Category: What it is all about

On a Personal Note

Teaching brings peace in personal crisis. This is an observation I’ve been making since September, and it’s one that I’ll add to my collection of general truths about this profession that transcend buzzwords, initiatives, and mandates of all kinds.

In recent months, my life has been uprooted and changed before my eyes in many ways. As we all come to understand at one time or another, the challenges that life provides us can carry with them a bludgeoning impact. (An impact, some might say, that causes bloggers to update far less frequently than normal…) When processing loss, even getting out of bed in the morning can take tremendous effort. But once you get out of bed, you can go to work. That’s what I’ve been doing–going to work. And in so many ways, the familiar routine and positivity created and received by those who teach has sustained me. Uplifted me.

I walk into work, usually joking all the way with my carpooling colleague Ms. D, and I see a student population that operates much like a family. I watch kids roughhouse, laugh, support one another, yell and grin and hug. The eternal energy and effervescence of youth is unstoppable as the day begins and the halls fill with a rowdy but happy noise, and I can’t help but feed off of the energy that spills off of them. Students that I teach currently and those that I’ve taught in years past smile and say “Hi, Ms. H!!” like saying hi is a new and incredible thing. And I get to share books with them. I get to write poetry with them. I get to challenge their thinking and watch glazed processing turn to intent puzzling turn to flickering realization. I get to teach them to speak and reason and create.

In dark times when I feel nearly out of control of my own life, my role as a teacher reminds me that it is my job to reassure students who are nervous, to hoist up the students who try to give up, and to bring words out of students who might otherwise conceal themselves in a shroud of apathy. Good teachers get so much trust and faith from their students. And it just reminds me that if I am worthy of a young person’s trust, I can probably trust myself too. This profession gives us the honor of being the looked-to, steadying force for young adults that need us. And when life’s calamities make us feel a little broken for a while, we can remember that we are the healers, and–especially with the help of one another–we can Teach ourselves how to cope, strengthen, and self-renew.

Words are medicine, art is life.

Speaking of Commencement

 I was given the great honor of being chosen as the commencement speaker for this year’s graduation ceremony at the school where I teach. While I was, of course, flattered and excited by the opportunity, I was also a bit daunted by the task initially. Graduation speeches are so often overly cliche, irrelevant to graduates’ actual lives, or simply forgettable. I really wanted to craft something that would transcend the pitfalls of the typical commencement speech, and say something worth saying. As teachers, I think all of us have a desire to pass on something memorable to our students. In the classroom, sometimes it works like a charm and sometimes it comes out as confusing gobbeldygook–it depends on the day! But at a graduation ceremony, it has to come out right, and I hoped that I’d be able to make it so.

Luckily, I was struck by inspiration when I saw a video showcasing a quote from Dr. Neil De Grasse Tyson, that hit a deep, resonating chord with me and sent me on my way to craft a speech that helped turn my love of stories and my love of science into one message for living, one that I was proud to share with the Class of 2012, their families, and many former and future students. It is a once in a lifetime opportunity to speak at a graduation, and the moment felt perfect to me. Something about being surrounded by my seniors from this year, as well as recieving enthusiastic congrats from last year’s returning seniors and the students I’ll have in my senior classes next year really created a feeling of continuity, of community, and family. Schools are more than just gathering places–things happen in them that unify young people and those who mentor them. 

The transcript of my June 3rd commencement speech is found below for (A) other educators who may be looking for an example commencement speech, (B) students who may want to look back and consider the words spoken on their graduation day, and (C) simple posterity. Thank you, Class of 2012, for this awesome chance to fill a special role in our school and local community!

Good afternoon! You know, as a teacher, I am very used to addressing young people, but today I get an introduction and applause? Man—I really don’t think I can go “back to before” now that this has happened. Thank you—that was lovely.

