This is how I felt about teaching in 2014, when I originally wrote - but never published - this piece (more later on how I feel about it now; stay tuned).
Lately I am finding that I like the idea of being a teacher far more than actually being a teacher. And the disconnect between the two - the idea and the being - is growing louder and louder in my head. I teach 8th grade language arts, and that is a really, really good idea. I know not everyone agrees. Mostly people tell me that they could never imagine spending their days with 13- and 14-year-olds, but I find that middle-schoolers really are the most tolerable of all the age options for teaching. I subbed for a first grade teacher last year so she could go observe another teacher, and it really was the longest hour and a half of my life. The tattling and the drama and the hugs and the all around neediness were just too much for me. Don't get me wrong... I like elementary-aged kids just fine. I just don't want to teach them.
At the other end of the spectrum, I've also taught every level of high school, and eee-gads, I have no desire to return to it. High school kids are either 1) smarter than me, and therefore annoying; or 2) consumed by apathy, and therefore annoying AND frustrating. No, thank you.
Middle school is where it's at. They're still young enough to not think that every single adult they know is a lame idiot, and they're old enough to have really interesting conversations with. They can really be quite fun.
In theory.
Sometimes I hear people complain about society undervaluing teachers, and I guess that's true in a financial sense. But I've never heard anyone belittle what I do. Mostly other people seem to like the idea of me being a teacher as much as I do. I recently posted on facebook that one of my students had, upon hearing her consequence for plagiarism, threatened to kill herself and leave a note on the body that it was all my fault. The outpouring of love and support from my community was both astonishing and expected. As was the gratitude to me for choosing to be a teacher. See, people love the idea of their friends being teachers. Especially people who are committed to making a difference in the world. They thank us for being teachers and reassure us that we are altering our students' futures and remind us to keep standing for our kids and doing what's best for them even when it's hard and it hurts. It's inspiring, really... this idea of what teachers do. It's what has me cling to this career like a cat climbing the curtains. It's just such a good idea.
I love the idea of being a voice for what's possible in teenagers' lives. I love the idea of being in the trenches with the kids as they learn to express themselves in writing. I love the idea of preparing kids for the challenges ahead and equipping them with the tools (personal and educational) they'll need to surmount them. I love the idea of being a role model for kids, showing them what it looks like to make mistakes and learn from them, to resolve conflicts peacefully and powerfully, to treat others with respect, no matter what. I love the idea of planning challenging and engaging units of study, and providing quality feedback on students' work so they can continually grow and improve. I love the idea of holding kids accountable to high standards and giving them the gift of expecting a lot from them. I love the idea of being part of the journey of first-generation college students. I love the idea of constantly reflecting on my teaching practice and getting better and better every year. I love the idea of being someone who won't tolerate bullying and will always make sure kids feel safe in my classroom. I love the idea of saying to every person I meet: I am a teacher. I love it.
And now, the disconnect.
I have, at this very moment, approximately 8 assignments waiting to be graded (that's after having graded 6 assignments in the last four days). Sometimes I get so backed up with grading that I throw a bunch of it away and justify by saying, "it was still important that they got that practice." When I do grade assignments and pass them back, I often watch kids flip through the stack and throw it all directly into the recycle bin. Jerks.
I am starting new units in all three of my classes next week. I do not have a single lesson plan prepared.
I am irritated with nearly all of my students by the end of nearly every day.
I want to scream and scream and scream and scream every single time a kid asks me a question that I literally JUST ANSWERED when I gave the directions two seconds earlier.
I spend every day feeling as though no one listens to me, ever.
I am irrationally upset with myself and my students when they don't immediately master something I just taught them.
Some of my students get on my nerves. A lot.
I have no idea how to hold kids accountable without sounding like an asshole. And maybe not just sounding like one. I kind of think I am one.
I think nearly all of my lessons are super boring and kind of confusing and I'm the worst explainer that ever lived.
My students don't think I'm as funny as they should think I am.
Most days I don't feel like I actually teach anything at all. I just assign a bunch of work and get annoyed when they don't understand how to do it.
And, still, I cling I cling I cling I cling to the idea. Today I clung to the idea when I shared with all the 8th graders at our daily community meeting that a student had recently had the courage to tell me she felt like I hated her. I told them I knew that if one student felt that way, there must be others, and I apologized for focusing on my frustrations with them rather than the things I appreciate about them. I announced that we'd be starting a new homeroom ritual where students can write appreciations for each other on sticky notes, and I promised to let every single one of them know at least one thing I appreciate about them sometime in the next week.
I clung to the idea today when I refused to let a student give up on finding the counterclaim for his persuasive research paper on the Holocaust and I let him pout and get upset and say over and over that he didn't understand what I meant, and then 20 minutes later come back to me with a beautifully written counterclaim and refutation. I clung to the idea even as I whispered, "I knew you could do it," and watched him roll his eyes in response.
I clung to the idea today when I told a student who was insisting she needed help but was refusing to listen to my coaching: "You have two choices right now. You can go back to your seat and keep adding things to your disorganized paper and blame me later for not helping you, or you can listen to my advice, use the outline you already created, and follow that outline to create a well-organized paper. It's up to you."
Every day, I cling. I cling to this idea of what teaching should be and could be and only very occasionally is. I cling to the idea that if I can just get better at it, if I open myself up to more coaching and more learning and more professional growing, the reality will move closer and closer to my ideal. I cling to those moments that hint at what's possible and hope that tomorrow there will be more of those moments than today.
And so, I continue to cling.
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