Allow me to introduce Stephen Singer, or rather his writing. Regrettably, I do not know Stephen personally – one of his teaching blogs was circulated on an educational list I’m on.
Unfortunately, the blog is too long for one sharing, so I’ll share some today, and perhaps more later. (See the entire piece at https://gadflyonthewallblog.wordpress.com/2017/09/01/why-i-teach/.)
The blog is entitled Why I Teach and is ostensibly about starting a school year (it first appeared last September), but it speaks volumes about what good teachers do, and why they do it. I am impressed with Stephen’s eloquence and his ability to capture a picture that we could all stand to see several times. It makes especially good reading in the midst of rough times for our nation and our teachers.
I’m making a tough decision, and losing some context, but I’m essentially deleting the middle portion of his thoughts today and doing minor editing elsewhere. But I think Stephen will still shine through. See for yourself:
“Every year it’s the same nightmare. I’m in front of a class of middle school students who aren’t paying any attention to me. It’s like I’m invisible. And then I wake up.
Every teacher probably has a similar dream the night before they start classes. It’s a dream of impotence and redundancy. Kind of like the businessmen and their political puppets claim we, teachers, are every day.
“But the reality is much different. Kids come bouncing in to my room, bristling with energy, half concealed hopes and fears.
“Before they come in, I’m full of doubt: Can I still do this for another year? Will I be able to accommodate all the extra services for every special education student in my mainstreamed classroom? Do I have enough desks, pencils, paper? Have I planned enough for the first week? Will I be able to keep students interested, entertained, disciplined, engaged, working, inspired?
“But the second the kids enter the classroom – literally the exact second – all my doubts disappear. I have more than two dozen children to see to at any given moment – and their needs outweigh mine.
“It isn’t until about halfway through the day that I even have an instant to myself to stop, breathe and reflect. After my first bathroom break in more than 3 hours, then grabbing my lunch and collapsing into a seat- the first time I’m off my feet with no anxious little faces looking up to me – I think back on my day and realize: I absolutely love this. No, really.
“My feet hurt, my temples throb from making a hundred tiny decisions every 40 minutes, my body feels like it’s already been through a war. But there is no place in the world I would rather be.
“Look what I’ve already accomplished today! I took about 50 anxious human beings and made them feel like it was going to be okay. I made 50 faces smile, sigh and relax. I modeled how we can interact and still respect each other.
“And in return I heard: ‘This is the best class!’ ‘I don’t like to read or write but I’m really looking forward to doing your homework!’ How can you hear such things and not come away energized and new? This is what I was meant to do.
“Some folks will tell you teaching is about numbers and data. Increase these test scores. Cut costs by this much. These people are fools. Teaching has nothing to do with any of that. It’s about the children. Being there for them. Being an active part of eternity.
“That’s why I teach.”
Comments are closed