Pretty much the moment I became a teacher, I had people, for a whole variety of reasons, I’m sure, asking me why. You know: “Why did you become an English teacher? Why would you want to be that?” And while I’ve got many answers for that question, the most prominent one is this: I’m fascinated by the power of stories. When we read a book or view a film, we inhabit another life for a little while, and we see places, feel things, and think in ways that we might have never otherwise imagined. Stories have always played a role in forming our culture, and they still do—just look at the phenomenon surrounding The Hunger Games, Harry Potter, or The Lord of the Rings. Everyone is able to tap into the magic of story and gain something from it. Personally, many of my first revelations about life came from my incessant viewing of the original Star Wars trilogy on VHS. I will never forget the tiny, green, and wise creature Yoda explaining to the young, overeager Luke Skywalker how he could harness power from the world around him. “My ally is The Force,” he tells Luke. “And a powerful ally it is. Life creates it, makes it grow. Its energy surrounds us and binds us. Luminous beings are we, not this crude matter.” He pinches Luke’s shoulder at that last part. As a kid, I was fascinated by this idea that people could be more. You know… more than just a body, but rather a “luminous being” filled with the life force of everything around us. Of course, that’s just a story. But that’s the thing—while stories aren’t true, they point us toward a deeper understanding of truth and reality.

If we look closely, we discover that the world is full of metaphor—full of symbols to read and interpret. Sometimes these symbols are woven into a poem that I might share with my third hour class; other times they appear out here in our lives for us to observe. Often, things from the natural world inspire common symbols that are universally understood. One of these symbols is the star. Stars, as we all know, often stand for the ideas of excellence, or fate. Destiny. You can read this meaning ten thousand different times, from a certain Shakespearean play, where Romeo tells Benvolio “my mind misgives some consequence yet hanging in the stars” to the 2011 hit song “Written in the Stars” by hip hop artist Tinie Tempah. Stars also appear everywhere at graduations, on cards and balloons, signifying all that the graduates are destined to achieve. Stars, and humanity’s endless fascination with them, hint at that fact that our universe, too, can be a story in itself.

There’s perhaps nobody better to illustrate this idea than celebrated American astrophysicist and science ambassador Dr. Neil deGrasse Tyson. In an interview for TIME magazine, Dr. deGrasse Tyson was asked the challenging question “What’s the most astounding fact you can share with us about the universe?” His answer was something that really resonated with me, and I’d like to share it with you, Class of 2012. He said that the most astounding fact is that “the same atoms that comprise life on earth, the atoms that make up the human body […] carbon, nitrogen, oxygen, and all the fundamental ingredients of life”—are the same atoms that comprise the stars. He continues, saying, “…I look up at the night sky, and I know that yes, we are part of this universe, we are in this universe, but perhaps more important than both of those facts is that the universe is in us. When I reflect on that fact, I look up. Many people feel small, because they’re small and the universe is big, but I feel big, because my atoms came from those stars.” Now if that isn’t astounding, I don’t know what is. The same elements that make you, graduates, are the elements of the whole beautiful starry sky. That means that you are a star, literally! You are a luminous being—so much more than a crude shell. You are a part of a legacy as old as eternity, and you have a precious blip of time in which to fulfill it. And this exact moment in your life, as you transition from being a high school student to being an adult in our society, is the perfect time to consider it.

Now, by nature, stars develop, shift, and slowly scatter throughout the universe. Some of you will become scientists, some storytellers. Some will till the earth and help it grow. Some will negotiate the fast-paced obstacle course of economic markets. Some of you will invent new forms of cuisine. You might pledge yourself to art or medicine, education or religion, or service to your country. Or maybe you just want to earn an honest wage and live a simple life. We each pursue our own directions—like the universe, we are always expanding, shifting, changing and moving, as forces like this ceremony here today, act upon us. Today, you are an emerging star. You can feel yourself on the precipice of the unknown.

