My Side of the Door

DISCLAIMER:  I am eyeball-deep in grading; though my mind is teeming with topics, I'm a little pressed for time this week.  As a result, for this week's post I'm giving you an updated version of one of my essays from my 2000 project to write an essay a week.  In the 13 years since I wrote the original, I'm proud that my core beliefs are still intact, although I am a little more tired and ragged around the edges these days.  I hope you'll still recognize some of me here.  Thanks for reading, and I promise I'll have something fresh next week.  cjw

 

According to the American Heritage Dictionary, to “teach” means “to impart knowledge, especially as an occupation.”  That seems reasonable at first glance, especially to someone who has never worked in the profession.  But from my side of the classroom door, I have to wonder:  How could they have missed the mark so completely?

 Perhaps there was a time when that was a thorough definition of a teacher.  That would have been in the days of one-room schools, when disciplinary problems were practically non-existent and schoolwork was so curriculum-driven that girls often got certificates to teach at the age of 16 or 17, after completing their own high school program.  There was no pedagogy, little theory, certainly no paradigm choices.  There were no legislative agendas squeezing at our souls.  Test scores were relevant to each individual student, a measure of whether or not the child would graduate, not a weapon raised to strike at nearly mortally wounded schools.  Neither the subjects nor the students themselves were as complex and sophisticated as they are now.

 To be a teacher today, one must have a thick skin and a tender heart, without being a complete sucker.  A teacher needs the multiple sets of eyes and ears that were once only allotted to mothers.  Having total mastery of the content area is secondary to having consuming enthusiasm and passion for the act of teaching.  We must be creative, conscientious, calm, capable, and controlled without being controlling.  A good teacher will do the job; an outstanding teacher will love and live it, seeing potential lessons and methods not only at school, but also in everyday life. 

 And these are only the qualities that we must have---the roles are myriad, complex, and intimidating, but rewarding if accepted with joy and not just tolerated.  Often we are not so much teachers as we are cheerleaders, enthusing over what has been accomplished and encouraging continued success.  Of course we have become disciplinarians, too, but those outside the profession don’t always know how often that involves counseling as well:  a certain knowledge of psychology can help us explain to Dude why he simply cannot expect to make an acceptable grade if he only attends school on Fridays.  I spend a frustrating amount of time each year teaching common sense and courtesy to high school students:  don’t put on make-up during class, set books on the floor rather than dropping them from a standing position, please don’t interrupt, don’t touch anything on my desk, bring your own supplies….they are sometimes adolescent savages, albeit likeable ones.  Most perplexing of all is the fact that almost every student needs a teacher to fill an additional role, different from what his peers need:  a parent, a friend, a confidant, a policeman, a confessor, a mediator, a coach, a comedian, a safe harbor.  It’s even good to have some medical skills at our disposal to bandage wounded limbs and wounded souls, to save a life that we didn’t bring into this world but would give our own to rescue. 

 Why then would anyone choose such a harried, unpredictable profession?  Why would we willingly want to look chaos, confusion, or even horror in the eye and know that all of society is expecting us to bring light to the darkness?  It may take years to articulate the answers, but our spirits have known it all along.  If we are honorable and noble at what we do, from chaos comes a whole, from confusion comes enlightenment, from horror comes strength.  We become creators in the same sense of those who turn out cars in Detroit or corn in Iowa or movies in Hollywood.  But our creations are non-consumable, and the influence of what we create is too far-reaching to ever be measured by a dollar sign.  We do it, then, for altruism, for posterity, but most of all, because we were called by God, by our spirits who wouldn't be sustained by a corner office and financial windfalls.

 Without a doubt, we have the opportunity to observe a broader range of human experience than any other profession.  We see not only the joy of learning, but also the harder lessons that perhaps live longer and teach us more.  A lifetime of emotions is played out in front of us daily.  There are happy grins, rueful grins, ornery grins, and tearful grins in just the course of an hour at times.  One child can make me cry because she quotes me in her valedictorian speech; another can cause the same reaction because he mutilates himself, rubbing burn marks into his skin with an eraser to ease his self-hatred.  I’ve seen the exuberance of winning and the despair of separation and divorce.  I’ve read work so tangled-up grammatically that I’ve laughed myself sick, never letting on that I find the assignment hilarious if it was written with honesty.  I hear ridiculous stories, private worries, and wild excuses that would challenge anybody’s credibility.  Often I hear “I can’t,” “I won’t,” and “Why do I have to?”  Less often do I hear “Thank you,” “This is a great class,” or “I love you” with a literal ear, but I hear it figuratively with a look or a smile or an assignment done with care.  I’ve felt anger, pain, and helplessness, but I’ve also felt hope, happiness, and success---both theirs and mine.

 We are risk-takers and rule-breakers, adventurers and explorers. We are artists and accountants, ever creating and assessing.  We are architects of ideas and de-bunkers of myths and misinformation.  We are whatever we are called upon to be, but most of all we are what are called to do---teach.