Dear everyone in America,
I consider my blog to have three purposes: 1) to bring laughter/fun/joy to teachers and non-teachers alike 2) to brag about my students 3) to make others aware of some of the stuff that goes on in urban education, and to be a voice for teachers who choose to teach in those schools. I guess that last purpose is really two purposes, but I like things to be in threes.
Most of my posts on this blog deal with Purposes 1 and 2. This post will deal with Purpose 3. Although it’s true that my students are the best humans in the world and I could brag on them for weeks at a time, it just doesn’t feel right to write up some picture-perfect end-of-year reflection when, in fact, for much of this year I was miserable.
I consider my blog to have three purposes: 1) to bring laughter/fun/joy to teachers and non-teachers alike 2) to brag about my students 3) to make others aware of some of the stuff that goes on in urban education, and to be a voice for teachers who choose to teach in those schools. I guess that last purpose is really two purposes, but I like things to be in threes.
Most of my posts on this blog deal with Purposes 1 and 2. This post will deal with Purpose 3. Although it’s true that my students are the best humans in the world and I could brag on them for weeks at a time, it just doesn’t feel right to write up some picture-perfect end-of-year reflection when, in fact, for much of this year I was miserable.
If you are here for the happy fun posts, you may want to go
make some peanut brittle and watch Downton Abbey Season 2. But if you are
willing for a moment to be exposed to the ugly, nagging underside to the happy
fun posts, I am glad. However, you still may want to go make some peanut
brittle and then watch Downton Abbey Season 2 afterwards because both of those
things are really, really good, and they will probably make you feel better than this post will.
Alright. Here we go.
As many of you know, two years ago I took a job teaching at an urban, low-income middle school. I was practically fresh out of college, an English major who had never been interested in teaching, but three things brought me to where I am today:
1) My plan A, being a writer, had mysteriously not yet come to fruition in the time since graduation (imagine that!)
Alright. Here we go.
As many of you know, two years ago I took a job teaching at an urban, low-income middle school. I was practically fresh out of college, an English major who had never been interested in teaching, but three things brought me to where I am today:
1) My plan A, being a writer, had mysteriously not yet come to fruition in the time since graduation (imagine that!)
2) I had seen a program about the achievement gap in America
between poor and rich kids, and thought that teaching poor kids would make me
feel heroic and appear heroic to others
3) I thought it would be pretty easy
4) I had absolutely no idea what type of questions I should be asking of a
school during an interview.
The first school I interviewed with offered me a position immediately, and I soon began my first year of teaching. A few weeks into the school year, I started this blog with my first post in September of 2010. Here is part of it:
Anyway, I’m keeping this blog to remember my first year of teaching. I know it’s only going to get harder for a while, and I know that there will be days when I come home crying, and I know that there will be days when I want to write a dramatic farewell note and put my own head under a guillotine. But I want to start out on a good note. And today, that note is apologies and breakfast burritos.
Love,
Teach
I remember that, while I was writing that exact section, I was trying to avoid writing something that I would read later on and think, "Oh, former self. You were so naive." I thought by emphasizing that I knew it would be hard, when I got to the really hard parts, I would be able to say, "Welp! You knew this was coming! You said so in your first blog post!"
But I had no idea how hard it would be.
I didn't know that the 40 hour work week doesn’t exist for teachers; that my work week would be closer to 50 or 60.
I didn't know that my alternative certification classes I had taken offered absolutely zero preparation for teaching in an urban school, and that I would have to completely reinvent everything I ever knew about getting people to do things.
I didn't know that I wouldn't be a hero, and that the actual heroes are the kids who continually come to school and try their hardest despite living in situations that are closer to hell than they are to homes.
But I made it through my first year. By February, I at least had my classroom management under control, and by May I had planned to stay for another year. I even took on some leadership roles which I thought would maybe help to change some of the things that were frustrating for me and for others. I returned to school excited, energized, and confident. I had always heard that the first year was the hardest, and I knew that there was no way that the second year could possibly be as bad.
Again, I didn't know.
The first school I interviewed with offered me a position immediately, and I soon began my first year of teaching. A few weeks into the school year, I started this blog with my first post in September of 2010. Here is part of it:
Anyway, I’m keeping this blog to remember my first year of teaching. I know it’s only going to get harder for a while, and I know that there will be days when I come home crying, and I know that there will be days when I want to write a dramatic farewell note and put my own head under a guillotine. But I want to start out on a good note. And today, that note is apologies and breakfast burritos.
Love,
Teach
I remember that, while I was writing that exact section, I was trying to avoid writing something that I would read later on and think, "Oh, former self. You were so naive." I thought by emphasizing that I knew it would be hard, when I got to the really hard parts, I would be able to say, "Welp! You knew this was coming! You said so in your first blog post!"