While this big moment is thrilling, it can also bring with it some very big uncertainties: things like, “How do I make use of this time I’ve been given, this space in front of me? How do I know what to do? How do I matter?” When we face these huge questions, even we stars are in danger of feeling small, insignificant, or lost. For many of you, this is your first solo journey, your first time being the decider of your own fate without anyone else directing your path. Before you cross this stage, I want to offer you a starchart, a bit of guidance to help you find your place in this incredible universe. This comes in the form of two things to remember.

The first thing to remember is that you are not only a star, but a star with a backpack full of useful things. A good question to ask yourself in any moment of decision is “Well, what have I got?” After twelve years of education, of algebra and literature and biology and history, you have a basic knowledge of the world around you. And after years’ worth of touchdown passes, opening nights, robot building, writing to meet deadlines, speaking as a part of your student organization, practicing the perfect serve, free throw, goal, or pace, or mastering songs with your instrument, voice, or dancing body, you’ve begun to taste what it’s like to create an effect that impacts others. And after surviving adolescence, you have started to explore those experiences that make up this thing called being human—the passions, the broken hearts, the wild joy, the dizzying freedom of choice, the pride of achievement, the pain of disappointment, and the restoration of hope and healing. You’ve been through these things, and you will recognize them when life sends them your way again.

So you’ve got quite a bit in your backpack, really… knowledge, skills, achievements, and the priceless insight that will one day, when you’re WAY older than me, turn into wisdom. That was the whole point of your childhood and your education—to make sure that you set off into life with a bit of a starter kit in your metaphorical backpack. Some things were handed to you, others you picked up yourself along the way. That’s the first comfort as you face this oncoming challenge of living up to your own universal legacy. You’ll always carry your past with you, and if you use it as a tool, you’ll be prepared for anything.

The second thing: If you still feel small as you face this expanse of universe before you, consider the idea, that you, young stars, are not alone in the cosmos. You’ll remember that Dr. deGrasse Tyson—the guy that reminded us of that astounding fact that people and stars are essentially made up of the same ingredients, said that he feels big instead of insignificant when he thinks about the sky. In that same interview, he goes on to tell us why. He says, “There’s a level of connectivity. That’s really what you want in life. You wanna feel connected. You wanna feel relevant. You wanna feel like you’re a participant in the activities and the goings-on around you. That’s precisely what we are, just by being alive.” Think about that and how amazing that is—that each of us has an intrinsic connection to the universe, and therefore to life, to all creation, and to one another. Sometimes we get so caught up in ourselves that we forget that fact.

When you go home today, and you begin the string of graduation celebrations with family and friends, the conversations will be in that language of individual achievement. Relatives will bombard you with many questions that all essentially mean “What are YOU going to do with YOUR life?” as if you are a comet rather than a star, with only one possible trajectory. You know, one shot… and it’s all on you. That can be a lot of pressure!  And while you might smile at Uncle Bill when he claps you on the back and says you’re headed for great things, you might find yourself lying awake at night wondering, “What will I really do with my life? Am I making the right choice? Am I heading in the right direction?” If and when that happens, remember that if we are all made of stardust, that old phrase “Reach for the stars” doesn’t actually mean to strain toward a single goal, but rather to reach out to each other. The possibilities of life are indeed infinite, but it’s a certainty that, just as the night sky is breathtaking because of the sheer number of stars overhead, our lives gain meaning because of the connections we make together. You can feel it here, in the overwhelming love that the all the people out here have for all the people up here. It’s part of our nature to be connected, and those connections give us power. So if you can find a way to serve others, to hold their hands along your way, you’ll no doubt find your individual path in the process.

So I’ll leave you with the astounding fact that there is a star in every last one of you, and I wish you blessings and luck as you find your places in the universe. Welcome to adulthood.

Top Ten

The school that I work for has the tradition of holding a formal banquet to honor the top ten students in the graduating class and a group of ten influential teachers as chosen by the students. This year, I was lucky and surprised to be chosen by Miss D., a shining young literary scholar who took my AP Literature and Composition class as well as my Theater Arts class this year. It was interesting and enjoyable to say the least to meet the parents of these fine young individuals, to get a nod from administration, to eat delicious food, and to see everyone dressed up in formal attire..

