Role Reversals: What My Students Taught Me Today

Last summer, I began my break by traveling to Boston and New York City with my family. The trip was a part of a grant I received to take street photographs that I intend to use for writing instruction. We stepped off the metro into the streets of Boston, hungry for history and lunch. Yet, the first thing we saw was neither. Rather, we witnessed a homeless man sitting on the sidewalk. My eight year-old daughter looked up at my husband and me. “Can I have the crackers from your backpack, Dad?” she asked. I started to tell her that we were going to look for a place to eat, but I stopped when I realized why she wanted the crackers. She approached the dirty, hungry, homeless man and held out the package of peanut butter crackers. He smiled through gritty teeth and skin streaked with dirt and grime, and it was a moment of true happiness for both him and my daughter. I somehow managed to fumble with my camera and photograph his reaction.. The smile is ingrained in my mind as a moment of gratitude and humility in my life as well as a moment where my eight year-old taught me what is most important in life.

So, today, when thirty of you went to pack over 3,000 meals in support of the Rise Against Hunger organization, I couldn’t help but remember the smile of that homeless man and imagine the smiles of the people receiving these meals we were packing. Hunger is such a natural part of our lives; yet, we are fortunate to be able to feed ourselves easily when we are hungry. As I pressed and sealed package after package today as part of a team, I couldn’t help but think of what it would be like to be perpetually hungry. I am one who carries snacks in my purse for when my kids whine they are hungry. How foolish I started to feel after today. What we know and recognize as hunger is no where near what people we were feeding experience.

When three students presented their idea of their CAS (Creativity, Activity, Service) project that they are required to do in IB prior to graduation, I will be honest and say I didn’t think they would be able to pull off what they did today. I envisioned them raising a few hundred dollars, not over the $1100 that they did. I envisioned my students participating out of obligation, and us returning knowing we helped but not necessarily feeling fulfilled. Yet, what I got out of today was far more than that. I learned the value of teamwork and healthy competition. We were on three teams, racing each other in terms of who could pack the boxes the fastest. I quickly told my team I am not a competitive person. I had some negative experiences with friends being too competitive when I was growing up, so I never have tried to thrive on competition. My team looked at me, and I could tell they were disappointed. So, I stepped outside of my comfort zone and vowed I would make an effort to compete. I was the sealer. I had to press the edges of the bag together with a heat-inducing sealing machine, holding it down for 2 seconds before passing the bag on to the next person to check. Again, I was out of my comfort zone, and after mis-sealing a few bags, I was worried this was not the job for me. Gradually, though, I found a rhythm in my work. My team grew to be a well-oiled machine. We could work without even looking at each other. The cadence of our work was simply beautiful. We listened to music as we worked, and the first song that came on was “Fight Song.” That song reminds me of my middle child--the same one who fed the homeless man in Boston. She sang this last year in a talent show. I couldn’t help but think of the opening lyrics of the song:

Like a small boat on the ocean.

Sending big waves Into motion

Like how a single word

Can make a heart open

I might only have one match

But I can make an explosion

This is how I felt at this moment as I looked around the room at the thirty-two other people all donning red hairnets and working diligently to seal and pack boxes. We were small boats who could not make a difference by ourselves, but look at the power and the explosion we could create, look at the waves we could make when we joined together as a team.

I grew to relish in the sound of the gong, as TImmy rang it every time a box was packed. Casey ran around putting stickers on each bag--the perfect job for someone who is fast enough to be everywhere at once. Everything fell perfectly into motion, and I realized that sometimes lessons in the classroom are not about right or wrong answers or how accurate students can be at literary analysis or even who can write the best knowledge question. We can read all of the books required, perform dozens of chemistry experiments, conjugate countless verbs, and solve hundreds of calculus problems, but until we realize what’s important and why it’s important, we’re not learning.

Today, to put simply, was inspirational. So inspirational that as I got on the bus, sat down, and texted Dr. Wheeler the picture of our group with the message “This was a top moment in my teaching career,” tears welled in my eyes. I fought them back so no one would notice, but this experience has had more of an impact on me than any classroom experience I have had.

 

Thank you to Jennifer Godbolt, Jack Wilson, and Alicia LeRoy for organizing such an inspirational project. Together, they raised over $1100 to make this day even possible for all of us. A true leader knows how to make a difference without ever taking credit for what he does. These three students are three of the most humble leaders I know.

