For​ ​the​ ​Little​ ​Brothers​ ​of​ ​the​ ​World

By Aidan Balt

At​ ​the​ ​beginning​ ​of​ ​this​ ​school​ ​year,​ ​I​ ​was​ ​asked​ ​to​ ​share​ ​an​ ​“Ignite”​ ​presentation​ ​in​ ​front​ ​of​ ​my whole​ ​district.​ ​Put​ ​me​ ​behind​ ​a​ ​keyboard​ ​or​ ​in​ ​front​ ​of​ ​a​ ​classroom​ ​packed​ ​with​ ​teenagers​ ​and​ ​I​ ​am fine​ — ​I’ve​ ​got​ ​range.​ ​But,​ ​put​ ​me​ ​on​ ​a​ ​mic​ ​in​ ​front​ ​of​ ​an​ ​auditorium​ ​of​ ​my​ ​peers,​ ​and​ ​I​ ​panic.​ ​(I​ ​once walked​ ​into​ ​a​ ​projector​ ​screen​ ​during​ ​a​ ​Senior​ ​Honors​ ​Night​,​ ​due​ ​to​ ​my massive​ ​stage fright.​) ​However,​ ​I​ ​teach​ ​my​ ​students​ ​that​ ​“everyone’s​ ​story​ ​matters”​ ​and​ ​that​ ​they​ ​should never​ ​ever​ ​let​ ​someone​ ​else​ ​hijack​ ​their​ ​voice,​ ​that​ ​they​ ​should​ ​always​ ​remember​ ​that​ ​their​ ​story​ ​has the​ ​power​ ​to​ ​impact​ ​others.​ ​So ​I​ ​took​ ​my​ ​own​ ​advice,​ ​I​ ​got​ ​up​ ​on​ ​that​ ​stage,​ ​and​ ​I​ ​shared​ ​my​ ​story.

When​ ​I​ ​started​ ​to​ ​consider​ ​my​ ​story to share,​ ​I​ ​had​ ​a​ ​lot​ ​of​ ​ideas​ ​about​ ​where​ ​it​ ​could​ ​go.​ ​I​ ​thought about​ ​talking​ ​about​ ​teacher​ ​leadership​ ​and​ ​the​ ​roles​ ​I​ ​have​ ​within​ ​my​ ​school​ ​and​ ​my​ ​state,​ ​and​ ​boy oh​ ​boy,​ ​there​ are ​a​ ​few.​ ​I​ ​considered​ ​talking​ ​about​ ​my​ ​high​ ​school​ ​and​ ​how​ ​it​ ​has​ ​changed​ ​over​ ​all the​ ​years​ ​I​ ​have​ ​been​ ​here​ ​and​ ​how​ ​it​ ​has​ ​changed​ ​me.​ ​But​ ​ultimately,​ ​my​ ​story​ ​came​ ​down​ ​to​ ​a series​ ​of​ ​questions.

The first is one that everyone​ ​seems to ask ​of​ ​educators:​ ​“Why​ ​did​ ​you​ ​become​ ​a​ ​teacher?”​ ​

I​ ​discovered​ ​early​ ​that​ ​I​ ​really​ ​enjoyed​ ​working​ ​with​ ​kids.​ ​I​ ​worked​ ​in​ ​my​ ​local​ ​community theater,​ ​in​ ​an​ ​urban​ ​youth​ ​center,​ ​in​ ​my​ ​local​ ​community​ ​kitchen,​ ​and​ ​in​ ​youth​ ​camps​ ​for​ ​kids​ ​living​ ​in poverty​ ​throughout​ ​my​ ​home​ ​state.​ ​Each​ ​experience​ ​“teaching”​ ​was​ ​different​ ​and​ ​exciting.​ ​So,​ ​when​ ​it was​ ​time​ ​to​ ​declare​ ​a​ ​major,​ ​I​ ​decided​ ​I​ ​was​ ​going​ ​to​ ​be​ ​a​ ​teacher. I selected ​Elementary​ ​Education.​ ​My​ ​focus?​ ​​Kindergarten​!​ ​I​ ​was​ ​passionate​ ​about becoming​ ​a​ ​Kindergarten​ ​teacher​ ​and​ ​I​ ​was​ ​​so​ ​sure​​ ​that​ ​it​ ​was​ ​the​ ​right​ ​path​ ​for​ ​me. Then,​ ​one​ ​day,​ ​everything​ ​changed.

