From the Heart #2
The biggest question we all face as teachers is, "Why did you choose to go into education?" I'm pretty sure that my answer sounds that same as many others. I want to help children. That's pretty much a no brainer. If you get into education and don't have that on your list, chances are- you are in the wrong business! When new graduates cross the stage to get their degree in education, they probably would all say the same stock answer. Now don't get me wrong. That answer rings true and 10 years into my career, it still rings true. However, tonight I am reminded that there are two sides to the coin. As much as I want to help children and impact their lives, I am imprinted upon by every student that walks through my door. Some more than others. Tonight is a case in point of that.A special on 48 hours took me back to my first teaching job.
It was a day like any other. I was fresh out of college in the first six weeks of my first teaching job at Pampa High School in Texas. At all of 22, I thought I was ready to face the world and impact the lives of my students. My third hour Pre-AP English class was working through analyzing "The Bells" by Edgar Allen Poe. A knock sounded at my door. The sweet World Geography teacher next door stood there with a grave look on her face. Her shaky voice said, "I need to talk to you in the hall." No amount of college education or stock answers prepared me for what she would tell me when the door closed behind us. A student we shared had been murdered. The story of Zach Doan and his family's murders shook our small town to the core and made national headlines. I remember sliding down my door to sit in the hall and cry. I remember a small voice inside the classroom saying, "It's true, isn't it?" when I stepped back in. I remember feeling like the most inadequate adult in that building as I could not take the pain away from this group of children who suddenly had to grow up too soon. Most of all I remember the fog that surrounded everything I did. It was September 30.
I know that in that amount of time, I had not affected that young man's life. We had no special bond, except that he was one of my students, which in my book equates that he is one of my own. In the short amount of time I had the privileged of having this young man in my classroom, I had to not fulfilled my end of the bargain. I hadn't done what I set out to do. Instead, the roles had reversed. My whole perspective of what it meant to be a teacher shifted that day. It wasn't about teaching "The Bells". It was finding ways to positively impact the students in my room everyday and allowing them to teach me as well, because every second counts. Every. Second. Every. Hour. Every. Day. Not a day goes by that I don't remember the empty desk, 2nd row from the windows, 3rd seat back in my 7th hour class and the fact that after September 30, I no longer had a Zach D. and a Zach L. in the class. And not a day goes by that I don't remember why I am here. It's a new year. Maybe it is time to reevaluate what answer we should really give when asked, "Why did you get into education?"
View the 48 hours preview here.
It was a day like any other. I was fresh out of college in the first six weeks of my first teaching job at Pampa High School in Texas. At all of 22, I thought I was ready to face the world and impact the lives of my students. My third hour Pre-AP English class was working through analyzing "The Bells" by Edgar Allen Poe. A knock sounded at my door. The sweet World Geography teacher next door stood there with a grave look on her face. Her shaky voice said, "I need to talk to you in the hall." No amount of college education or stock answers prepared me for what she would tell me when the door closed behind us. A student we shared had been murdered. The story of Zach Doan and his family's murders shook our small town to the core and made national headlines. I remember sliding down my door to sit in the hall and cry. I remember a small voice inside the classroom saying, "It's true, isn't it?" when I stepped back in. I remember feeling like the most inadequate adult in that building as I could not take the pain away from this group of children who suddenly had to grow up too soon. Most of all I remember the fog that surrounded everything I did. It was September 30.
I know that in that amount of time, I had not affected that young man's life. We had no special bond, except that he was one of my students, which in my book equates that he is one of my own. In the short amount of time I had the privileged of having this young man in my classroom, I had to not fulfilled my end of the bargain. I hadn't done what I set out to do. Instead, the roles had reversed. My whole perspective of what it meant to be a teacher shifted that day. It wasn't about teaching "The Bells". It was finding ways to positively impact the students in my room everyday and allowing them to teach me as well, because every second counts. Every. Second. Every. Hour. Every. Day. Not a day goes by that I don't remember the empty desk, 2nd row from the windows, 3rd seat back in my 7th hour class and the fact that after September 30, I no longer had a Zach D. and a Zach L. in the class. And not a day goes by that I don't remember why I am here. It's a new year. Maybe it is time to reevaluate what answer we should really give when asked, "Why did you get into education?"
View the 48 hours preview here.
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