Lessons

I recently got into a rather long debate with an unnamed person writing through the Facebook profile of an organization for teacher reform. Their main contention was that teachers need to be evaluated based on their performance much like most other professions.

Two things.

First, I enjoy a good Facebook dust-up but I’ve found it takes much of my time and energy and, as a teacher whose in session, those are precious commodities. I’ve learned to make every attempt to avoid these.

Second, I normally ignore such organizations since they’re usually well-funded fronts by the rich private sector to either bust teacher unions or steal away public funds without much oversight or out to destroy public education in favor of a for-profit charter or voucher system…or all of the above. Either way, they’re the scum of the educational world and not worth the years-old gum under the desks in my class.

That morning, however, I must have been looking for a fight. I pressed the ‘Comment’ space and replied that their endeavor was a foolish one. I wrote that, unlike “most other professions”, in teaching there are far too many intangibles for a teacher to accurately measure success. These unknowns fluctuate and change from year to year, day to day, period by period, and student by student. Most importantly, I told them that most of these intangibles exist outside of the classroom and are beyond the control of a teacher.

Leaving all of this aside, I posed to them the question of who or what exactly would be defining the term “success”? Where’s the line in the sand and, more importantly, whose drawing it there? If a teacher has bad test scores but leaves a positive connection and impression on a student, are they a failure? If a teacher has great test scores but has only taught their students test-taking skills as opposed to creating life-long learners, are they a failure?

We went back and forth a good number of times and they finally stopped responding.

Their post angered me. I was respectful and calm in my responses but it angered me. I wondered one thing above all others: do they know this job? For all of their advocacy for reform…do they even know what teachers go through?

It’s a job that demands a lot…and a lot continuously and relentlessly. A job that changes at the drop of a hat and without warning. A job whose factor of expected outcomes is mired in uncertainty and is constantly and incredibly difficult to gauge.

…and all of this is before 9:30am.

There’s days where I have no idea what I’m doing, not in lack-planning kind of way but rather in a wider, more existential way. Am I making a difference here? Is this lesson what they really need? Where is the balance between academic rigor and making a positive impact on a kid? After high school, they might not remember how I taught them to write a thesis statement but they’ll remember being grateful I gave them a Post-It with a hall pass to the restroom when they broke up with their boyfriend — the job is that mysterious and undefinable.

There’s days where there seems to be so much on my plate that I’m left numb, almost outside myself looking back and saying, “Man, look at that guy! He’s totally fucked!”

I’ve been teaching 18 years and I’ve had seven of my students die. Violence, accidents, war, cancer. I average about 130 students per year which gives me a 0.003% student mortality rate which doesn’t look too bad but that’s still one student every two to three years. Carrying out a lesson on Monday when the student who sat at the corner table caught a bullet or finally succumbed to their serious illness over the weekend is an art form I don’t care to master.

I asked a principal once if they ever pondered in their own minds if what they and we were doing as educators was ultimately never-ending and un-winable. They took in a slow sigh, a far-away gaze, and after a short silence, replied, “We do what we can.”

I balance my far too many half-good and outright failed lessons with those moments where learning is happening not through a lesson on the board but through a feeling, a buzz, an energy in the room…and the students don’t even know; they don’t even realize it’s happening. Those moments are good. I feel accomplished and fulfilled and humbled.

I’ve seen new teachers with incredible ideas. I’ve seen natural teachers who were born to do the job. I’ve seen a genuine care for students not only as students but as human beings at the beginning of a long road that we help guide them on. I’ve seen seasoned and experienced teachers reach a level in their craft that is indistinguishable from art. I’ve seen good parenting and genuine care and love and respect and support obliterate the easy temptations that come with a poor neighborhood. I’ve seen barrio kids achieve more than I ever will, and I wouldn’t want it any other way, ever.

I’ve seen new teachers struggle and burn out and get their souls completely devoured by a classroom of kids one or two or three decades younger than them. I’ve seen teachers who wouldn’t know teaching if they were being walked through it step by step. I’ve seen complete disdain, fear, dehumanization, and hatred for students by teachers and for teachers by students. I’ve seen seasoned and experienced teachers never realize nor care to realize that the job can be indistinguishable from art. I’ve seen awful parenting, an apathy towards one’s own children, selfish and lost adults give way to selfish and lost kids who turn to the temptations of a poor neighborhood to provide what they’ve never had. I’ve seen barrio kids achieve much less than they will ever know they ever could.

I’ve seen the two teachers described above right next door to each other. I’ve seen the two kids described above sit next to each other in class.

…and after 55 minutes, they’re gone for the day.

We do what we can.