It really is special to attend a banquet that honors outstanding academic achievement as well as the role that teachers play in creating the atmosphere for that achievement to occur. The honors and accolades earned by this group of students was impressive to say the least, but what made the occasion memorable was how honestly and precisely the students were able to pinpoint, in their brief speeches, ways in which a particular teacher was able to spark something important in them, to light their path on the journey of self-discovery. Each student needs something a little different to discover his or her genius, and that made me sit and ponder the vast diversity in teaching styles, personalities, and types of expertise among teachers. As much as popular culture may at times reinforce a single image of what “the teacher” looks like or does, real teachers have extremely individualized ways of doing what they do. All teachers have an individual, unique potential to really strike a particular type of student. Skilled teachers are able to engage every kid in their classroom. But really clicking with a student to the point that he or she views you as truly influential? That’s something rare… and has much to do with the chemistry between a student’s way of seeing the world and the unique style and spirit of the teacher whom they admire.

Thinking about the fact that I clicked with one of these outstanding students, that I sparked something within her, makes me feel proud to be her teacher. It also makes me feel proud to be a teacher, since we have such an exceptional opportunity to connect to other human beings in a meaningful way by virtue of our profession. And the best thing is that each new year presents new opportunities for unique connections, as the cards are reshuffled and both students and teachers hopefully anticipate a lucky hand.

Top Ten 2012 009

Teaching through the Storm: Greetings from Wisconsin

As all of America knows by now, a political storm has been brewing in Wisconsin over budget alterations and collective bargaining rights for workers in the public sector. To put it mildly, this has influenced the morale in my work environment. For the past month, I’ve felt it creeping, seeping, crashing, flooding, and cascading in from every direction: disillusionment. People are uneasy–conflicting political passions, fears of lost jobs and lost wages, uncertainty about the future of public education in general, and a confusing mixture of supportive/scathing commentary from spectators all contribute to the tumult evident in most public school teachers’ eyes nowadays. And it’s been in my eyes, too. I hate the heavy haze that has overtaken an institution that is normally so full of life, ideas, and energy.

Since I’ve already sent many words to many people expressing my political views, I’ve come here to disclose my personal views… the things that transend red, white, and blue and get to the core of the matter. I’ll be the first to admit that I am a young professional, and do not yet possess the same range of experience that some of my colleagues do. For that reason, I’m not going to pretend to know the history of union/anti-union movements in this or any other country. I’m going to talk about what I do have expertise in–what I know within my heart.

I do know that young teachers deserve jobs, mid-career teachers deserve stability, and veteran teachers deserve the inspiration to teach until they need to walk with a cane… maybe even beyond. Teachers are an integral, foundational part of our society. Still, we find ourselves suddenly in the center of a negative energy maelstrom. It’s next to impossible not to get sucked in.

In this and other emotionally trying times, it can be hard to come to work with the same zest that usually comes naturally while teaching. Still, I have to say that my students have been the ones helping me weather the storm. This past week in particular, I have been focusing on how bright and laughter-filled my teaching days really are.  No matter what the bureaucracy is doing, no matter how unattractive my career becomes, I have to say that the essence of teaching–that ancient tradition of learners gathering to meet with a learned mentor–transcends all that.  I’m having trouble articulating it accurately, but my guess is that those of you who teach have an idea of what I mean.  It should be, and often is, a joyful profession. I think about the way I feel when I walk into school and I see my students give me a respectful, smiling nod. I think about the students who pop their heads in the door to wave a completed assignment at me with a goofy grin. I think about the support of my colleagues who will stop to listen and trade stories after school as I walk in and shake my head. Teaching has made me part of an extended family that includes my college cohort, students both past and present, the sisterhood-like department that I am privileged to work within, and my fellow educators everywhere. You can’t put a price on that.

