Today was an interesting day. It was, theoretically, the last "first day of school" of my teaching career. Ten years ago, I had my first day in front of my own classroom. Scared absolutely right out of my mind, but confident because I had absolutely no idea what I didn't know.
Today I paid attention to myself. To the rapport I can establish in a few minutes time. The ease with which I joke with kids, welcome them, share information about myself and learn about them. Establish a learning environment. Teach them without them knowing that I'm teaching them. And it's hard....because I'm a very good teacher. I see it in myself now, where I spent years thinking I wasn't.
So...it'll be interesting to see where the year takes me. As of now, it's my last. But, I'm not sure that anyone (maybe me included) truly believes that.
Showing posts with label teaching. Show all posts
Showing posts with label teaching. Show all posts
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Sunday, June 1, 2008
Funeral for a friend
Yesterday was Craig Olson's funeral. Dr. O. I arrived at 8am, when only the funeral director and his assistants were there. I took comfort in this "business end", though I only watched. It's been important to me--to the point that it even decided what funeral home I'd work at--that Craig's funeral be personal, not business at any level. When other teachers who were helping and the musicians arrived, I walked to the pictures set up in the front of the gymnasium and looked at parts of Dr. O I knew and parts that I did not know. I did not notice him, his ashes, in the center of the room--his urn insignificant against the flowers and the large photograph taken of him in Africa while he was in the Peace Corps.
I helped set up and test microphones, and then I helped set up the food. I told Stacy "I'm short on money but not on time", justifying why I hadn't brought anything. She said, "Time is more valuable." We set up the blue and yellow table cloths and napkins and platters of food (a diabetic nightmare and so unbelievably Lutheran I think Dr. O's soul was rolling). At 8:40ish the family arrived to spend their time privately with Dr. O.
At 9am, I walked through the pictures again, and the urn caught my eye. I wished that I had seen it earlier so I could spend some private time with it, even (sorry if this offends) open it up and look inside. I've never seen cremains before, and I knew that of all people Dr. O wouldn't mind. He'd say "Crack it open, check it out." A learning experience is a learning experience. But, of course, I didn't. I did take my semi-private time, though, walking up in front of everyone there, touching the top of the urn and saying a few words to Dr. O.
I saw many former students at the visitation, and I kept waiting for the throngs of people to arrive. Surely someone as influential as Dr. O, as life-changing for so many, would have thousands of people at his funeral. The gym would be packed to overflowing. The police needed for traffic regulation. Parking a nightmare. But as the funeral began at 11am, the chairs numbering 420, were not full. The bleachers, holding 618 to a side, were nearly empty. All in all, a few less than 500 people were there. A perfectly respectable showing, but where were all the people? With between 300-500 people in each graduating class for the last nine years I've taught, there should be at least 50 from each class, surely? He'd worked in PL for twenty-two years. Where were the crowds?
The funeral began with Pastor Ron, the spouse of a teacher and a friend of Dr. O's, who agreed to do a secular service to respect Craig's non-belief in organized religion. The ceremony was musical, with O Fortuna being sung, the school song played by a brass quintet, and the school concert choir performing a lovely song a capella. Letters staff members had written to Dr. O upon learning of his illness were read, and several people delivered eulogies, including Dr. O's best friend Andy, the former superintendent of our district, and a friend of Dr. O's from college. When each finished speaking they stepped away from the podium and hugged Mary, Dr. O's wife.
At the end of the service after we filed out (I'm pretty sure I went out of order. Oops.) and went to the food area. I talked with a few people, but did not speak with the family again. And, at a little after 1pm, I left.
The amazing thing that happened was that Craig came to his own funeral. He was there, and I have never felt the presence of someone deceased as strongly. I've thought that I have, but it's one of those things that when it happens you *really* know it. Craig was there and he was all around us. He will not leave that school--it is his legacy. He is in every classroom, in the hallways, in the auditorium, in the storage closets, in the furniture. He is in the lights, in the bleachers, and in the railings. It sounds trite and the more I try to clarify the more hokey it'll sound, so I won't. But when I was in that gym with Craig's family and friends, in the building that he created and shed blood, sweat, tears and time for, he may as well have been sitting in a chair there. He was not in the urn, he was everywhere.
I helped set up and test microphones, and then I helped set up the food. I told Stacy "I'm short on money but not on time", justifying why I hadn't brought anything. She said, "Time is more valuable." We set up the blue and yellow table cloths and napkins and platters of food (a diabetic nightmare and so unbelievably Lutheran I think Dr. O's soul was rolling). At 8:40ish the family arrived to spend their time privately with Dr. O.
