Being interested in literature for
a great majority of my life, I’ve often connected with the wisdom of great
writers from the past. One of the first
literary novels I can remember reading is Oliver
Twist, by Charles Dickens. In this
book he wrote that “The sun,--the bright sun, that brings back, not light
alone, but new life, and hope, and freshness to man--burst upon the crowded
city in clear and radiant glory. Through costly-coloured glass and paper-mended
window, through cathedral dome and rotten crevice, it shed its equal ray.” From early on in life, by reading and
identifying with statements such as this, I learned that money has no real,
intrinsic value and that there is much more to life. I wasn’t sure exactly what I wanted to do
with my life, but I was sure that I wasn’t going to chase dollars but rather hold
value in relationships, doing solid work, and helping others. It was these early principles that guided me
down the long, winding path to become an educator.
The first few years in teaching are
more stressful, cumbersome, and fatiguing than anyone can imagine. There is no magic formula, no advice, and no
college curriculum than can serve to prepare teachers for what they are about
to encounter. At any given moment in the
classroom teachers are met with apathy, hostility, despair, confusion,
absurdity, and any other number of things.
The only way through is by doing.
Experience is the only path to liberation and inspiration is hard to
find. Some anecdotal evidence of such
difficulties facing teachers comes from a recent interaction I had with an old
friend at a holiday event. Before
becoming a teacher this year, he served as a soldier in Afghanistan and was also
a ten-year veteran of the police force.
When I asked how his first year of teaching was going, he said, “Of all
the things I’ve ever hated, I’ve never hated anything as much as I hate teaching.”
Now, with over a decade of
classroom experience behind me, I have found the best way to succeed in the
classroom is to be genuine. When the
students see this, they perform. When
students know that you are a real person who passionately brings enthusiasm and
concern to the classroom day after day, in spite of an endless barrage of
disconnected and aimless reforms and mandates, they sincerely attempt to
succeed. And it is in these attempts where
inspiration lies.
Without that inspiration, I would’ve
left the profession years ago, mirroring the feelings of my first year teacher
friend. It’s not the pay. It’s not the respect. And
it’s not the opportunity for advancement that inspires teachers to grind it out
in the classroom day after day. It’s the
successes of the kids we work with that inspires and drives us.
More concretely, I’m inspired by
Ashley, a current senior who I taught in 11th grade who came up to
me in the hallway several weeks ago smiling and jumping up and down with
joy. “Mr. Fagan. Do you remember how bad I did on that
pre-test you gave for ACT skills last year?
Well, with all of the practice and review and work you gave us last year,
I just got my results back and my composite score was a 30! Thank you so much for all that you did to
help me!” That inspires me.
I’m inspired by the students who
arrive in my speech class terrified of talking in front of a group of
people. I’ve had students cry during
their first speech. I had a student run
out of the classroom and hide because she was so scared. And every year there are others who want to
make immediate guidance appointments to get their schedules changed while I
reassure them that it won’t always be this hard and that at some point, they
are going to have to face it. And there
isn’t a feeling that compares to seeing these same students grow, build poise, and
confidence as the course develops. By
the end of the year, many of these students not only give 7-9 minute speeches,
but they learn how to confidently command a room.
I’m inspired when students in my
first period make it to class 70 out of the first 90 days of school. I’m inspired because in spite of the
obstacles thrown in their way they arrive as often as they can. They arrive when they can and work hard to
succeed even when they are the sole morning care-takers of elementary aged
siblings that have no other means to get to school because their mothers are
working.
I’m inspired when my honors
students challenge themselves and take Advanced Placement courses in 12th
grade.
I’m inspired when my students get
accepted into the colleges of their choice.
I’m inspired on graduation night
when I arrive for my assigned duty and see my students in their caps and
gowns. They run over to me. They hug me.
They take pictures with me. They
let me know how much what we did together means to them. And that means everything to me.
I’m inspired when former students
reach out to let me know that they are doing great things now.
I’m inspired when I get a call from
a former student now serving in Afghanistan while home on leave, asking to make
plans to meet up before the holidays.
I’m inspired when former students
become teachers and say that they’ve chosen that path because of the influence
I’ve had on them (and I’m also terrified by their career choices as I see what
the future of our profession holds in store for them).
I’m inspired when I’m invited to the
weddings of former students.
I’m inspired when I receive baby
pictures of their children.
I’m inspired when I receive
Christmas cards in the mail from them.
I’m inspired by my colleagues who
come into work on a daily basis and do the work that matters in the face of
adversity, animosity, disrespect, and an ever-changing environment because they
too, know what it’s all about.
In a profession when teacher voices
are so often devalued and unheeded, there is so often very little to uplift and
inspire. The pay surely doesn’t inspire. The rising costs of benefits, deductibles,
and copays doesn’t inspire. The lack of
respect and autonomy doesn’t inspire.
The intentional debilitation of public schools and the invaluable
services they provide does not inspire.
If it
weren’t for the kids and the daily interactions, laughs, tears, learning
experiences, and small victories we experience together, there’d be no reason
to teach at all.
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