I can’t pay my bills on smiles and fullfillment–that much is certainly clear. Despite that, though, I’m stubbornly proclaiming that it’s impossible for this or any other governmental initiative to disenchant me out of the job that I was called to do. I’m here to stay, and I hope that my Wisconsin teaching family can hang on with me, brave the storm, and cruise into work proudly every day. I pray that the winds will change and that teaching will become a fairly compensated, healthy career choice for aspiring and current educators. In the meantime, it may help to reflect on the things that we do have–the joy of teaching young people, the opportunity to change lives, and a spirit fueled by love of discovery. We need to cherish and protect that. Let’s hold each other up. We are still a strong, intelligent group of people who have the power to affect positive change. Besides, we live here in Wisconsin… bring on the blizzard. We’re not going anywhere.

I wrote the following for NCTE’s “Then and Now” project. You can read it (and other teacher stories!) by clicking here, or by reading the italics below.  It seems a fitting note on which to end this post:

I’ll never forget the wave of certainty that washed over me in an urban classroom, packed wall to wall with eighth graders, on September 16th, 2008. That was it. I knew I was a teacher. From that first day of student teaching, I felt a joy that motivated me—the joy of hearing students read their writing in their own voices, of seeing them debate and uphold new ideas. I witnessed, with captivation, emerging power in my students to impact their communities and become incredible scholars. Since then, I’ve learned thousands of things about effective practices, classroom management, curriculum design, and assessment. I’ve changed to respond to different schools, students, and initiatives. Looking to the future, I know my career will be an evolution. But even after all the changes, the joy stays consistent. That unchanging facet of teaching is the thread holding the shifting world of my career together.

Three Weeks with Morrie

I finished out the final three weeks with my senior contemporary literature class reading Tuesdays with Morrie by Mitch Albom. While Albom’s work is not generally my literary cup of tea, my students were crying for something that didn’t require intensive interpretation and decoding to understand, particularly at the tail end of their senior year. So, I thought something a little “lighter” might be fitting.

To counterbalance the easier reading, I decided to ramp up my in-class expectations and designed a complex unit that included student-led thematic discussions each day, student-created activities to explore the ideas presented in the text, and nightly journaling [this expectation had a plethora of options, including graphic novel style, collage, poetry, and interviews alongside traditional reader response writing]. For the final three weeks, my students essentially ran the class. And I must say, they did a mighty fine job of it.

Turning over the power and control in one’s classroom is a scary thing, but I thought it was fitting for seniors–they are soon to be considered adults in their society, and should be able to act as such. As one of my own mentors is fond of saying, “It should be every teacher’s goal to become obsolete.” By the time they graduate, my students should no longer need me. They should be able to do everything that I’ve taught them all by themselves. And, for me, they truly did.

The most incredible thing about this unit was the response that my students had to the text itself. If you haven’t read it, Tuesdays with Morrie is the true story of a man and his relationship with his dying former professor, Morrie. Morrie also happens to be a truly remarkable soul who chooses to turn his slow death from ALS into his final thesis–lessons on living. The book chronicles Morrie’s discussions with Mitch, touching on topics from marriage to money. Morrie’s overall message is very simple and pure: Love never fails. Be who you are. Give of yourself to others. Create your own culture.  To me, these are messages with great value, but I was worried that my class might reject them as “too sappy” or even unrealistic. In fact, they acted quite the opposite.

My kids took to Morrie like a prophet. Every day there were new reactions to the musings of this old man, declarations of “I never even thought of that before” and “this book is changing the way I look at my life.” There were tears, there were public apologies and vows, there were major life choices being turned around. As the reading progressed, our class, too, became centered around discussions on How to Live. I got inspired and required the students to commit a random act of kindness, leave behind a Pay it Forward card and journal about it. The unit was a huge success and produced some of the best writing, thinking, and discussion I saw all year long. Many students even thanked me for including the book in my curriculum–even those who fought me on every single other text.