At 9am, I walked through the pictures again, and the urn caught my eye. I wished that I had seen it earlier so I could spend some private time with it, even (sorry if this offends) open it up and look inside. I've never seen cremains before, and I knew that of all people Dr. O wouldn't mind. He'd say "Crack it open, check it out." A learning experience is a learning experience. But, of course, I didn't. I did take my semi-private time, though, walking up in front of everyone there, touching the top of the urn and saying a few words to Dr. O.
I saw many former students at the visitation, and I kept waiting for the throngs of people to arrive. Surely someone as influential as Dr. O, as life-changing for so many, would have thousands of people at his funeral. The gym would be packed to overflowing. The police needed for traffic regulation. Parking a nightmare. But as the funeral began at 11am, the chairs numbering 420, were not full. The bleachers, holding 618 to a side, were nearly empty. All in all, a few less than 500 people were there. A perfectly respectable showing, but where were all the people? With between 300-500 people in each graduating class for the last nine years I've taught, there should be at least 50 from each class, surely? He'd worked in PL for twenty-two years. Where were the crowds?
The funeral began with Pastor Ron, the spouse of a teacher and a friend of Dr. O's, who agreed to do a secular service to respect Craig's non-belief in organized religion. The ceremony was musical, with O Fortuna being sung, the school song played by a brass quintet, and the school concert choir performing a lovely song a capella. Letters staff members had written to Dr. O upon learning of his illness were read, and several people delivered eulogies, including Dr. O's best friend Andy, the former superintendent of our district, and a friend of Dr. O's from college. When each finished speaking they stepped away from the podium and hugged Mary, Dr. O's wife.
At the end of the service after we filed out (I'm pretty sure I went out of order. Oops.) and went to the food area. I talked with a few people, but did not speak with the family again. And, at a little after 1pm, I left.
The amazing thing that happened was that Craig came to his own funeral. He was there, and I have never felt the presence of someone deceased as strongly. I've thought that I have, but it's one of those things that when it happens you *really* know it. Craig was there and he was all around us. He will not leave that school--it is his legacy. He is in every classroom, in the hallways, in the auditorium, in the storage closets, in the furniture. He is in the lights, in the bleachers, and in the railings. It sounds trite and the more I try to clarify the more hokey it'll sound, so I won't. But when I was in that gym with Craig's family and friends, in the building that he created and shed blood, sweat, tears and time for, he may as well have been sitting in a chair there. He was not in the urn, he was everywhere.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Tough transition in the making
Since I've been more vocal about my plans (what with having to brag about my unbelievable grades and how smart I am), there have been some unanticipated side effects: mainly, talking about quitting teaching is damn scary.
I had no idea how much of my identity was wrapped up in the word "teacher." It is me. When I'm in school. At home. On dates. On the street. I am a teacher, not as a profession, but as myself. When I give up teaching, I will be giving up a huge part of who I am. I'll fill that space, eventually, with something else, but it will never be the same and there's a strong feeling of loss there.
Next week is the last week of the trimester, and I'd be lying if I said that carrying twelve credits and teaching six classes and trying to keep up with grading and working with a student teacher (and training for a half-marathon, and...I could go on and on) wasn't totally kicking my ass. I am one hundred percent beaten down right now. And though I am being careful to take time for myself, it comes at a cost that eventually has to be paid up.
I had no idea how much of my identity was wrapped up in the word "teacher." It is me. When I'm in school. At home. On dates. On the street. I am a teacher, not as a profession, but as myself. When I give up teaching, I will be giving up a huge part of who I am. I'll fill that space, eventually, with something else, but it will never be the same and there's a strong feeling of loss there.
Next week is the last week of the trimester, and I'd be lying if I said that carrying twelve credits and teaching six classes and trying to keep up with grading and working with a student teacher (and training for a half-marathon, and...I could go on and on) wasn't totally kicking my ass. I am one hundred percent beaten down right now. And though I am being careful to take time for myself, it comes at a cost that eventually has to be paid up.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
From English teacher, part 2
Last Saturday I went out for lunch with a former student, Zach. I first met Zach during his senior year in the winter of 2004, just a few short months after his younger brother had been killed in a car accident. One of our first conversations was about his brother because the first class assignment is on The Scarlet Ibis, a story about a boy and his brother's death. I remember that I wanted to give him the option to do an alternative assignment, but when I was talking to him I couldn't look him in the eye.
