When I think about most teachers I know — primarily those who I’ve met at the two schools I’ve taught at and through MƒA — one thing is undeniable: These people love their jobs. They have a passion for improving and serving students in increasingly unique ways. They move with compassion and care. They make decisions to advance students far beyond their knowledge of content.
Besides, what dedicated teacher wouldn’t love teaching? The magic that’s generated when you connect with a young person and help them grow is flat-out addicting. The job is hard and the bureaucracy can be taxing, but my work with students is a puzzle that keeps me young. It keeps me searching for answers that give my life meaning. It’s the type of work that begins and ends with love. Because I feel this way, it’s not hard to identify when other people do too.
All this was on my mind when I asked a colleague last week, “In your experience, how many teachers don’t love their jobs?” I hadn’t given much thought to the question until I said it aloud that day. What he said blew my mind: “I think 2 out of every 3 teachers do not love what they do.”
My mouth flew open. I was borderline offended. 66%? HOW? How could such an astounding number of teachers not love working with young people in the context of education? How could he make such an assumption? Did he not understand the ramifications?
In that moment, with these questions pushing their way out of my mouth, something changed within me.
I was scared.
If his hypothesis were true, it means that each day 66% of students are situated with a teacher who doesn’t lead with love. It means that 66% of classrooms are places where students and teachers simply show up, as if teachers and students are variables to insert into a formula for learning. It means that 66% of teachers teach exclusively with their heads and not their hearts.
This gives me pause.
If love isn’t at the core of a teacher’s instruction, the ten months that students and teachers are allotted together can still result in something both can be proud of. Students don’t need teachers who love them and their jobs in order to be successful. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t something missing.
Is my hopeful perspective into the hearts of my fellow teachers misguided? If the overwhelming majority of teachers do not love their jobs, as I blindly assumed, where does this leave my perception of the state of education? Where does this leave my teaching? Where does this leave students?
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Tag: teacher
I was absent yesterday and had a defining moment upon my return today
Yesterday, I was absent. It was unexpected, and I wasn’t feeling well. It was my first day calling out all year, and I’m thankful for that. I’m also grateful to be able to return today. I love teaching and my students. My classroom is my second home.
Despite my relief and gratitude, something happened today that will stay with me for a long time. Or, stated more accurately, it’s what didn’t happen that struck me.
While a couple of students asked me how I was doing, the vibe was overwhelmingly passive. The fact that I was out didn’t seem to be a topic of interest. If I hadn’t mentioned my absence at the start of class, it would have been business as usual.
During first period, when it hit me that my students didn’t particularly mind that I was out, I realized that I could have done a much better job fostering deeper, more personal relationships with them. If I had done a better job at making them feel heard and seen, then perhaps they would have inquired about my absence, checked in on me, or wondered what had happened. The fact that I haven’t been absent all year underscores this fact.
It may seem like I’m yearning for students’ attention. I don’t see it that way. Instead, I think of my students’ responses after my absence as a barometer for the quality of our relations. If their reaction to my return is lackluster and plain — like it was today — it indicates that I have done a poor job of seeing them, caring for them, and making them feel like they matter. In these instances, the classroom is merely a place where students arrive each day and not a place of true being. And I’m only a source of mathematics and not an adult who genuinely cares for them.
I have a vision that is the opposite of what happened today. The day after I’m not in school in the future, I hope to see students approaching me as if I were a member of their family who unexpectedly didn’t show up for a gathering. I want to be approached by students with questions and concerns. I imagine students saying things like, “You good, mister? I missed you.” and “Everything alright? I had to check on you.”
bp
Teacher = engineer
Up until recently, I never thought of what I do everyday as engineering. I always felt that engineers were those highly intelligent, creative people who mastermind the things we encounter every day. Those solution-oriented folks that use mathematics, science, and their own insight to solve problems that impact a vast array of human needs. They were the engineers.
But what greater, more important engineer is there than a teacher? Don’t we create solutions that enable other humans to make meaning? Don’t we create moments of debate and wonder? Don’t we design learning? Don’t we make every other profession possible?
I think it’s fair to say that the average teacher doesn’t use differential equations or Ohms law or advanced mechanics to reach their kids. I get it. But the classroom is a complex system in which three powerful forces – content, management, and pedagogy – all interact in dynamic ways. We teachers attempt to make sense of these three forces and their relation to one another. We are critical of every moment – every thought – since each one has a momentous impact on the next. We use constraints and limitations, from learning styles to broken copy machines, to construct magical moments that alter lives.
And just like engineers, we fail. A lot. No matter how seasoned the teacher, expected learning doesn’t always happen. In fact, everything we do is trial and error. Good teachers know that the complexity of our work causes us to fail early and often.
Do I hope to imitate an actual engineer? No. Am I going to add “Learning Engineer” to my resume? Of course not. Besides, I hate titles. They clutter the real work that needs to be done.
But I know that there’s a gold standard when the term “engineer” is used. It symbolizes serious can-do thinking. What I aim for is to view teaching through the sophisticated lens of an engineer. To advocate for teachers as problem solvers whose success is contingent upon high levels of critical thinking, analysis, and creativity. To remind us that our work is inspired by discovering high leverage solutions for our classrooms – solutions that directly address a multitude of human needs.
Maybe not in the traditional sense, but, yes, teachers are engineers.
bp
lazy 0ch0 