When I was in fourth grade, I went home one afternoon with only one of my snow boots on my feet. We had a fire drill late in the afternoon, right before we were about to be dismissed. I remember prior to the sound of the alarm, my teacher, Mrs. O'Donnell, asked us to put on our snow boots. I was in the middle of putting mine on when the fire alarm sounded. Mrs. O'Donnell--usually a force to be reckoned with who ran a no-nonsense kind of classroom--looked somewhat panicked and rushed us out the door. No one argued with Mrs. O'Donnell, so I certainly did not try to tell her that I hadn't finished putting on my boots. Instead, I grabbed my backpack and left with one snow boot and one regular shoe, attempting to walk through the snow and slush-covered sidewalks to my bus. There wasn't much snow on the ground, but enough to have gotten a call from Mr. Whitley if I did grow up in Mechanicsville. New York snow storms didn't elicit many days off, though. I remember getting on my bus and arriving home, and my mom questioning why I came home with only one snow boot and one shoe.
My teacher had sent me out in the world with one snow boot.
What kind of teacher lets that happen?
For years, I never thought of this story until I became a teacher myself. In my twenty-three years in the classroom, I regularly think about how I send my students out into the world. Are they smarter, kinder, more empathetic human beings because of my class? What did they learn from sitting with me for ninety days? Are they taking anything away? Or am I sending them out into the world with one snow boot to trudge through the snow and slush?
Recently, one of my former students sent a photo of herself on her first day of college along with the message "I already am reading about Little Albert in one of my classes!" It may not seem very significant, but it was one of the best texts I've ever received from a student. She was actually learning about content in college that I had taught her in Theory of Knowledge; but more importantly, she thought enough to send me a first-day-of-school photo. That meant that over the two years I taught her, I sent her out into this world not only with content knowledge but also with a level of comfort that she could share her first moments of college classes with me. I've gotten several texts and emails like this over the past few years from students saying all of those discussion boards we did in Dual Enrollment actually helped and put them ahead in their college classes to the student who recently wrote about his English class saying, "Everything I learned from your class is applying here. We did so many annotations today, and I'm killing it." Every time I receive a message like that, I'm grateful that I prepared my students well, that I sent them out into the world wearing two snow boots.
Yet, what I've also learned as a teacher over time is that sometimes we have to send our students out with one snow boot. Maybe it's a moment where we need them to think on their own. Maybe it's a moment where we challenge our students and encourage them to do hard things. Maybe it's just our way of keeping our students safe. What I didn't know back when I was in fourth grade was that Mrs. O'Donnell was doing just that--keeping us safe. You see, there was some kind of dangerous situation in the boiler room of the school causing the fire alarm to sound, and we needed to evacuate immediately. I was better off with one boot and exited school that way because my teacher prioritized my safety. I don't think I even thought about this situation until I became a teacher and wanted the same for my students.
So what kind of teacher sends her students out in the world with one snow boot? One named Mrs. O'Donnell--an incredible one. That year in fourth grade, I learned how to work hard; fourth grade meant learning about Long Island history and long division. Mrs. O'Donnell's no-nonsense attitude combined with her kindness and ability to put her students first are part of why I am the teacher I am today.
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| Fourth grade me |
I guess that's what I want to relay to you, my students, this school year. I want you to know I'll do everything in my power to keep you safe in my classroom. I want you to know that I plan to challenge you and not give up on you so quickly. I'm not the teacher who has all the answers nor one who pretends she does--and that's okay. Sometimes we'll figure things out together. You'll learn to wear the solitary snow boot and think independently for yourself, but I'll also be there to support you when you need it most. I'll encourage you to work hard and understand it's okay to make mistakes; after all, that's where true learning happens.
I think the hard thing about being a student today is the expectations put on you. You are expected to be the best in school, outside of school, on the fields and the stage, in the community. You are expected to do hours of homework and maintain a job and volunteer all to get into a good college to better prepare your career. Yet, in watching students balance all of this like a Jenga game gone wrong, I can't help but question whether or not we are preparing you for the "real" world. What are we teaching you if we pile all of these expectations on who you are? How are we sending you out into the world? These are the questions that keep me up at night and ones which, unfortunately, I don't have an answer.
My wish for you this year is simple:
May what you learn be great but the relationships you build be greater.
May you work hard in your classes but harder at being a good human being.
May you own your mistakes and learn from them. May you build character by building others up and may you always, always maintain a sense of humor.
May you understand the value of hard work and that the answer can't always be Googled.
May you know how excited I am to be your teacher, how much I can't wait to see the difference you make in my class and life.
May you know that I plan to send you out into this world prepared, even if you happen to be wearing a solitary snow boot.
Welcome to Room 211! Know how happy I am that you're here!
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