It’s not
hard to find lengthy and compelling examples of why talented teachers
leave the profession. In fact, they’re so ubiquitous that I usually
don’t even bother reading them. After all, they’ll simply make me feel
bad about staying in a career that demands so much of me personally and
professionally, and which gives so little in return.
I
keep a “feel good” file in my desk drawer. It is, unfortunately, filed
behind my “lunch detentions and referrals” file because, practically
speaking, I spend a lot more time managing discipline issues than I do
sitting around feeling good about that note a student left me 3 years
ago. And come to think of it, I’m not sure I even remember what’s in the
“feel good file.” Huh.
Anyway, there are some
returns, even if they get filed away and forgotten. One of them is the
college recommendation letter. Often when kids approach me with a
request for a letter of recommendation, I feel dread and anxiety: how am
I going to get this done? But then I spend some time reading over their
lists of accomplishments, their biggest life struggles, their greatest
strengths, and I am reminded of what tremendous people I get to work
with every day. I find myself both excited about their successes and
eager to learn about the kinds of people they’ll become.
The
hour or two that I spend working on recommendation letters isn’t
insignificant. Here’s some interesting math: I currently have 179
students. The amount of time I have in my day which is not teaching is
121 minutes. This leaves me approximately 3 minutes, 38 seconds per kid per week.
That’s assuming that I don’t spend any of those 121 minutes lesson
planning, or grading, or in meetings. If I were to remove minutes for
things like staff meetings, forced PLC meetings, e-mail correspondence,
and various other obligations I have in my contract day, I’m certain
it’ll go into negative digits. I regularly stay well past my contract
hours every day, and that time is spent either working directly with
kids or grading and giving feedback on their work.
My
work schedule is so frenetic that I have no time outside of our 48
minute class period to get to know my students. This is bad for me and
it’s bad for my students. But every year a few of them come back and ask
for letters of recommendation, which forces me to sit down, sometimes
for a couple of hours, to get to know a kid. The letters are always a
pain in the ass, but I rarely say no.
I wrote one
letter last month that was particularly wonderful: a boy I taught a few
years ago whose success is a matter of pride for me. He was a sophomore
in one of the worst classes I’ve had. Over half of them failed because
they simply would not do anything. Well, they would play on their
phones, have inappropriate conversations, and do their best to derail my
lessons for their own entertainment; they actually did a lot of things,
but they would not learn. This boy, however, did all of the things. He
wrote beautifully, he read Caesar like a champ, and most importantly, he
engaged his brain, which is all a teacher ever wants.
When
parent-teacher conferences rolled around, I met his parents. This was a
quiet boy who always wore jeans, t-shirts, and a surprisingly full
beard. I never noticed dirty clothes, a weird smell, or any of the
obvious things that point to poverty. But his father was (probably still
is) missing several teeth. His clothes were ratty and torn in places.
His mother appeared a little cleaner and a little better put-together,
but clearly hailed from the rough side of the tracks. To me, this was a
picture of poverty. I didn’t know at the time that his father was
schizophrenic, and I’m not sure if his mom can work.
Immediately,
my appreciation for this kid grew as I became aware of the fact that he
was beating the odds. The following year, I encouraged him to take my
honors level junior class, and he did. He did very well, and is
currently in AP Literature. He requested a letter of recommendation for
Lewis and Clark and a few other colleges a few weeks ago, and in writing
that letter, I got to know him even better. I had no idea the hurdles
this kid overcame. And I’m so thankful he asked me to write that letter.
I’m grateful I had the opportunity to encourage him to challenge
himself. I’ve met some extraordinary kids in my time, but I can’t say
that I’ve ever been more thrilled to see a student succeed than I am of
this boy.
This is the reason teachers stay. Or at
least, this is why I stay. I keep looking for other work; there are
plenty of reasons to leave. But I remain because it’s not just a job.
It’s not just making money. I don’t stay because of my summer break or
because of the hours and hours and hours I’ve spent on my curricula.
Teaching is raising children. Sure, we have standards and tests and best
practices and goals and evaluations and all sorts of inane, ridiculous
shit to deal with. But inherently, it’s not about any of those things.
It’s about using our influence to raise children to be the best they can
possibly be. Other than raising my own child, I’ve not yet found a more
important career.