A​ ​teacher​ ​happened.​ ​My​ ​senior​ year ​English​ ​teacher,​ ​to​ ​be​ ​precise.​ ​This​ ​teacher​ ​challenged​ ​me​ ​in ways​ ​no​ ​other​ ​teacher​ ​had.​ ​In​ ​high​ ​school,​ ​I​ ​was​ ​that​ ​annoyingly​ ​motivated​ ​kid,​ ​and​ ​sure,​ ​I​ ​had teachers​ ​who​ ​had​ ​challenged​ ​me​ ​before. But I had not encountered an​ ​authentic​ ​challenge​ ​that​ ​helped​ ​me​ ​grow​ ​as​ ​a human.​ ​For​ ​example,​ ​during​ ​my​ ​freshman​ ​year,​ ​I​ ​had​ ​a​ ​class​ ​in​ ​which​ ​I ended​ ​the​ ​year​ ​with​ ​a​ ​B​ ​because​ ​“No​ ​one​ ​gets​ ​an​ ​A.”​ ​That​ ​teacher’s​ ​challenge​ ​wasn’t​ ​authentic.​ ​It wasn’t​ ​about​ ​me.​ ​It​ ​was​ ​about​ ​her.

My​ ​senior​ ​English​ ​teacher, by contrast,​ ​didn’t​ ​make​ ​class​ ​about​ ​him.​ ​He​ ​made​ ​it​ ​about​ ​us, the students.​ ​He​ ​didn’t​ ​grade down​ ​to​ ​“challenge”​ ​me.​ ​And,​ ​he​ ​never​ ​let​ ​me​ ​skate​ ​by​ ​on​ ​my​ ​motivation​ ​to​ ​succeed.​ ​He​ ​challenged my​ ​intellect,​ ​forced​ ​me​ ​to​ ​think​ ​about​ ​things​ ​in​ ​new​ ​ways,​ ​and​ ​most​ ​of​ ​all,​ ​he​ ​believed​ ​in​ ​me.

To​ ​keep​ ​it​ ​real,​ ​I​ ​was​ ​super​ ​insecure.​ ​As​ ​we​ ​all​ ​do,​ ​I​ ​have​ ​my​ ​own​ ​(other)​ ​story​ ​of​ ​why​ ​and who​ ​and​ ​what​ ​contributed​ ​to​ ​that insecurity,​ ​but​ ​the​ ​bottom​ ​line​ ​is,​ ​I​ ​questioned​ ​myself.​ ​I​ ​didn’t​ ​know​ ​if​ ​I​ ​was good​ ​enough,​ ​smart​ ​enough,​ ​talented​ ​enough. He believed I was.

That teacher​ continued to challenge me even after high school, when I was home on break toward the end of my freshman year of college and he ​told​ ​me,​ ​“I​ ​think​ ​you​ ​should​ ​teach​ ​high​ ​school.”​ ​I​ ​thought, Are​ ​you​ ​crazy?​ ​I​ ​hated​ ​high​ ​school.​​ ​But ​I​ did choose to ​change​ ​my​ ​major,​ because ​life​ ​was​ ​changing.​ ​At this same time, my​ ​little​ ​brother should​ ​have​ ​been​ ​getting​ ​ready​ ​to​ ​graduate​ ​high​ ​school,​ ​but​ ​instead,​ ​he​ ​was​ ​dropping​ ​out.

Now,​ ​I​ ​have​ ​some​ ​talents,​ ​but​ ​my​ ​little​ ​brother,​ ​he’s​ ​a​ ​genius.​ ​Like​ ​some​ ​geniuses​ ​do,​ ​he struggles.​ ​He​ ​struggles​ ​to​ ​stay​ ​in​ ​one​ ​place​ ​for​ ​too​ ​long,​ ​he​ ​struggles​ ​to​ ​hold​ ​down​ ​a​ ​job,​ ​he​ ​struggles to​ ​maintain​ ​close​ ​relationships.​ ​But,​ ​he’s​ ​my​ ​brother​ ​and​ ​I​ ​love​ ​him​ — a​nd​ ​he​ ​is​ ​the​ ​reason​ ​I​ ​am​ ​the high​ ​school​ ​teacher​ ​I​ ​am​ ​today.

My​ ​brother​ ​never​ ​earned his​ ​high​ ​school​ ​diploma.​ ​Why?​ ​For​ ​a​ ​lot​ ​of reasons.​ ​Because​ ​he​ ​is​ ​different.​ ​Because​ ​he​ ​was​ ​bullied.​ ​Because​ ​he​ ​is​ ​learning​ ​disabled.​ ​Because he​ ​is​ ​gifted.​ ​Because​ ​he​ ​is​ ​artistic.​ ​Because​ ​he’s​ ​always​ ​been​ ​a​ ​dreamer. And because his​ ​teachers​ ​didn’t​ ​often​ ​meet​ ​him​ ​where​ ​he​ ​was.​ ​One​ ​tried,​ ​but​ ​one​ ​isn’t​ ​always enough.​ ​My​ ​brother​ ​made​ ​a​ ​life​ ​of​ ​his​ ​own​ ​design​ ​and​ ​I​ ​don’t​ ​know​ ​if​ ​that​ ​little​ ​piece​ ​of​ ​paper​ ​would have​ ​made​ ​a​ ​difference​ ​in​ ​the​ ​way​ ​his​ ​life​ ​has​ ​turned​ ​out,​ ​but​ ​I​ ​do​ ​know​ ​that​ ​I​ ​want​ ​to​ ​be​ ​some​ ​kid’s “meet-me-where​ ​I​ ​am”​ ​type​ ​of​ ​teacher,​ ​​ ​even​ ​if​ ​that​ ​kid​ ​doesn’t​ ​get​ ​a​ ​diploma.