What this leaves me thinking about is the thin line that we walk as educators between academic directors and life coaches. In our Morrie unit, my students started engaging me personally on discussion topics like “What is real love?” or “How do you have a fulfilling life” or “Why do we need to forgive others?”  While I am a public school teacher and neccesarily skirted any religious-based theories, I did give them my ideas. They seemed fascinated and thirsty for someone to tell them about what is truly important, and how to live life the “right” way. As I always do, I stayed very open in my own contributions–there’s no ONE right way to live, but I was intrigued at how closely they listened to the story of how I chose my career in comparison to my lectures on how to avoid a comma splice. :)

I am the first one to demand that quality teaching be based off of rigorous, objectives-based academics. Still, when you really talk about what it means to be a teacher, things are a little more complex. A big part of this job is letting students know that you also support them as people, that you’re there to cheer them on, guide them, and support them.

As I congratulated my students on graduation night, I knew that the hugs were not for the semicolons. They were for giving knowledge as well as wisdom. How blessed am I to be in a career where I can share so much of myself with others? Very.

I agree with Morrie: “The way you get meaning into your life is to devote yourself to loving others, devote yourself to your community around you, and devote yourself to creating something that gives you purpose and meaning” (43). I consider it my privilege to have guided this first group of 12th graders through a full school year.

Congratulations, Class of 2010!

“Ms. H, these answers are all right here in the text.”

Let us pause for a monumental moment of celebration. All year long, I’ve been working with my seniors on their ability to infer, interpret, and analyze. It used to be that if the answer to a question was not fact-based or found right in the book at hand, my students could not handle it. After months and months of discussion training, open questions, and constantly asking students to find and explain their own truth, they are finally getting to be pros at thinking for themselves. (I think they might even like it!)

I realized this today when I gave my students a simple worksheet that featured background information about the history of African American oral tradition. It featured questions afterward that were more of a “reading check”–each answer could be found on the sheet without much trouble. As my students began to work on it, they were actually confused by it. One raised her hand and said, “Ms. H… these answers are all right here in the text.”

“I know,” I replied, “I’m just checking to see if you understood the reading.”

“Really?” she asked, “That’s it?”

More kids started to look bewildered and added things like, “So… this isn’t asking what we think; it’s just asking for the simple answer?”

“Yes,” I told them, cheering in my head. “But don’t worry, tomorrow will be back to normal with some nice questions that are impossible to answer in less than a paragraph.” They smiled and groaned–but I know they were secretly relieved.

I finally did it. They are finally starting to think and crave the opportunity to give and support their own ideas. HOORAY! Once you get there, you can’t go back. Once a mind is opened, it gets sick of simple data processing with no heart and no meaning.

Top Five Cinema Hero Teachers

I remember back in my teacher preparation program, we were cautioned against beliveing in the idea of the “hero teacher” that gets glorified in the occasional movie that comes along with a classroom as the setting. True, these stories are often exagerrated to make the main teacher character look like a magical being that can take a horrible situation with underachieving and troubled kids and turn it into a college prep school in a matter of months with very few struggles. Not completely realistic.

The real teacher heroes, my professors told us, are real teachers just like us–teachers that have moments of brilliance, but also a day in, day out job that will be full of challenges and problems that take real time to solve. To some degree, I agree with that. Men are not angels–we cannot transform every life we touch. But you know what? I do believe that teachers can do incredible things. I see them do inspiring things every day. And I’m fairly certain that I know a couple people who could have movies made about their teaching experiences. So don’t tell me that hero teachers don’t exist. They do.

In honor of this unrelenting belief in the teacher hero, here are my top five teacher heroes of contemporary cinema. Watch these heroes in action, and see if you can find anything familiar about them–you may recognize a former teacher, a colleague, or even yourself.

**Honorable mention: Dead Poet’s Society (Mr. Keating is on his very own level of awesome), Stand and Deliver (Jaime Escalante: so good, people were convinced that his kids cheated on their tests).

