It was a cool Saturday morning when I recently decided to pound the pavement and go for a run. My runs have become a lot longer lately; that often happens when I have a lot on my mind. I was deep in thought that Saturday, as I started to head down one of the main streets of my neighborhood when I heard the cheering from a distance. There was a tall, thin woman in front of me, and I honestly thought the man standing in his driveway was calling out to her, until she passed, and he continued to cheer for me. Lately I've needed cheerleaders in my life, so I waved, smiled, and picked up my pace a little bit more. I'll take all of the encouragement I can get. After all, teaching in a pandemic has been less than desirable.
The start of this school year has not been like most I've known in the past. I keep thinking back to the kind of teacher I longed to be when I was seven years old, playing school in my basement. I keep thinking back to the teacher I desired to be in my first years of teaching.
I wanted students (aka stuffed animals when I was seven) to like me, but more important, I wanted them to respect me.
I wanted to have innovative lessons where students collaborate. No one would sit in rows facing forward. We would be a community that I would have worked constantly to build.
I wanted to see smiles and hear sounds of laughter. Learning should be noisy and fun.
I wanted students to come into my room excited to learn.
I wanted to be the teacher students asked to write letters of recommendation, came to when they were struggling, and hugged when they graduated.
I wanted to be the teacher who worked tirelessly at giving students the feedback they needed, not the feedback steeped in grades, but honest feedback about how they could improve in class.
I wanted to be so passionate about the book I was teaching so that students couldn't help but be passionate themselves.
I wanted to be a listener, a cheerleader, a disciplinarian, a mother, an inspiration.
This year, I am not that teacher.
This year, I am stressed. I have been overwhelmed more than usual. I have been hard on myself to be better. I have wanted the classroom I always imagined, but somehow seem to be falling flat. I've gotten stuck in a breakout room. I've had sound issues every single day to the point that I feel like I am a part of the Verizon "Can You Hear Me Now?" ad campaign from 2001-2011.
 |
| Verizon "Can You Hear Me Now?" Ad Campaign |
I am slow to grade papers even though I seem to be working every single night. Sometimes I'm so worried about how to even go about teaching my lesson that I forget the most important thing that's right in front of me.
Yes, I am not that teacher I longed to be years ago.
I keep trying to remind myself I am teaching in a pandemic. I am teaching both on zoom and face to face. Most days it takes twice as long to plan a lesson for a simple eighty-minute class. I started this year very closed-minded. Most nights, I woke up at 2:00 a.m., thinking about not being able to do this. I called what I was doing unsustainable. I silently questioned everything. I felt isolated, never really seeing my colleagues because somehow I can't even manage to get out in the hallway between classes; I am either setting up a zoom, cleaning laptops and desks, or just taking a deep breath.
It wasn't until two weeks ago, that I realized I was slipping into a teacher I never desired to be. It wasn't until Mr. Gardner, my assistant principal, stood outside of his friend's house in my neighborhood, cheering me on during my run that I was able to realize that school doesn't need another person complaining. My classroom doesn't need a tired, frustrated, anxious teacher. Rather, they need that teacher. They need the teacher who listens and who is excited and wants to come to school this year even though it is different, even though it is hard. For a few weeks I lost that feeling. I couldn't see past the fact that I had 140 students and that I was teaching four of my six classes synchronously. Every time another colleague complained, I thought to myself that I had it worse--that is, until Mr. Gardner cheered me on. Without even knowing it, he made me realize I needed to get out of wallowing in my self pity. Instead, I needed to cheer others on. I needed to laugh with my students and be a cheerleader for them as well as my colleagues. Mr. Gardner didn't take away my struggles of teaching during a pandemic. Every day is still hard, and I don't know a single teacher who is not struggling right now, but he did remind me that there will always be people cheering me on and that I need to do the same.
I saw Mr. Gardner again on my run--about four miles in. He was leaving the neighborhood and rolled down his window to continue to cheer me on. It's funny how sometimes in life people are placed there at the right moment, at the right time. Seeing Mr. Gardner on that run, not once but twice, was a moment of change for me. Everyone needs a Mr. Gardner cheering their race. I'm grateful my serendipitous moment happened just when I needed it. For, it made me realize how much I wanted to be the teacher I always dreamed of being, how much I wanted to be that teacher.
Sometimes we need to take a step back to realize what we have in front of us all along. I may not be good at zoom. Virtual students, you may be frustrated that you can't always hear me or that I forget to share my screen or turn up the sound. Face to face students, I'm struggling with the difficulty to teach the way I used to when we could gather around tables and high five our successes. Just know I am trying. That's all any of us can do. Somehow you've started this school year miles ahead of me; you never complain even though you are walking in one-way hallways and wearing masks 8 hours a day. And might I mention lunch--it's nothing like you've ever known it to be, yet you keep smiling. You've already done big things--our first practice commentary...setting up a mental health space that will open officially this month.
 |
| Oral Commentary Practice |
 |
| Mental Health Space opening soon! |
So many of you check on me, some have even brought me Diet Coke, and others have expressed grace when I just can't get things right. You've shown me you can do hard things and that I, too, can do the same.
So when things get hard for you (because they will), take a deep breath and remember you are learning in a pandemic. You don't have to be perfect. My teaching this year will be far from that; there are things we just can't change about teaching and learning during this time. Most importantly, when things do get hard, remember that I'll keep pushing to be your cheerleader instead of complaining. I realized recently I actually don't have to be that teacher; I just need to be your teacher. And I promise I will no matter how hard it seems.
So, Mr. Gardner, if you're reading, thank you. Without even knowing it, you saved this teacher this school year. And if you ever happen to be in my neck of the woods again, I'm out there at 8:00 a.m. most Saturdays running. I'll be listening for the encouragement. I promise to pass it along to others as well. After all, that's all any of us can really do.
