When a Teacher is More Than the School

There was a knock at the door. I got up slowly, watching the video game closely to make sure it was really paused. The knock came again but this time it sounded more urgent.

“Coming!” I furrowed my eyebrows as I finally reached the door.

There stood a boy. He looked vaguely familiar, like I had seen him a couple times at school. He was tall and looked oddly lean. Did he play a sport? He had a red shirt on, like bull fighting red, and there was something slung over his shoulder. A sign maybe?

“Are you in my grade?”

“We don’t have time for that, it’s started. Are you coming or what?”

“What are you talking about?”

“The strike man!”

I paused and thought. I remember hearing on the news that the teacher strike was starting today but that just meant a day off from school.

“Yeah, but school’s out.”

“I’m not talking about school. I’m talking about our teachers.”

I was utterly confused as far as I was concerned the school and our teachers were the same thing.

“So what?”

The boy huffed impatiently and slid his sign from his shoulder. It read:

How can I get ahead
If you put my teachers last

“They can’t do this alone. They barely make enough money as it is and the government isn’t going to take them seriously if it’s just them. Teachers are pillars in our communities, isn’t it time the community stand by them too?”

I furrowed my eyebrows again and looked the guy over. What did he mean, pillars of the community?

The boy huffed again.

“Look, even if you don’t believe me, isn’t there at least a teacher that means a lot to you? Maybe they supported you when no one else would? Or maybe they even change your life? Don’t they deserve some support now?”

I sat at the principals office with her perched on a chair at the end of the table. My parents sat on either side of me, occasionally shooting me the ‘you’re in big trouble’ eye. To top the cake, each and every one of my teachers lined the table.

Some looked anxious, others bored, but one shot me a genuine smile: my English teacher Mr. Hanks.

“Now, the parents have asked us all here to talk about Devon’s performance in each of your classes.”

The teachers nodded and pulled out their grade books. Mr. Hanks just continued to smile at me.

I sat and listened as each teacher gave the same report; I hadn’t been doing my homework but I performed excellently on tests.

Every time my name was mentioned in each report, the head swiveled to fix me with a concentrated gaze of concern.

“I have a completely different report to give.”

This time the gazes all turned to Mr. Hanks.

“Yes, Devon hasn’t been completing his homework but maybe it isn’t because he is lazy. You said you moved from Pennsylvania?”

My parents nodded.

“Well, Pennsylvania hasn’t begun standardization yet. They probably teach very different classes than we do. Standardization is meant to keep students from falling behind or zooming ahead when they move. Since standardization isn’t nationwide yet I can only assume one of these two things has happened to Devon. We are either trying to teach way ahead of what Devon has learned.” I scoffed at this but Mr. Hanks simply smiled.

“Or, we are teaching him things he has already learned. Homework is meant to be practice and since Devon doesn’t complete this but excels on the tests I can only assume that he doesn’t need the practice because he has already mastered this stuff. Perhaps, instead of giving the same report, we should be discussing what these reports show us and consider alternate placement for Devon.”

The room was silent but I felt my heart rise into my chest. Could it be possible? Could school become fun again? We had tried to get me into advanced classes at the beginning of the year but we were told new students couldn’t be in advanced classes. It made sense now. It seemed New York thought very highly of themselves because they were pioneering standardization. They seemed to think that the students moving to their state had to be behind so they had to catch everyone else up. I suddenly longed for my old school.

“I think our meeting with the parents is done. I hope you gathered all the information you needed. I will be speaking with you in my office now, Mr. Hanks.”

No one moved.

“We don’t mean any disrespect but we have wanted the best placement for our child since day one. If your teachers have evidence to suggest that he should be in advanced classes, shouldn’t we at least look into them? You wouldn’t want our child falling behind would you?”

I had been placed in advanced classes the following day and I was continued to be tested as I went through school. I was on track now to graduate two years early and had offers from some of the top technology schools in the nation.

Mr. Hanks had been more than a teacher. He had believed in me and supported me when no one else would. Even though I didn’t have that relationship with any other teachers, I had to believe they did the same.

I heard of a teacher in a couple school’s over who taught a class after school on real world skills like filing taxes and changing tires. There was another teacher who had made the news in Nebraska who had their classroom decorated as a room from Harry Potter. They even had each of their units themed around a different class from the books.

I thought about all the things my teachers had taught me, continued to teach me. They didn’t just teach me to count or read; they taught me how to make informed decisions about the world around me, how to dream big but also realistically, how to set goals to achieve those dreams, how to see a subject beyond just its basics.

“I’ll join you.”

This story is for the teachers striking in LA today and for all the teachers who have gone on strike or long to go on strike.

I’m a teacher without a classroom. I long to be in the classroom but I also dream of a better education system. The teachers are the beginning of change in our education system but they can’t do it alone. They need the support of their community to make those changes. You don’t have to stand on the picket line but you need to let the school district and the government know that your teachers aren’t alone.

I stand in solidarity with teachers, do you?

Writing Prompt: A kid in your grade whom you don’t know very well shows up at your house one day to tell you something important. What does he look like? What does he say?