I’ve been avoiding this whole blog because I knew I wanted to write about teaching, and I thought I should probably write about anything BUT teaching. It’s a HUGE subject that makes me GUSH. However, after waiting it out, I’ve concluded nothing else will mull in my mind and heart until I say a few words about this role in my life that has become part of my identity, part of my whole heart, part of what makes me crazy, and part of what makes me excited to wake up every morning. This will probably be the first few paragraphs of thousands to come on the subject, but that’s going to be alright.

 

It’s no secret I’m a girlie girl. I talk like my teenagers, dress like a few (conservative) of them, and I’ve even been known to share a few playlist favorites with an unlikely bunch of them. On the first day of class with my Honors kids, I’m well aware that as unfair as it is, I’ve got to prove I “know my stuff” before they’ll buy anything that comes out of my mouth or any assignment I dare give them. I usually prepare a piece to share, some grammar terms to throw around, a series of elite lessons plans to write on the board for the first few days…and then something GORGEOUS happens in that classroom full of some of my greatest successes and failures. I teach. It has little to do with the words on the board and everything to do with the dedication I (WE) have for those kids.

 

I wake up at 5 to get there on time for one of my sweet first period girls, Tanya, who likes to spend the first forty minutes of school hiding out in my room. Throughout this semester, I’ve learned she’s an only child, her best friend disowned her before the summer of her sophomore year, and her dad abandoned her mom when Tanya was 5 and has recently tried to get back together with her. Tanya is confused on how she feels about ALL of this, so she sits and drowns her thoughts in a book.

The bell rings, usually as I’m scrambling to re-file all the paperwork that made it to my desk since I was there last, and I run to my door to greet those students that I woke up for. Terry never makes eye contact with me, but he wrote a moving letter to me over break about how I’ve impacted his writing. “Hey, Terry! Here we go!” I always shout to jump-start their brains. Call it…a teaching method? Jake comes in EVERY day, turns assignments in in bulk, and would rather not be bothered for the first half of the period. I make him turn around and smile in an effort to force a response to my annoyingly enthusiastic “Good morning.” Jane loves to chat about what I’m wearing and then discuss her own outfit of the day. She stands in the way of all the other tired teens shuffling in the door. I’m almost positive she’s just waiting for Jonathan, a junior, to walk into the class across from us. The small talk with me is a time-killer. Only 120 more to try to have some small interaction with during the day! The tardy bell signifies the race gates opening, and I’m off!

 

On any given day, I may receive the most profound encouragement from a person half my age, the most heartbreaking news about a student whom I’ve come to care deeply about, or feel like the world of work piled on top of me is going to very soon suffocate me.

I know that many of my colleagues feel these highs and lows, and I haven’t even scratched the surface. The hours of grading outside of contract time. The extra adviser and coach positions we take on for pennies or no financial return. The hours our families give to allow us to do those aspects of our jobs. The emotional exhaustion. The personal investments. Our public mistakes. Our unseen victories. It’s a job full of personal sacrifices.

 

Most of us wouldn’t rather be ANYWHERE ELSE. We love those kids enough for it all. I LOVE MY JOB! When the $954 check comes at the end of the month, I repeat that mantra over and over. Kids are worth it. The politics, the “paper,” the “fame” (HA!) is not, but the kids are pretty fantastic.

 

The message is this:Teachers aren’t slaves, robots, or paid well enough to treat them like either of those things. They left their snugglebug spouses, pets, or children in bed early that morning so that they could be in that room, ready to get YOUR sweet baby prepared for life. For the world. It’s a big task, and it’s shocking there are still people signing up to do it with the hearts that they do.

 

Make the small effort to email, write, or send a letter to a teacher that’s made any type of impact on your child. Because those kids are the reasons we are there, it is the best form of encouragement. It’s why we keep coming back.

 

I LOVE MY JOB!