Zach became one of my favorite students. Teachers try not to have favorites, but the fact is it's just like any other type of job where you get along with some people really well, just click with them. Zach and I have a lot in common, and the strength he showed after his brother's death taught me a lot. He turned in an 'assignment' to me once, an essay about his brothers (there are five boys in all) and it still today is the most moving piece of writing I've ever read by a student. He became my student aide, and we've kept in touch since his graduation in 2005.
When we were chatting over lunch, he told me that I had impacted him and that I was one of the best teachers he had ever had. Let me tell you...that means something. I know I can't change every life I encounter--I teach almost 500 kids a year--but to know that I did change a life, for the better, gives me pause.
There is an honor in the title "teacher." I have always identified myself as a teacher, and I hope that even in my capacity as a funeral director I will be able to "teach"--to help people look at something in a new way, to guide them, to give them the tools and knowledge they need in order to become something more than what they were before I met them. But, there's a huge difference between spending a year with someone and cultivating that level of trust and admiration required for real teaching to take place. Can I do it with someone who is in crisis? In a few days? I don't know. And if I can't, it's the number one thing I'll miss about teaching. Hands down.
Zach became one of my favorite students. Teachers try not to have favorites, but the fact is it's just like any other type of job where you get along with some people really well, just click with them. Zach and I have a lot in common, and the strength he showed after his brother's death taught me a lot. He turned in an 'assignment' to me once, an essay about his brothers (there are five boys in all) and it still today is the most moving piece of writing I've ever read by a student. He became my student aide, and we've kept in touch since his graduation in 2005.
When we were chatting over lunch, he told me that I had impacted him and that I was one of the best teachers he had ever had. Let me tell you...that means something. I know I can't change every life I encounter--I teach almost 500 kids a year--but to know that I did change a life, for the better, gives me pause.
There is an honor in the title "teacher." I have always identified myself as a teacher, and I hope that even in my capacity as a funeral director I will be able to "teach"--to help people look at something in a new way, to guide them, to give them the tools and knowledge they need in order to become something more than what they were before I met them. But, there's a huge difference between spending a year with someone and cultivating that level of trust and admiration required for real teaching to take place. Can I do it with someone who is in crisis? In a few days? I don't know. And if I can't, it's the number one thing I'll miss about teaching. Hands down.
Friday, February 15, 2008
From English teacher
I have a student teacher for the next few months. It's an interesting position to be in: to be leaving the profession while trying to guide someone into getting into it. He knows that I'm not much longer for the teaching world.
Yesterday he had a total meltdown. Epic variety. The same meltdown that every teacher has had at least once: where he wondered if he was meant to teach and thought about quitting but couldn't quite manage to quit because of that pesky work ethic. Been there, done that. He came back today and had a much better day, which is typically what happens in the teaching world.
The struggle for me is to convince him that teaching is a fantastic profession; that it is noble and valuable and rewarding and that if you are a good teacher you absolutely should be in the classroom..........without convincing myself of it. Trust me, I'm quite a persuasive person. And when I talk to him I think "I'm right. Teaching IS fantastic." And then I wonder why I'm leaving. And I mean really why I'm leaving...because I don't think I'm completely being honest with myself about that. I think a part of me wants out because if I stay in teaching much longer then it means that I'm really getting older. I don't know. There's something there, for sure. But when I tell him that I love to teach, I'm not lying. All of the things I say about teaching--the good things--are true. So why am I leaving?
Yesterday he had a total meltdown. Epic variety. The same meltdown that every teacher has had at least once: where he wondered if he was meant to teach and thought about quitting but couldn't quite manage to quit because of that pesky work ethic. Been there, done that. He came back today and had a much better day, which is typically what happens in the teaching world.
The struggle for me is to convince him that teaching is a fantastic profession; that it is noble and valuable and rewarding and that if you are a good teacher you absolutely should be in the classroom..........without convincing myself of it. Trust me, I'm quite a persuasive person. And when I talk to him I think "I'm right. Teaching IS fantastic." And then I wonder why I'm leaving. And I mean really why I'm leaving...because I don't think I'm completely being honest with myself about that. I think a part of me wants out because if I stay in teaching much longer then it means that I'm really getting older. I don't know. There's something there, for sure. But when I tell him that I love to teach, I'm not lying. All of the things I say about teaching--the good things--are true. So why am I leaving?
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