5. The Ron Clark Story,  Matthew Perry as Ron Clark

“The problem isn’t the kids. It’s not even what they can achieve. The problem is what you expect them to achieve. You are setting the bar here. Why? Set it up here! They can make it.”

I like this film because it felt incredibly real to me. Teaching in an urban district will give you a fierce loyalty to kids that outsiders like to put down, and Mr. Clark is right there with us. Also, just like any elementary classroom, this film offers many opportunities for the unexpected, the uplifting, and the comical. Up against a seemingly impossible task in one of the roughest neighborhoods in the country, Clark became one of the top teachers in the nation. Best thing? Based on a true story.

4. Finding Forrester, Sean Connery as Forrester

“PUNCH the keys, for God’s sake! No thinking – that comes later. You must write your first draft with your heart. You rewrite with your head. The first key to writing is… to write, not to think!”

This film is an amazing portrait of the power of words as well as the bond between teacher and pupil. It’s also the perfect tribute to all of those seemingly crochety, old, rough-around-the-edges teachers out there who in fact have nothing but love and devotion for what they do. The two lead characters are perfect counterparts, and remind us that the teacher often learns just as much as the student. Finally, it’s a great model for classroom feedback, both good and bad!
3. School of Rock, Jack Black as Dewey Finn

“Are we gonna be goofing off like this everyday?”   “We’re not goofing off. We’re creating musical fusion.”

Dewey poses as a substitute teacher to scam cash off of his legit roommate, Mr. Schneebly. Despite his early efforts to be the laziest teacher of all time, he ends up leading his students through the ultimate creative project: the creation of a rock band. Don’t dismiss him as a hack, though–Finn’s uncanny knack for bringing humor and utmost reverence for rock music into his classroom ends up being one of the best educational experiences his students could ever have!

2. Remember the Titans, Denzel Washington as Coach Boone

“This is where they fought the battle of Gettysburg. Fifty thousand men died right here on this field, fighting the same fight that we are still fighting among ourselves today. This green field right here, painted red, bubblin’ with the blood of young boys. Smoke and hot lead pouring right through their bodies. Listen to their souls, men. I killed my brother with malice in my heart. Hatred destroyed my family. You listen, and you take a lesson from the dead. If we don’t come together right now on this hallowed ground, we too will be destroyed, just like they were. I don’t care if you like each other of not, but you will respect each other. And maybe… I don’t know, maybe we’ll learn to play this game like men.”

If you haven’t seen it, you need to. This story, based on real people and events, is about a man who not only instructed his boys on the ins and outs of their sport, but also how to interact with respect, brotherhood, and leadership. If only Coach Boone could do a community-building workshop with all of our students! Remember the Titans makes me cry, laugh, and cheer every time.

1. Freedom Writers, Hilary Swank as Erin Gruwell

“I don’t want excuses. I know what you’re up against. We’re all of us up against something. So you better make up your mind, because I am not letting you fail. Even if that means coming to your house every night until you finish the work. I see who you are. Do you understand me? I can see you. And you are not failing.”

One of my students once told me that I reminded her of “that one teacher from Freedom Writers.” I considered that the highest compliment of all time. Also a real person, Erin Gruwell used writing to transform a classroom of conflict, hatred, and insecurity into a safe haven where her students could acheive what they never thought possible. She gave up so much in order to be the most devoted teacher she possbily could. She gave her students the power to let their own voices be heard. She’s still out there, fighting the good fight, and that makes her number one.

So, break out the popcorn, and enjoy. Teacher heroes are everywhere! (However, only on the big screen will they look as beautiful as Hilary Swank. :) )

Just a Phase

Behold, a nifty little graph given to me by my district mentor:

I thought this was rather entertaining, especially considering the current time of year. Apparently, I’m m0ving swiftly from survival mode into “disillusionment”, which looks like an all-time low as far as morale is concerned.

