental to understand your text.Love the energy you have."
"You are hilarious! You clearly have fun teaching. The kids will love you. Your excitement filtered into the lesson and fed the students. I had to bite my tongue B/C I truly wanted to keep asking questions. You’re going to be a great teacher."
The best part of
all? Having this map and this dream opened my mind to opportunities
that strengthened my desire to teach. Finding blogs dedicated to
pedagogy. Reading books and articles focused on effective practices
in the classroom. Working with children as a stage manager for their
dance productions. Discovering friends in the field, and
listening to their stories. Doors opened up for me, and I walked through them
confidently!
And this part of
the journey has made me very happy.
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