Thank you to my students--all 30 of you. Sometimes you don’t realize just how much of an impact you make on me. I know so many people who doubt the goodness of young people. I wasn’t the teacher in today’s activity. I was the student. What you taught me today is the value of teamwork and having fun while doing so. You taught me not to judge. You taught me the value of helping others in need. Awhile ago, I presented to you my one percent movement. I challenged you to be one percent better than you were the day before. You have truly exceeded this challenge today. What you have shown me today is what  it means to be human. You have shown me that all of the A’s, all of the awards, all of the goals scored or scholarships won--while important--are not what life’s about. Life is about working together to make a difference. Life is about that random act of kindness we do or that kind word we say. My life has become about all of you--you kind, compassionate, humble people who entered my classroom as freshmen--some rowdy, some quiet, some self-centered--and will leave in a few short weeks as some of the best people I know.

I think back to that trip to Boston every now and then and always am amazed that it was an eight year-old who thought to feed that man and bring a smile to his face. In the same vein, I was amazed today by the ideas and actions of eighteen year-olds. I will always look at the photograph below and remember this moment as one where I became a student and where my students became my teacher. Thank you for teaching me today’s lesson. It is one I will never forget.

The Inadequacies of Being a Tomato

I wanted to be an ear of corn. Yes, you read that right. I wanted to be an ear of corn. When I was in the third grade, we put on a play about a farmer and his vegetables. The corn roles were most desirable because they were tall, slender, beautiful vegetables that described themselves in that way in the song they had to sing and in the dialogue they spoke. All of the tall, slender third graders were assigned that role. As you can imagine, nothing about me was tall, and therefore, I was assigned the role of the tomato. I was devastated. The tomato wasn’t even a vegetable; it was a fruit. And all of the short kids were tomatoes. I remember telling my mom that I wanted to be tall so I could be the ear of corn in that play. I compared myself to those tall, slender kids and felt like--well, an inadequate tomato.

A photo of third grade Mrs. Pace

Recently, a conversation I had with a student reminded me of this moment when I was in the third grade.This student was comparing himself to other students in the class and feeling inadequate. I got choked up in thinking about this because this student is far from inadequate, and I did the best I could in reminding him of that. And I then began to think about all of the times I feel inadequate. There are many instances. I feel inadequate quite often in my role as a teacher, as a mother, as a friend, as a wife. Then I began to think about why I feel this way. Why do I feel like I don’t live up to certain expectations? Why am I inadequate? The answer is simple. Any time I feel inadequate has been a moment where I compare myself to others. I may look at another teacher and think that I never could be as impactful in the classroom as they are. I may feel like I fail as a mother because I see the behaviors of my children are the ultimate reflection of me.

Yet, what I’ve learned is that life is not a race or a competition even though it can feel like it at times. We can’t spend our lives comparing ourselves to one another. There are gifts that I have that other teachers or mothers don’t have (I’m still trying to figure out what those are, but at least I recognize their potential to exist). So, the next time you think that your classmates are smarter than you are or prettier or more popular--the next time you think that you simply can’t match up to them, remember don’t ever compare your intelligence or anything else about yourself to others. Just worry about being the best version of yourself that you can be. Be grateful to be the tomato in a world of long, slender ears of corn.

I look at all of you, and I wish  you all could see yourselves from my eyes. You would see successful students who work hard. You would see students who have learned the art of procrastination yet somehow always get their work done. You would see student athletes who balance an IB curriculum with sports and other extracurricular activities. You would see kind students who go out of their way for other people, who don’t think so insularly about themselves all of the time. Look at what we’ve done recently in Room 211. You’ve collaborated as an entire class, you’ve made a difference in a four year-old’s life, you brought literature to life. In none of those things did it matter who was better or who was out ahead. Rather, they were situations where you worked together for an end result. In school and in life the more we can collaborate and work together, the less we will compare ourselves to others, preventing feelings of inadequacy.

