Teaching Week 2: You win some, you lose some

When I first got offered this job, I wasn’t told what subject I’d be teaching. When people asked, I’d respond, “I’m teaching, but who knows what.” On my application, I had listed my top choices as physics and math. Even though I didn’t have any obvious qualifications for those subjects, they had always been my favorites in school, and I loved the idea of revisiting the material in a new role.

Hoping that they might accept my request, my answer to inquiring friends became, “I’m teaching for the summer — hopefully physics and math.” In my interview, the head of the program had said something to me along the lines of: “So if you were here teaching physics this summer….” With that on my mind, I switched to saying “I’m pretty sure I’m teaching physics.” I prepared for the job, going over my old high school notebooks, retaking tests, and even going to one of my professors for advice on teaching those subjects. By the time I received my official appointment, I was sure — I had convinced myself— that that’s what I’d be teaching.

Dominique Danco — Marine Biology

My first reaction was confusion. What? Why? That doesn’t make any sense. I’ve taken one biology class since starting university, and never any marine bio. After thinking it through some more, I realized: Yeah, ok, maybe I look kind of marine bio-y on paper. I did work for a fish laboratory and at an ecology program last summer. Even though I might’ve convinced myself that I was such a physics person, in reality I didn’t have real experience for that either.

So my focus for the summer shifted. Physics and math speak to me because I love the problem solving. I love being presented with a set of clues and knowing (at least at the lower levels) that if I put the numbers together in the right way, I’ll find an answer. Classes that are more fact-based (like biology) I generally tend to avoid. I know that over time I regretfully forget most of the facts I learn, while strategies and ways of thinking persist.

But regardless, there I was. I resolved to do my best as a bio teacher, and even got pumped when I saw the exciting syllabus. And now that I’m here, the first two weeks have exceeded my expectations in many ways. I’m far more comfortable in front of a class than I thought I’d be. I can owe a lot of it to the thorough lesson plans that the lead teacher has already created, but I also love being able to step in and add my own explanations and side notes when they seem fit.

Almost at the halfway point, I was starting to feel confident and able. And then that came crashing down.

Not too catastrophically, but crashing all the same.

It was an evening study session, and the kids were working on both their bio and math homework. One girl was having some trouble with her math. She asked me if she could go see the math teacher. “Maybe I can help you out,” I offered, eager to help explain something other than different types of ocean currents, and confident that my multiple university math courses would make me qualified to swoop in and save the day for her Algebra question.

The textbook offered me up a long story about elephants, and how fast the herd was traveling, and how one of them stopped for water, then ran to catch up, blah blah blah. “How long was the baby elephant drinking?” “How fast did it have to run to get back to them?” “How far did the herd travel while the baby was running?”

They were all simple problems.

And my brain was having none of it.

Each time I tried to rework the solution I overcomplicated things, or read the problem incorrectly, or mixed up which speed was which. All while the student was waiting and watching expectantly, assuming that I knew what I was talking about. Embarrassed, I asked if she could work on other problems while I looked more at that one, because “I just want to make sure I’m doing it correctly before I show you how.” Once I cleared my mind, took a breath, and restarted (admittedly, it took me a couple more tries to recalibrate my brain to “working mode”), I realized how much I was overthinking, and came back to her with the solution.

But my ego took a hit, that’s for sure. After building up all that confidence by doing nothing more than reading out lesson plans written by someone else, it was a good wakeup call to see that some teaching requires more thinking-on-your-feet than others.

I wish that I were in a situation where I got to practice that more often, because as I’ve now learned: performing silently on a test is easier (at least for me) than writing up on a board while eager eyes are watching. I clearly have lots of work to do on that front. But for now, it’s back to the bio notes, and I’ll have to take my practice when I can get it — next time one of the kids has an Algebra question.