I'm a Teacher

I think I had my biggest validation as a teacher this week. We each have our professional challenges and our personal challenges. On Monday, I overcame a significant professional hurdle, and on Thursday, my personal. About a month and a half ago, I lost my first student. I had her twice during the day. She was in my 12^th grade English class, and because she needed to retake some classes she failed in previous years, she was in my 9^th grade English class, too. Having her twice in one day allowed me to get to know her. She was very good at participating in class, volunteering answers and asking to read out loud. She has the most beautiful hazel-green eyes.

Around the time she left, we were writing persuasive letters in 12^th grade. Their prompt was this: Write a persuasive letter to a 9^th grader, convincing them to not drop out of school, using statistics, personal anecdotes, and interviews. Statistics show that 40 percent of ninth graders in our district do not graduate high school. I wanted my seniors to persuade my ninth graders that it’s worth sticking with school despite the challenges.

I was really getting on this girl’s case because she wasn’t getting her drafts in on time. I would hound her. I still regret this part. I would tell her every day, this is the easiest assignment because you’re living it. You’re a 12^th grader… how did you get here? Tell me your personal anecdotes – you’re an expert opinion. About a week later, she stopped coming to school.

Apparently, Cynthia was pregnant with her second child. The reason she was crying in class last week was because she just found out – and perhaps because I was on her case for not turning in a rough draft on the irony of her life. She didn’t come to school for a month and a half. However, each day her name would still appear on my attendance roll – I never dropped her name from my gradebook. Each day, I filled in the absent bubble and skipped over her name when submitting homework grades. I used her as an example of how I need to know my students more; how I need to try harder. I have to keep reminding myself that my students live lives that are so outside of my own experience that I need to keep expanding my perspective. My teachings can’t end with the four walls of my classroom. Cynthia hurt me because I made wrong assumptions. How many of my ninth graders will hurt me in the next two years? And how in the world do I prevent that from happening?

Monday. I am in the front of my 12^th grade class, introducing the day’s agenda and objective. I scan the faces of my students. There, in the back, between Daisy and Jose, is Cynthia. I won’t lie, I stared.

“Cynthia?! Hello! You’re back? Uh, we need to talk.”

She smiled, nodded, and gave me one of those “so are you going to start the lesson or what?” looks.

After class, we talked. Apparently, she’s back in school and that I should expect her everyday in my 9^th and 12^th grade English class. We are going to set up a system for her to make up the work she missed the last month and a half. She didn’t give me any personal information. I don’t know what happened about her pregnancy, but I won’t make the mistake of assuming anything. All I know is that I got the biggest second chance I could ask for. I will not mess this up.

Thursday. My mom visited my school. She came to spend a week in Los Angeles from her home in Dallas. My aunt brought her to my school to come see my classroom after the school day. After my detention kids left (I let them go five minutes early), I skipped down to the main office to gather my aunt and mom.

I’m observed often as a new teacher. Teach For America observes me, LMU observes me, my own school observes me. I have never been more nervous about anyone observing my classroom than I was when I had these two ladies in there. And here it is, “straight from the horse’s mouth” as Aldous Huxley would say (not that my students would know that quote since they obviously did NOT read Brave New World… bitter):

“Wow, Stu, this is a real classroom, you’re a real teacher.”

Bam. Done. Validated. You hear that… I’m a real teacher. My mom thinks so.