The other night I awoke at one in the morning and lay tossing and
turning for an hour or so. Many things
raced through my mind as I tried to find comfort in my twisted sheets, but it
wasn’t until I got up in the morning that I realized what really woke me up. Another academic year is over. I have seen my seniors for the last time, and have watched them graduate into the lives they will lead; I have said goodbye to my younger students. This year is a hard one to let go
of, but not for the reasons you would think.
I have been teaching for 16 years, and this was the first
year I spent any time on the computer searching for another career. This year marked my moment at the
crossroads. I looked closely at my
teaching, at my students, and at myself and wondered if there was anything else
that I could do. I never thought of
leaving education entirely, mind you, just pondered where I could be more
helpful. Where I could enact the kind of
change that would truly make a difference.
Because, in so many ways, and for so many reasons, I think we have
forgotten that that’s why most of us enter this profession. Yes, the job has changed. We have become data crunchers and curriculum
writers, editors, and re-writers. We have
become “accountable” to everyone and for everything, and the definition of accountability
seems to be constantly in flux. We have
been told to raise our standards, make our courses more rigorous, and always to
recommend every student for the toughest course possible. Everyone takes AP English, but no one learns
how to craft a letter to his boss, or craft a budget. All of these anxieties about EDUCATION as an
ideal, about EDUCATION as a concept, frustrated me and angered me throughout
the year. I lost two former students to
gang violence and blamed it on our schools.
I sat through mind numbing professional development and got
angrier. Nothing seemed to be helping
the students I most wanted to help. What
were we really doing here? What was I
doing at all?
But today. Today, I
think of my students, the ones who struggled and the ones who soared, and I am flooded with
joy at my choice of career. I know each
of these individuals. Over the year, we
have laughed so hard together (mostly at my life’s foibles, which I tend to
hold up proudly for them day after day).
We have created nick names and in so doing created trust. We have shared some brutally honest moments
in discussing our world and ourselves. I
have learned toughness from some and compassion from others. And I have watched them work, harder than
they thought they could. I have seen
them strive. In their last days of school, I saw their pride and
I matched it with my own, and I knew finally and completely that I should not be anywhere else, doing
anything else. I am exactly where I need to be, and this has been true all along.
Not everyone was born for a profession, but I was born to
teach. This is my life’s blood and that
more than anything is the lesson of this year.
But even passion is a muscle that needs to be stretched. When we get too comfortable, it reminds us
through its throbbing pain that attention must be paid. So this summer I will read and revamp and
ready myself to attack another year with the emotion and excitement that comes
with this renewed dedication to my job.
And little by little, the concept and ideals of EDUCATION will change,
because so many of us are working from within our classrooms, in our own small
ways to make sure that every child within our reach has what he needs to lead a
life of excellence (whatever that may look like). It’s worth it to remember that by changing
the conversation in my classroom, I am changing the conversation in the
world. And that’s enough for this one teacher.
