Since I was fifteen, I've planned on becoming a teacher. There are two things that I can remember, when gazing through the gauzy tunnel of memory, that put me rather firmly on this path: One was a teacher. This is likely unsurprising, as teachers qua inspirations and mentors is one of the greatest parts about the profession. I'll go ahead and name drop: It was Mrs. White, who taught me 10th grade Language Arts and put up with me and my two buddies, who made her life a living hell. Nevertheless, Mrs. White's English class was one of the largest contributors to putting me on a path of perennial classroom habitation.
The other is less profound: I realized that a writer would have a hard time raising a family because the pay was so sporadic.
But I can remember other times in my life when I felt tugging toward education as a career. I remember getting a dry erase marker--hopefully, it wasn't something that I purloined from somewhere--and I created a small 8.5" x 11" whiteboard in my bedroom. It was easy: I put a piece of blank paper inside of a clear plastic holder that I taped onto the headboard of my bed. I gathered up some of my stuffed animals and began teaching them a lesson about numbers and math. While I couldn't guess my age, the memory is clear enough that I remember thinking this was pretty fun...even though I didn't understand math particularly well.
I remember thinking, I'd like to be a teacher. But they just don't make any money. I'll be a Sunday School teacher instead, if I really want to be an instructor. There are a couple of things to unpack with this: One, how sad is it that a child--most likely still in elementary school or perhaps in seventh or eighth grade--would try to talk himself out of joining such an incredible profession because he recognized the financial deathtrap that is the field of education? And two, I think it's funny that I thought I could somehow pick my calling in church.* Now, obviously, this was when I was younger than high school, but it's obvious the stirrings were there from an early age.
Since Mrs. White's class, I realized that I really did want to be an English teacher, and I geared most of my high school (and all of my college) education to that end. One time, we had a "jobs fair" at the high school. Looking at the different offerings of potential jobs I could learn more about, I saw that there was "teacher" available. I went to a classroom I had never seen (my high school was big) and listened to a lady who was a teacher at the school that I had never met before (my big high school had a lot of faculty, unsurprisingly). She talked about a number of things about being a teacher, but all I remember was that she said she liked it when she didn't have to refer to her notes during a class. That blew my mind. Teachers use notes? I was shocked.
When I finally got my first job** as a teacher, I truly did feel as though I had arrived. I used notes (shock!) and I made (read: make) a lot of mistakes. But I've gained a lot of insight and experience. I feel satisfied with my life choices--made all the better because I share a profession with my wife.
But I have, for many years now, wondered if I ever would be hired by my school again, were I to be on the other side of the table. That is, I am now a department chair at my school, and so I have to sit in during potential hire interviews. They're stressful for me: The interviewee is nervous, I'm uncomfortable with the power I have, and it's an artificial environment in which we're supposed to divine the best choice for my department, school, and the student body as a whole. It's not a particularly wonderful experience. (I'm grateful I don't have to be on the other side of that, though: Firing someone is probably the worst part of being in charge of an establishment.)
So my imagination sometimes runs to the other interviews I've done. As a fresh-out-of-student-teaching greenhorn, I wonder what I said that made other principals pass me by. I wonder if the teacher I am now would be a valuable addition to other schools. If I wanted to try at a traditional public school, for example, would my less-conformist feelings about, say, grading make a drastic impact? Would that appeal to them? Would it drive them away? Would my experience be taken with reluctance because it was in a charter school? Would any of my accolades or recognitions be given additional weight?
Part of me is curious. I know my school values me for what I do and who I am, but I've also grown up with the school. There are fewer than six teachers still at the school who have been there as long as I have, and only a couple who have more time. Am I really a "good teacher" or am I just a fixture? A lot of the feedback I get points to the former rather than the latter, but, if that were to change, would I be able to let go? Would I be able to switch to the other side of the table?
I'm now over twice the age I was when I first decided to become an educator, and I don't know if I'm any closer to knowing--genuinely knowing--what it takes to be a good teacher.
For that, I'm still learning.