But I had no idea how hard it would be.
I didn't know that the 40 hour work week doesn’t exist for teachers; that my work week would be closer to 50 or 60.
I didn't know that my alternative certification classes I had taken offered absolutely zero preparation for teaching in an urban school, and that I would have to completely reinvent everything I ever knew about getting people to do things.
I didn't know that I wouldn't be a hero, and that the actual heroes are the kids who continually come to school and try their hardest despite living in situations that are closer to hell than they are to homes.
But I made it through my first year. By February, I at least had my classroom management under control, and by May I had planned to stay for another year. I even took on some leadership roles which I thought would maybe help to change some of the things that were frustrating for me and for others. I returned to school excited, energized, and confident. I had always heard that the first year was the hardest, and I knew that there was no way that the second year could possibly be as bad.
Again, I didn't know.
I didn’t know that working hard, doing the right thing, and
being nice to everyone wouldn’t be enough.
I didn't know that my leadership position would have nothing to do with leadership, and had everything to do with silence.
I didn't know that racism and gender bias are still very much alive and well, and are practiced by adults who have college degrees and work in places where children are educated.
I didn't know that the only way to not burn out would be to consistently put in far less than 100%.
I didn't know that I would begin to fear Sunday afternoons for the feeling of dread that accompanied them. That, soon, my entire weekends would be infected by the same feeling because it simply meant I had more time to worry about the week ahead. I didn't know that my breaks-- Thanksgiving, Christmas, etc.-- would not be times of rest but daily recurrences of meltdowns from anxiety. I didn't know how insane it would feel to accept the reality that the only thing that could distract me from school was school itself.
I didn't know that the stresses of my job, both on a small and large scale, would lead me to a state of hopelessness—one that I don’t feel completely comfortable describing on a public forum.
I didn't know that the loyalty and devotion I would have for a group of 14 year-olds would be the only thing keeping me in a place where I almost always felt defeated.
I didn't know about these things because nobody knows about these things. Our education system is one that is horribly and dangerously broken-- and is crumbling. Those with the "solutions" are those farthest removed from the problem, and those who look the problem in the face every day have voices that are either too quiet or are being smothered or ignored. We will not close the education gap this way, and both sides of the gap will continue to fall behind. If we continue to let decisions about the trenches be made by those who have never stepped foot in them (or were only in them for 15 minutes), we will continue to crank out stupid children-- in rich schools and in poor-- while their parents continue to wonder why they can't compete with countries who actually care about education. These same children will go into the world demanding it to acquiesce to their needs, because that is what their schools and teachers and lawmakers have done for the past 18 years of their lives.
I will be working at another low-income middle school in another district next year. I will continue to write. I don't know the solution. But I will continue to try to find it.
And then fight for it.
I didn't know that my leadership position would have nothing to do with leadership, and had everything to do with silence.
I didn't know that racism and gender bias are still very much alive and well, and are practiced by adults who have college degrees and work in places where children are educated.
I didn't know that the only way to not burn out would be to consistently put in far less than 100%.
I didn't know that I would begin to fear Sunday afternoons for the feeling of dread that accompanied them. That, soon, my entire weekends would be infected by the same feeling because it simply meant I had more time to worry about the week ahead. I didn't know that my breaks-- Thanksgiving, Christmas, etc.-- would not be times of rest but daily recurrences of meltdowns from anxiety. I didn't know how insane it would feel to accept the reality that the only thing that could distract me from school was school itself.
I didn't know that the stresses of my job, both on a small and large scale, would lead me to a state of hopelessness—one that I don’t feel completely comfortable describing on a public forum.
I didn't know that the loyalty and devotion I would have for a group of 14 year-olds would be the only thing keeping me in a place where I almost always felt defeated.
I didn't know about these things because nobody knows about these things. Our education system is one that is horribly and dangerously broken-- and is crumbling. Those with the "solutions" are those farthest removed from the problem, and those who look the problem in the face every day have voices that are either too quiet or are being smothered or ignored. We will not close the education gap this way, and both sides of the gap will continue to fall behind. If we continue to let decisions about the trenches be made by those who have never stepped foot in them (or were only in them for 15 minutes), we will continue to crank out stupid children-- in rich schools and in poor-- while their parents continue to wonder why they can't compete with countries who actually care about education. These same children will go into the world demanding it to acquiesce to their needs, because that is what their schools and teachers and lawmakers have done for the past 18 years of their lives.
I will be working at another low-income middle school in another district next year. I will continue to write. I don't know the solution. But I will continue to try to find it.
And then fight for it.
Loudly.
Love,
Teach
Teach