Instead of posing the generic​ ​“Why​ ​did​ ​you​ ​become​ ​a teacher?”​ ​question,​ ​I​ ​think​ ​the​ more revealing ​question​ ​is​ ​“Why​ ​do​ ​you​ ​​continue​​ ​to​ ​teach?” What​ ​is​ ​it​ ​about​ ​working​ ​in​ ​education​ ​that​ ​drives​ ​your​ ​dedicated,​ ​committed,​ ​enthusiastic,​ ​daily work​ ​with​ ​your​ ​students?​ ​Take​ ​a​ ​minute​ ​to​ ​really​ ​reflect.

Answering this is​ ​complicated​ ​because​ ​teaching​ ​is​ ​complicated.​ ​I​ ​want​ ​to​ ​be​ ​that meet-you-in-the-middle​ ​teacher​ — ​be​ ​there​ ​to​ ​listen​ ​to​ ​the​ ​misfits,​ ​to​ ​challenge​ ​the​ ​insecure (like young me),​ ​to​ ​open the​ ​world​ ​to​ ​the​ ​explorer.​ ​But,​ ​for​ ​me,​ ​there​ ​is​ ​more.​ ​I​ ​also​ ​want​ ​move​ ​beyond​ ​my​ ​classroom​ ​as​ ​an advocate,​ ​a​ ​researcher,​ ​a​ ​fighter.​ ​Someone​ ​who​ ​​actively​​ ​works​ ​to​ ​change​ ​our​ ​schools​ — ​my school​ — ​into​ ​a​ ​system​ ​that​ ​isn’t​ ​so​ ​broken,​ ​one​ ​where​ ​the​ ​little​ ​brothers​ ​of​ ​the​ ​world​ ​can​ ​succeed. But,​ ​at​ ​the​ ​end​ ​of​ ​each​ ​day,​ ​I​ ​must​ ​choose.

When​ ​I​ ​am​ ​struggling,​ ​when​ ​the​ ​balance​ ​in​ ​my​ ​bank​ ​account​ ​is​ ​zero,​ ​when​ ​my​ ​students​ ​don’t show​ ​appreciation,​ ​when​ ​my​ ​team​ ​doesn’t​ ​notice​ ​something​ ​I​ ​worked​ ​hard​ ​on,​ ​or​ ​my​ ​administration forgets​ ​to​ ​say​ ​thank​ ​you,​ ​or​ ​an​ ​angry​ ​parent​ ​emails​ ​a​ ​rant​ — ​none​ ​of​ ​you​ ​can​ ​relate​ ​that,​ ​right?​ — ​​ ​I choose​ ​to​ ​think​ ​about​ ​my​ ​little​ ​brother.​ ​I​ ​choose​ ​to​ ​remind​ ​myself​ ​why​ ​I​ ​continue​ ​this​ ​work.

I​ ​choose​ ​this.​ ​Every​ ​day.​ ​Every​ ​minute.​ ​Every​ ​second.​ ​Do​ ​you,​ ​too?​ ​Now,​ ​each​ ​day​ ​is​ ​unlike any​ ​day​ ​before​ ​it,​ ​and​ ​sometimes,​ ​what​ ​I​ ​expect​ ​is​ ​not​ ​what​ ​I​ ​get,​ ​but,​ ​I​ ​still​ ​choose​ ​this.​ ​I​ ​choose​ ​this school.​ ​I​ ​choose​ ​these​ ​kids.​ ​I​ ​choose​ ​these​ ​people,​ ​in​ ​this​ ​place,​ ​in​ ​this​ ​time,​ ​each​ ​day.​ ​

Who is your motivating “little brother,”​ ​​​the​ ​person​ ​who​ ​drives​ ​you​ ​to​ ​be​ ​the​ ​greatest​ ​teacher​ ​you​ ​can​ ​be? ​When​ ​the school ​year​ ​gets​ ​tough,​ ​when​ ​you​ ​question​ ​your​ ​work,​ ​remember​ ​little​ ​brother and​ ​move​ ​forward.

— Sincerely,​ ​a​ ​Big​ ​Sister​ ​and​ ​Public​ ​High​ ​School​ ​Teacher

Aidan Balt is a High School English teacher in Arizona’s Maricopa Unified School District, and a 2017–2018 Arizona Teacher Fellow with Hope Street Group and the Arizona K12 Center. Follow her on Twitter via @balt_ms.