Learning from teachers
I was in 12th grade when my Advanced Placement English teacher suggested a career direction I definitely hadn’t thought of. After my class presentation on silent films, a topic that’s still very dear to my heart, my teacher read something into my passion for the topic.
“You should really consider being a teacher,” said Miss Robinson said. “You really have a talent for it.”
A little sarcasm was in order: There was no way I was going to teach. The worlds of film criticism and journalism were ahead. I wanted to be the next Francois Truffaut, who started his illustrious moviemaking career as a critic, or one half of the next Bob Woodward/Carl Bernstein investigative team that broke the Watergate scandal and hastened Richard Nixon’s resignation. Teaching was just so mundane compared to these glamorous jobs.
My mother was a teacher while I was growing up and many years later my oldest daughter decided as a child that she, too, wanted to teach. She’s now a junior majoring in elementary education but the teaching gene seemed to have skipped my generation in my case.
Years later, after a career in public relations and writing, I felt a calling to teach. I had loved serving as media trainer showing adults how to prepare to speak on camera, a task that many of my students equated with prancing naked in the town square with a piglet under each arm. The fear of public speaking or appearing in front of a camera turned grown men in my classes into apple butter but, after four hours of training, they were able to feel more confident. Some of the managers in my classes turned out to be very competent subject-matter experts.
It was satisfying to share my skills with others. I was happy when I spotted someone who had been in my class appear on our local news. There was a certain pride in knowing I had made a small difference in someone’s life.
Now, after burning out on public relations, I’m considering other career options and teaching is at the top of my list. Miss Robinson might have spotted something in me many years ago that I couldn’t recognize because, now, the idea of being in a classroom is very exciting to me these days.
I spent today shadowing a middle-school science teacher who was kind enough to let me observe her day from start to finish. Science will never be my source of joy, but it was fascinating to watch how much she enjoyed even the most challenging parts of her six-period day.
During one of those periods, I moved to an English class as a guest of another teacher. While she graded notebooks, I walked from student to student helping them each polish his or her essays. In most of the seventh graders, I spotted a light in their eyes when they “got” my suggestions on ways to improve their writing. A couple of students even said “thank you,” which is definitely uncool for the average 13-year-old to utter.
I had to laugh when the brightest writer in the class came in wearing a Jimi Hendrix shirt; I couldn’t help asking him if he had heard any Hendrix. He assured me that he liked his music and I had to resist feeling old when I realized that Hendrix had died of an overdose when I was about the same age as the boy in the Hendrix shirt.
The rest of my day in the science classes wasn’t as much fun because the subject didn’t light me up, which was my problem in almost every math or science class I’ve ever had. The students studied fossil fuels and collected leaves in the schoolyard for categorization. I assisted the teacher in helping the kids determine whether a particular leaf was pinnate, parallel or compound, so I actually learned about as much as a seventh grader knows about leaves. (Walt Whitman’s poem “When I Heard the Learn’d Astronomer Say” came to mind. I had an urge to write about the beauty of the leaves I sorted in plastic bags, not waste time determining what they were called.)
After a day with a dedicated young teacher who was generous enough to share her time with me, I have more respect than ever for the difficult job that teachers have. She assured me that she came back from maternity leave because of how much she’s in love with teaching. The other teachers I shared lunch with me told me they stay in the classroom for the love of it. Each one mentioned an important role model in their lives who had made them love teaching. In many ways, those teachers were there because someone encouraged them and made them value learning. I couldn’t imagine a more rewarding job than having that same effect on some young person years from now.
There were teachers who inspired me to learn and whom I keep close to my heart. I wasn’t always in love with their teaching methods when I was a dumb kid, but I’m so grateful now for the discipline and challenging work that they passed on. One made me love literature, another made me love writing and another shared the beauty of language and the music of words on paper.
When I arrived home today, my husband asked me about my day in the classroom. “Those teachers deserve every raise they get and more,” I told him as I walked in and I meant it.
It’s a world out of balance when the men and women I spent the school day with make so little that many leave a job they love just to make a living wage while crooked CEOs siphon every bonus and stock option possible and entitled athletes make millions to play a game. When titles and phony stardom mean more to society than the people who mold the next generation, something is wrong. When the nation spends billions more on weapons than it does on books, something is wrong. When someone’s net worth is more impressive than what they’re worth to others, something is wrong.
Teaching is the most honorable of professions. It’s too bad I didn’t realize it when I was in 12th grade, but I’m thrilled that I’m hearing the call now. A belated thanks, Miss Robinson.
