I wish my students knew, when I lose my temper and raise my voice, how disappointed I am in myself. I wish my students knew, when I act like I am fed up with them, how much I long to be that teacher who is always there for them. I wish my students could understand how I want to be patient, meek--how I want to take them by the hand and gently lead them, only I don't always know quite where we are going myself. I hope that, every once in a while, amidst the assignments, the grades, the tried patience, and the lunchtime detentions, that my students catch at least a glimpse of how much I love them and want them to succeed. And I hope they forgive me.
Last year, about this time, Rachel Lotan, the director of STEP, warned me and the other teacher-candidates in the program about the "November Slump," that time just before the holidays in which new teachers start to wonder why they didn't just go to law school instead. She assured us that the discouragement and questioning of one's career path were normal, and that they would indeed pass. I remember thinking the message had come a bit late for me, as I experienced my November Slump in October.
Oddly enough, the same thing happened to me this year. About the middle of last month, I was beginning to wonder if the sixth grade classroom really was the place for me. It wasn't just that the hours were long, the pay seemingly meager, and the work often thankless; my patience was wearing thinner and thinner, and the ability to apply all the great principles of pedagogy I learned at Stanford was eluding me. My heterogeneous groups were in a sorry state, formative assessments were rare and formative feedback rarer, and I had yet to teach my students how to source a historical document. It seemed my job had become 10% history teacher and 90% classroom manager, and I wasn't nearly as meek or patient a classroom manager as I would like to have been. Too many times, I would lose my patience in the classroom, only to reflect during my commute home on how really it was my fault in that I hadn't made my expectations clear, or hadn't structured the classroom environment in a way that would really facilitate student success. For the first time in years, I allowed myself to question whether teaching was really right for me.
Fortunately, the fit of madness passed, and things started looking up. I began to realize that I needed to forgive myself for being human, and that as I did, so would my students. I revisited some of the classroom management strategies I learned last year, and added a few new ones to my arsenal. A friend and veteran teacher pointed out that spending time teaching sixth graders how good students behave really is just as valuable as (perhaps more valuable than) teaching them about the rise and fall of ancient empires. As I took on this point of view, I found that I resented less the time spent teaching appropriate behavior rather than content, I started to enjoy myself more, and, incidentally, behavior problems decreased.
So, when my sixth period class spiraled out of control today, and I lost my temper with them yet again, it was that much more discouraging. I know better, I know my students know better, and they deserve a teacher who can keep his cool while reminding them that they know better. Later in the day, when I found myself on Stanford campus, I began again to entertain the idea of returning to Stanford for a Ph.D. Of course I couldn't return to graduate school as an escape from the classroom, and I certainly need to spend more time in the classroom before I would have credibility as a Ph.D candidate anyway, but it is a tempting thought. Until that time, I'm fortunate that I have friends who have been teaching a few years longer than I have who remind me that I don't have to be perfect in my first year, or even in my second, third, or fourth years.
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8 comments:
As a first year teacher myself I have found it is hard letting go of trying to get through the content and just focussing on what is actually going on with the kids. I think we forget sometimes that they are all little individuals with needs that often are above the need to learn about things they have trouble linking themselves too like history for example. It's about the hear and now for them. Which is why I am always striving to see how I can make what we're learning to them fun, because then it's relevant. Right?
*here not hear
Yes, or perhaps it would be better to say that we should strive to make it relevant to them, because then it will be fun. If they can't relate to what's going on--if it doesn't appear to them to have any value (as is too often the case in my classroom), then of course they'll be checked out.
I worry, though, about sometimes sacrificing academic rigor for the sake of fun. It's a difficult dilemma I haven't quite figured out how to navigate.
mmm hmm. I agree. I go through the fun vs. rigor debate in my head also and then I try and let myself off the hook somewhat by telling myself that there is only so much I can do that is innovative and fun in such an archaic school system with only a few different possible pedagogical pathways to the outcomes we require the students to reach.
Not that i know anything about teaching, but it seems to me that in 6th grade the focus should be learning to learn as opposed to learning facts. Also, bribe with candy.... it still works for me.
That's a VERY good point. Can't bribe with candy here in Aus only on state approved red days.
I agree. I just need to keep reminding myself that it's more important that they learn to be successful students than that they learn why the Babylonian empire fell to the Persians or why the Maccabean revolt against the Greeks was successful.
I really have no idea why the Babylonia Empire fell to the Persians and I almost have my Masters. But.... i do know that I learned how to learn, and eat candy.
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