I’m pleased to say that I don’t feel anywhere near the bottom of that valley. Every day is a new chance to learn, to test my strength, and to hang out with my students. While I do submit to the idea of seasonal changes (especially losing light here in the Midwest) having a real effect on the attitudes and inspiration of people in general, I’d like to redraw this graph to a steady uphill climb. We might slip along the way, but we’re building on the progress we’ve made, and every step brings us closer to the top.

As I say so often, struggles do exist. BUT, we first year teachers that plan on staying… we have to be stronger than the statistics.

Doing Some Things Right

There are good days. There are really good, rock solid days.

…and there are bad ones.

Like many seasoned teachers before me, I now understand that every day in the teaching world is like a little microcosm unto itself. Yes, sometimes it’s possible to feed off of inertia built up early in the week, but more often every day seems different, a clean and wonderful slate to fill. (In my case, literally, since I have an old-school slate chalkboard.) Of course, that slate-filling doesn’t always go according to plan.

But when I have an off day of teaching, I like to think of things that have happened which affirm my belief in myself as a teacher, and nothing speaks truer to that than the words of my students themselves. While I’ve had my share of resistance, I’ve also caught a few young scholars that really “get” the ideas and messages that I’m so desperately trying to get across Monday through Friday.

One senior who is an AP student is taking my regular English section as an elective because she loves my class and the way I teach. Having left Rufus King for “lack of challenge,” she considers my discussion-oriented literature class at MSL intriguing and “awesome.” Bless you, child.

Another one of my seniors named me the “first teacher to make English not boring.” You might as well have handed me eighty dollars. “You make things actually interesting,” he says, “You’re the best teacher ever, you know?” And I respond with my trademark, expressionless, “Oh, I know.” Bemused as they are by my no-nonsense, intense demeanor, my students have no idea how inside I’m yelling, “HECK YEAH!” when I hear things like that.

One girl in my Writing Lab class raised her hand one morning to ask, “What is this? Why do you teach like this? It’s new, it’s different… Where did you get this? Is it just all you? Because it’s amazing.” I told her the truth: that “this” is heavily influenced by the writing workshop model of Nancie Atwell, as well as my college level writing center work, but that also–yes–it is part of my teaching philosophy to be a teacher that asks students every day to think, work together, create, with me by their sides just until they can stand all by themselves. At that point, I can just sit back and smile, knowing they’ve got it.

I don’t accomplish my goals every day. I am not the best teacher every day. I do, sometimes, feel totally tired out and confused. But once in a while, on a great day, I am The Best Teacher. And that’s what it’s all about.

Real Talk about Urban Teaching

I have the great honor of being part of a wonderful community of new teachers, the same ones that I “grew up with” during my last three years of college, most of whom are now out in the work force. I respect them all tremendously and I’m especially psyched about the large amount of us that have made the choice to teach in the city of Milwaukee. We are urban teachers. The new urban teachers.

My point with this post is simply to say this:

Urban teaching is not a picnic of idealized, homogenized, hands-neatly-folded-on-the-desk, wide-eyed congeniality. However, neither is it what so many people seem to write it off as: a headache, a lost cause, a poor choice, or (God forbid) a waste of a college education. Urban teaching is waking up every day knowing that you are serving others, that you are choosing to prop the door open for young people that want to be let in, that you are building a community of many colors and classes, that you have the power to–for a set amount of time each day–melt away the overpowering real life that comes knocking much too soon for many of your students. It’s hard, hard work. But it gives a meaning to your work that is ten billion times greater than the highest stack of Wall Street paychecks. Plainly stated, it ROCKS.

Too much, we new teachers end up apologizing for our idealism. One friend of mine in particular brought this up recently, after joyously admitting how much she loves and admires her students at one of the most notorious, “dangerous” schools in the city. She’s refusing to look at her kids with a closed mind. She feels like she’s changing the world. Is she wrong to feel this way? Am I? Some seasoned (read: jaded) veterans might say so, mocking our naivete.

But you know what I say to that? Screw it. This world needs idealists. So we’re here. And we’re here to stay.

Idealism = Reality from an enlightened and courageous point of view. Go with it.