---
* In the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, lay members handle the running of local congregations. The members are given assignments--callings--that they fulfill to keep the congregation (ward) from falling apart. The assignments aren't requests from the members; the leadership decides what's needed and asks for help. My naivete was the idea that I would somehow be in control of getting that specific calling.
** I feel like the story of how I eventually got to my current school deserves its own essay, written on another day.
The other is less profound: I realized that a writer would have a hard time raising a family because the pay was so sporadic.
But I can remember other times in my life when I felt tugging toward education as a career. I remember getting a dry erase marker--hopefully, it wasn't something that I purloined from somewhere--and I created a small 8.5" x 11" whiteboard in my bedroom. It was easy: I put a piece of blank paper inside of a clear plastic holder that I taped onto the headboard of my bed. I gathered up some of my stuffed animals and began teaching them a lesson about numbers and math. While I couldn't guess my age, the memory is clear enough that I remember thinking this was pretty fun...even though I didn't understand math particularly well.
I remember thinking, I'd like to be a teacher. But they just don't make any money. I'll be a Sunday School teacher instead, if I really want to be an instructor. There are a couple of things to unpack with this: One, how sad is it that a child--most likely still in elementary school or perhaps in seventh or eighth grade--would try to talk himself out of joining such an incredible profession because he recognized the financial deathtrap that is the field of education? And two, I think it's funny that I thought I could somehow pick my calling in church.* Now, obviously, this was when I was younger than high school, but it's obvious the stirrings were there from an early age.
Since Mrs. White's class, I realized that I really did want to be an English teacher, and I geared most of my high school (and all of my college) education to that end. One time, we had a "jobs fair" at the high school. Looking at the different offerings of potential jobs I could learn more about, I saw that there was "teacher" available. I went to a classroom I had never seen (my high school was big) and listened to a lady who was a teacher at the school that I had never met before (my big high school had a lot of faculty, unsurprisingly). She talked about a number of things about being a teacher, but all I remember was that she said she liked it when she didn't have to refer to her notes during a class. That blew my mind. Teachers use notes? I was shocked.
When I finally got my first job** as a teacher, I truly did feel as though I had arrived. I used notes (shock!) and I made (read: make) a lot of mistakes. But I've gained a lot of insight and experience. I feel satisfied with my life choices--made all the better because I share a profession with my wife.
But I have, for many years now, wondered if I ever would be hired by my school again, were I to be on the other side of the table. That is, I am now a department chair at my school, and so I have to sit in during potential hire interviews. They're stressful for me: The interviewee is nervous, I'm uncomfortable with the power I have, and it's an artificial environment in which we're supposed to divine the best choice for my department, school, and the student body as a whole. It's not a particularly wonderful experience. (I'm grateful I don't have to be on the other side of that, though: Firing someone is probably the worst part of being in charge of an establishment.)
So my imagination sometimes runs to the other interviews I've done. As a fresh-out-of-student-teaching greenhorn, I wonder what I said that made other principals pass me by. I wonder if the teacher I am now would be a valuable addition to other schools. If I wanted to try at a traditional public school, for example, would my less-conformist feelings about, say, grading make a drastic impact? Would that appeal to them? Would it drive them away? Would my experience be taken with reluctance because it was in a charter school? Would any of my accolades or recognitions be given additional weight?
Part of me is curious. I know my school values me for what I do and who I am, but I've also grown up with the school. There are fewer than six teachers still at the school who have been there as long as I have, and only a couple who have more time. Am I really a "good teacher" or am I just a fixture? A lot of the feedback I get points to the former rather than the latter, but, if that were to change, would I be able to let go? Would I be able to switch to the other side of the table?
I'm now over twice the age I was when I first decided to become an educator, and I don't know if I'm any closer to knowing--genuinely knowing--what it takes to be a good teacher.
For that, I'm still learning.
---
* In the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, lay members handle the running of local congregations. The members are given assignments--callings--that they fulfill to keep the congregation (ward) from falling apart. The assignments aren't requests from the members; the leadership decides what's needed and asks for help. My naivete was the idea that I would somehow be in control of getting that specific calling.
** I feel like the story of how I eventually got to my current school deserves its own essay, written on another day.