  English 11 IB working together to "order" Chronicle of a Death Foretold

Caleb's reaction when he saw the website the TOK seniors made for him

English 11 IB students collaborate in a mock trial for In Cold Blood 

I’m grateful I had the chance to have this conversation recently with a student. I hope he ended up understanding why he is far from inadequate. You ALL are far from inadequate. Please don’t ever try to measure up to anyone but yourselves. Over thirty years ago, I mourned the idea of not being assigned the role of the ear of corn. Actually, I did get out of being a tomato in that third grade play after all, but not because my teacher Mrs. Bauer decided to allow me to be an ear of corn. Rather, I was not a tomato because I had the chicken pox the day of the play, but I digress. It’s funny the memories that come back to us when we’re trying to figure out our young adult and adult lives. What I know now that I may not have understood as a nine year-old is that sometimes, it’s okay to be the tomato among the ears of corn. Sometimes, the roles that are chosen for us enable us to be far more amazing than we ever could imagine.

Saying Goodbye to Ms. Davey

Think about the first time you’ve done something. I’ve had many firsts in my life. One in particular I currently am remembering is when I jumped off of the diving board at age six. I was at a swimming lesson, and the instructor said we were going off of the diving board. I was petrified of heights. Granted, this was the low diving board, but nonetheless, I was petrified. I hung out towards the back of the line, hoping we would run out of time or that I could hide behind some of the other kids. I finally got to the front of the line and slowly made my way to the edge of the board. The swim instructor was treading water in the pool, waiting to help me. “Come on, Kelly,” she said. “You can do this!” I shook my head and then finally decided to jump. Yet, when I jumped off the board, I second guessed myself and tried to grab back onto the board. Instead, I missed, and the edge of the diving board scraped my entire forearm from elbow to wrist. Blood was in the pool; they had to clear it until they cleaned everything. Clearly, this was not a “first” I am proud of, yet it does make for a funny story to tell today. Not everyone can say they shut down the pool by going off the diving board.

I have many other disastrous firsts; most of the time when we do something for the first time, we are not very good. We struggle or we second guess ourselves. Yet, I experienced a first recently--or rather, I watched someone else experience a first recently that made me realize that not all “firsts” end with a deep cut down one’s arm. Not all firsts are created equal. Ms. Davey’s first teaching experience--teaching all of you--was anything but disastrous. Ms. Davey, I remember looking at who you were on paper. I was given your application to student teach that included an essay of your teaching philosophy, and I said out loud that I already liked you on paper. Whoever was in the room with me rolled their eyes. How can you like someone just by reading about them? Yet, I knew from the start that you were going to amaze me, and you did nothing shy of that.

You see, you were the first student teacher I’ve had who didn’t really need my guidance. Yes, I gave it to you, but quite honestly, you were ready to do this from the start. Your creative classroom activities that are completely student-centered are everything that I try to implement in  my own classroom. I love my classroom for its tables and how it provides students opportunities for collaboration. You recognized this and continued to create engaging lessons for my classes. I never believed that a student teacher would feel comfortable teaching Theory of Knowledge, yet from the start, this class was as natural for you to teach as the grass is green. You picked up a curriculum that you had no formal training in and knew nothing about and asked meaningful questions and provided plenty of critical thinking opportunities.

Yet what I have learned most from you--yes, I have learned from you more than you realize just by sitting in the back of the room and soaking in your aura--what I’ve admired the most is your rapport with my students. From the start when we were doing IOCs in English class, you sat with each student individually as they were prepping. You started engaging in conversations with them and calmed them before an assessment most were nervous to do. You didn’t choose favorites, which I see so many teachers do. Rather, you spoke with every student--and you do that every single day. Your sense of humor and sarcasm have enabled our students to form a bond with you that is to say the least, pretty special.

So yes, you have defied my idea of how the first time we do most things is rather disastrous. You are a born teacher. Your first time doing this simply was remarkable. You are the type of person I am proud to call my colleague. I had a hard time in January knowing I would spend three months not teaching my English classes. I adore teaching; I love my classroom. It is one of my favorite places to be. So, for me to sit in the hallway and give that up was certainly a struggle. Yet, what I realized is how much my students have grown under your teaching. Thank you for inspiring them, for motivating them, for getting some of the quietest kids to find their voice in my classroom. Thank you for helping me to continuously see why I became a teacher in the first place. It’s all about the students for you; I feel the same way and have loved finding a teacher who shares the same beliefs in teaching that I do.

You are going to do amazing things in your teaching career. You already have. So, as you make your way down the diving board and get ready to plunge into the pool of your first year of teaching, know that you are more than ready. Somehow, I don’t see you second guessing yourself and reaching back for that diving board. For, your first time teaching has been nothing shy of remarkable.