Several months ago, a friend from high school shared a video of several teens who made a public statement of what they would like, deserve, and should be taught. They were well spoken, honest, and forthright… and the teacher-part of my heart broke for them, got angry for myself and at the situation, and became frustrated because there is no easy solution.
I responded to her with these words:
I’m torn. I see them, I hear them, and I believe them. I feel their frustration, and much of it is mine, but I’m also one of the ones teaching them some of these lessons. I don’t know how to fix the problem, much like I don’t know how to fix the problems that exist within my own classroom, where earning an 8% on the latest test is seen as acceptable among peers and I am the one who is expected to put in more effort to ensure student success… They [the girls in the video] are fearless, and I feel powerless.
Being an amazing woman, my friend replied, assured me of my worth, and in the first conversation we had really had in years lead me to respond with the following:
Thanks for the words of encouragement. The video hit on a day that I was already feeling low. I am finishing a semester with some of the most unmotivated seniors I have ever seen. They are nothing like we were, and so the caliber of many of my lessons is far below where it should be.
The most amazing feeling is when they get it, really get it. Last week, my honors kids got it. We were reading “The Highwayman,” and as I finished the room was silent. Not the silence of confusion or sleep or way too many things consumed the night before, but the silence of understanding, and awe, and sorrow. They got it… and then they went to their second period classes and were replaced by my eight percenters, who honestly don’t give a damn. And a part of me died.
The video you shared grabbed that part, and I cried. I want to be like our great teachers were, and some days I am! Then there are the days where I struggle to get them to care at all. I’m stuck between what great education is and should be and having to justify why I have students who expect to play college ball but can’t even crawl their way through my class- all while knowing there is an even greater message to be taught.
She again replied with words that every teacher needs to hear. She assured me that I was doing what needed to be done. My students are receiving what I am offering them. They may chose not to act on it, but it will impact them in some way, at some time.
Our conversation was so simple, so heartfelt, and so real that it prompted us to say things that may have never been said otherwise. We talked about teaching and motherhood and feeling like we are failing at what we both love to do.
And I was inspired.
Maybe others need to hear that I feel frustrated a great deal of the time. Perhaps they feel frustrated, too.
So, here’s to us who teach where our words are not often heard. Here’s to us whose students love us, or hate us, or somewhere in between. Here’s to us who give of ourselves and the lessons we craft, for teaching truly is a craft, a gift, and a skill.
And here’s to Devon, for helping me to remember that, to see my self worth, and to remember that my words are of value. Here’s the blog I promised all those months ago.