Teaching

During the school year, I try to empower my students to make their own decisions and form their own opinions. I begin with a unit I call, “Question Authority.” Students investigate all kinds of authorities, including government, media, and history. It’s a powerful unit that leaves kids shocked (“Food labels can say fat-free even if there’s fat in the food?”), disappointed (“Those models in the magazine are all Photoshopped?”), and angry (“We imprisoned people just because of their ethnic heritage?”). They learn to develop a critical lens with which to question the reality they once blindly accepted.

I really should be practicing Aura Lee right now—or Merrily We Roll Along.

I will soon be marching on stage, balancing my sheet music on the stand, wetting my reed, and playing the clarinet in front of parents, school board members, students, even the superintendent.

How exactly did I get myself into this mess?

It all started with a simple email.

Pull out your instruments, Teachers, and join our Beginning Band students in their October concert….

It is not easy for my students in suburban St. Louis to connect with the characters in John Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men. The novel is packed with gruff men. Middle aged, mostly friendless, they are all struggling to eke out an income on a ranch somewhere in California.

The one glimmer of hope in Steinbeck’s classic emerges through the relationship between two men—George and Lennie. They are not relatives. Yet in a society where individualism is paramount, George does far more than merely put up with Lennie. He cares for this mentally challenged man, blankets him with a protective shield. Other characters turn from, threaten, and even belittle Lennie. Most are astounded by George’s choice to attend to someone who seems like such a burden.

For Judy Dodge Cummings, social justice teaching takes students through the lyrics of American folk songs. She uses antique tunes such as Hard Times at the Mill and Weave Room Blues to teach her Mauston, Wis., students about unfair and dangerous work conditions.

Meanwhile, in Bucksport, Maine, Carolyn Coe asks students to celebrate diversity through the creation of peace flags.

It was a whirlwind day, and yet it was entirely typical of what happens at our high school—in most high schools, probably. I just thought it was worthwhile to put this day down as an official mark that this is what regularly happens.

First thing in the morning my secretary called me on the radio to tell me that I had a visitor. This could be anybody: former students, current students, teachers in other buildings who are visiting and wanted to drop by to say hello. It was Janelle. Janelle graduated early this year, so I never get to see her much anymore. She brought her month-old daughter and wanted to show me that she had all ten fingers and all ten toes. Of course, I said, “You know I’m going to hold her, right? And smell her? And kiss her? And then I’ll steal her.” She laughed and looked at me sideways because I’m always joking with her. If I keep it light enough, I sometimes think I can force her to stay in school.

My first year of teaching in middle school was an onslaught of reading quizzes, vocabulary lists, lunch duty, reading skills and faculty meetings. It didn’t really leave a great deal of time for reflection other than the simple thought that I wasn’t quite living up to my ideal of changing the world through teaching.

There is a wonderful scene in Harper Lee's novel To Kill A Mockingbird where the all-white jury has returned an unjust verdict against Tom Robinson. Atticus begins to wearily walk out of the courthouse. Jem and Scout are in the balcony with the black folks of the county. They all rise as Atticus walks out—except the children—so the Rev. Sykes says to Scout, “Miss Jean Louise, stand up. Your father’s passin’.”

I was a teacher for eight years before becoming a therapist. I am currently working at two middle schools in Longmont, Colo., as a prevention/intervention specialist. Basically, my job is to provide a safe place where students can share their most pressing issues without feeling judged.

Silent Sustained Reading (SSR) is a staple of many classrooms. At my school it lives in Advisory, a 50-minute mixed-grade class that balances literacy development with study hall and school-culture building. The goal of SSR is simple: For 30 minutes twice a week the entire school population is reading silently—and enjoying it.

“Will we be learning history from a biblical or counter-biblical perspective?” James asked.

I could see an intense honesty in his eyes, one that I’m pretty sure only teachers know. It was another one of those moments when my mind searched at hyper-speed for the right words. I wanted to make sure that this student felt I had given a genuine answer. I wanted him to remain connected to me and to the course.