When
originally tasked with the assignment of writing my teaching philosophy, I
immediately thought I’d grab a copy of something I wrote two short years ago as
a college senior, when I was bright-eyed and ready to tackle the world of
public education. People told me it was hard, and I “knew” it would be, but
surely with my fresh attitude and innovative ideas, I could attack anything! My
students would be bright, intrinsically motivated, and ready to tackle anything
I threw their way. I could, indeed reach every student and captivate them with
my sense of humor and quick wit. After all, teaching is a lot of people’s “back
up plan,” and this society tells us that *anyone* can teach.
Fast forward two
years, and with a bit of a heavy heart, I realized that I’m not that person
anymore.
Two
years into teaching and my vision for changing the world through education has
dimmed. I look back on these two years and understand why so many of my peers
leave, and why so many young, capable, innovative teachers quit before their
fifth year of teaching. The system, starting on a national level, is indeed
broken, and this job jades you.
Reflecting on
these two years, I realize how much this job has taken from me. It has taken my
time- this job is hardly forty hours a week, and if I ever meet a teacher who
works strictly forty hours a week, I’d like to clone them. I can’t sleep at
night because I’m thinking about my students’ well-being, their understanding,
their successes, their failures. This job has taken my sanity- at any given
moment you have at least seven different students asking things from you, from
bathroom passes to extra credit, all while you have important emails to answer
and heaven forbid you actually teach something. This job has taken my vision
for being wonder-woman teacher, with an uncanny ability to make copies, answer
emails, prepare lessons that cater to EVERY student, make phone calls to
parents, deal with discipline problems with ease and grade assignments in less
than twenty four hours. The job has taken away my self-assurance as I lay awake
at night wondering if I handled that classroom disruption correctly, if little
Johnny will pass my class, or what was bothering Suzie today. I’m constantly
thinking of what more I could do, how much more I could give, and how there
never seems to be enough of me to go around.
I am tired. I am
worn, much like the rest of the teachers in this very broken system. But, there
is one thing this job can’t take from me- my love for building relationships.
If I’m honest with myself, my students won’t remember much of what I teach them,
and that’s OK. They won’t remember The Giver’s character or the analysis they
did of Jonas. They won’t remember all of the subordinating conjunctions or how
to make a sentence in active voice. They will, however, remember one very
important piece of information—that I cared. I cared about what happened in
their lives. I cared about their successes and their failures, and more
importantly, I asked. They’ll
remember “High Five Friday” and #lifelessonswithMsRivard. If I think about my
life as a student and the teachers who made the biggest impact on me, I don’t remember
everything about Honors Anatomy or AP Language, but I remember that those
teachers pushed me, and I was willing to work for them because they cared. I strive to be the teacher who cares. My prayer
is that they’ll know that whether they’re the brightest child in the class or
the one who reads on a 4th grade reading level. I pray they’ll know
that information whether they’re the quiet child who likes to observe, or if
they’re the child I get onto every day. I strive for them to know that I care. Humbly I know that I
can’t reach every student, but at least they’ll know I tried.
On the days when
this job is hard, it is evident that these students know I care by the
countless “goodbyes” I get at the end of the day, or the hugs in the morning,
or the way they eagerly come back from a break to tell me about it. They share
things with me that they wouldn’t normally with an adult. My primary goal in
teaching is to be a role model. I apologize when I mess up, I cry at sad parts
of books, and I laugh when things are funny. I “do life” with these kids. I
want them to know that I do not, under any circumstance, expect perfection, but
I do expect their best. I work every day to give them my best, and expect that
in return.
So
to that college senior version of myself who just knew this system wouldn’t beat her- keep on chugging, my friend.
Love the kids, and love the journey.
P.S. Find out who has the candy
stash and ALWAYS have extra pencils.
