Still Here, and Thankful to Have Survived This Long

Ten months have elapsed since my last post, but I am still here--now over a quarter of the way through year three in the classroom. Already, last year seems such a distant memory--a memory that sweetens as it ferments in my mind, and in the minds of my students.

One sweet experience I have enjoyed on several occasion since the beginning of the school year is the visits from last year's eighth graders, now ninth graders looking back fondly on what must seem to them now a much simpler time. One particular visit from the first week of the school year still stands out in my mind:

Juliana was a "tough girl" when she was in my class last year. Heavy eye-shadow and a variety of piercings accompanied a general disdain for authority and a vocabulary that might embarrass a sailor. Fortunately, I had a decent relationship with her, so we rarely went head-to-head (not true for our administrators), but she also rarely took my class very seriously. We parted in June on good terms, but I had grave concerns about her academic future.

Then, one morning in late August, as I was putting some finishing touches on my syllabus, Juliana* appeared in my doorway. She rushed over to my desk, gave me a great big hug, and proceeded to tell me all about her new experiences as a ninth grader at the neighboring high school, where classes had started about two weeks previously.

"You wouldn't believe how much I've changed, Mr. Douglas," she said, "I actually care about school now! If only I could go back and tell my younger self to shape up, I would have had a much better time in middle school." She told me about the classes she loved, and the one teacher she couldn't stand, but was trying very hard to get along with. I was pleased to see some signs of academic and social maturity, and I told her so. Then came a moment I didn't think I'd have this early in my career:

"You know Mr. Douglas," she commented thoughtfully, "you came into my head the other day--I was sitting in math class, having a really bad day--it was 97 degrees outside, my hair was a mess, I didn't have make-up on, and I was bored out of my mind. I took out my cell phone to start texting a friend. As I looked at the phone, I thought 'man, Mr. Douglas should be standing behind me right now.' I put the phone away, and made myself pay attention for the rest of the period." [Last year, we had quite a game of her trying to hide her cell phone while texting, and me catching her on it. Sometimes she won, but usually I did.] That story, the idea of my voice, my memory, keeping a student on the path to success well after she was out of my gradebook, made all of last year's headaches worth it.

Perhaps it sounds trite to those who aren't teachers, and perhaps even to some who are. Those who campaign for better compensation for teachers may not appreciate the unintended consequences of stories like this, and rightly so--warm fuzzy feelings may keep me in the profession, but they won't pay the rent or the gas bill. Regardless of how trite or naive it may seem, I feel good about that experience. Perhaps the greatest part of the reward is the surprise--of all the students I might have expected to come back to, in essence, tell me thank you, this girl would not have been on my short list. But there she was, and I hope she still occasionally hears my voice telling her to put away her phone and pay attention in math class.

*Obviously not her real name.