Sunday, June 7, 2020

An Open Letter to the Graduating Class of 2020

I normally write a little note to the seniors I've had for 4 years. This year was a little different (that's an understatement), and I decided to extend it to some I hadn't seen in a year or two. I wrote it before the protests started occurring all over the country and world, but I think the point stands that though these graduating seniors are emerging into a world of immeasurable challenges, they have already shown and will continue to show unity and perseverance to overcome them. Congratulations, Class of 2020!




Monday, June 17, 2019

The Emotional Toll

It has been quite a while since I last wrote some words in this space. Many things have happened in that time; the birth of two daughters, living more healthfully, five more years of experience teaching, crossing the paths of hundreds of students. In some ways those years have been a blur, and in others a kind of monotonous progression. I do feel that I have grown as a teacher, but also that the outcome of that progress, whatever that should be, is still quite distant.

It was in my last post that I both congratulated graduating seniors and exhorted "those left behind" to continue the good fight of the day to day mental and physical work of being a student. I still stand by those words, but with another year wrapping up, I thought I'd expound on something that seems to be weighing more and more heavily on me, which is the emotional toll of my job.

Being a teacher is exciting, innovative, challenging, necessary, rewarding, endearing, humbling, and eye opening. It is also exhausting, repetitive, bureaucratic, draining, frustrating, Sisyphean, Herculean, and demanding. This mixture of traits is in constant flux each and every day, and sometimes within the span of minutes. It is present on the good days and bad, the days on and the days off, in the fall, winter, spring, and even summer. But nothing focuses these myriad feelings quite like the last couple weeks of school, when the fruit of one's labor comes to pass.


Sisyphus, Antonio Zanchi, 1660-1665, The Hague

As Charles Dickens famously wrote in his opening lines of A Tale of Two Cities, "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times...." That time is now, a kind of melancholia-laced cessation. Relief as the roller coaster of the school year comes to a standstill, but an inchoate sense of dread for next year’s unexpected turns. I feel both the over-brimming pride of seeing seniors whom I've taught for four years graduate, and the crushing defeat of students for whom I was never able to find the magic key to unlock their potential. It is a time when end of year surveys make me smile and cry at the same time. If ever there was a definition for bittersweet, this is it.

I'm a person who tends to live in the "what if" and the "if only." The present is never good enough, and the future is always an aspirational goal just on the horizon. The benefit of this outlook is that I am usually improving myself (as a person, as a teacher, as a husband, as a father, and so on), but I can sometimes get caught in the eddies of progress and spin around helplessly as I try to find my footing. The bigger drawback, however, is that I fear I'm imposing an implacable burden on myself that has no immediate (or even eventual) resolution. It is one thing to have manageable, achievable, actionable goals, and quite another to have idealistic expectations that are impossible to actualize.

It is human nature (or at least my nature) to focus on the pitfalls. For each student who didn't achieve what they could have, or should have; for the curriculum I didn't get to; for the teaching strategies I didn't employ well, or at all; for the relationships not kindled and fostered; for the (seeming) exodus of interest in humanities for other subjects; for my inability to capture and maintain interest for my students; for all these things, I ask myself what I could have done if only I'd had the time, energy, motivation, guidance, or wherewithal to get it accomplished.

But I must also force myself to accept with each of those shortcomings (which are so easy to overthink) a kernel of hope and optimism (which is so much more difficult for me). Those silver linings often get obscured by the clouds.

An example of this came recently as I was saying goodbye to one of my classes after finals, wishing them a joyful summer and thanking them for a wonderful year. Some students piped up about their greatest memories of class. I won't say it as touchingly as they did, but they remarked about how I was a kind and understanding person, that I cared about them, and that they really appreciated it. (And I've received notes recently with similar sentiments.)

This blew me away. Not because it isn't true (I do care about my students), but because it was spontaneous, unsolicited, and genuine. Moreover, it's an area of my teaching approach that I tend to perceive as underdeveloped (i.e. I feel I lack affability, display awkward social graces, and that I am unable to personally connect with my students).

For those who don't know me in person, you might expect me to be an articulate, gregarious, people-person. I care deeply about others (both on a personal and sociological level), social justice, and equity, and I think it comes through in my writing. But meet me on the street and you'll see a reserved, introverted, sometimes brooding person. I can sometimes put on a show in class, a teacher-actor performing for my student audience. Yet my natural, unadulterated self flees from social interactions. I'm the kind of guy who never learned how to "do" small talk and usually those kinds of conversations fizzle out like an untended fire. I'm often at a loss for words (ironic, as this post creeps longer and longer), and I have a really hard time showing emotion, at least in my work-life. I'm the wallflower at parties and I feel that students think I'm unapproachable as a teacher.
What my students said and wrote turned that thinking on its head. I guess that in my focus on negatives, I didn't fully value my positives. I guess that I underestimated my impact on others, or focused too much on a flawed delivery method (i.e. social awkwardness) and not enough on the substance. I guess that being human is complicated.

What is the take-away of these ruminations? What can you and I glean from this? This piece is meant neither as a pity party or a pat on the back. For all those things I could be doing better, I should continue to try to do them better. This isn't an excuse to stop self-reflection or honing one's skills. But I should also appreciate and relish the things that I already do and that have a positive impact on others. I hope that you, dear reader, whether you are a student, a teacher, or just someone looking for advice, can take these same insights with you.

  • Be grateful for what you have, even if it doesn't seem like enough. It's something.
  • Be kind to others. Why? It makes them feel good, it makes you feel good, and it’s a good thing to do. We need more goodness, for goodness's sake.
  • Pour a bunch of salt on your personal pitfalls. A grain won't do. Be self reflective, but only with extreme moderation. Don’t let it overwhelm you.
  • Nourish your strengths. They will wilt without care. If you don’t know what your strengths are, listen to others. They’ll tell you.
  • Cut yourself some slack. Rome wasn’t built in a day. (Required Latin teacher bromide.)
  • Don't judge a person by their cover. It is a poor substitute for understanding what is in a person’s head.

To my students, thank you so much for your kind words and thoughts. I don't think this post really does justice to how much you and your words mean to me. Though it might sound trite or cliché, go thank a teacher that has had an impact on you, because they may not otherwise know. To everyone, as this school year comes to a close, continue to self-reflect and aim for the moon, but don't let the Siren's song of some more perfect future you entice you from the probably flawed, always striving, current you. There is much we have to offer just as we are. Have a wonderful summer.

Thursday, May 29, 2014

For Those Who Are Leaving (...And the Ones Left Behind)

To Those Who Are Leaving:


As each school year draws to a close, teachers, students, and parents inevitably begin to reflect on all that has transpired and what the future may bring. I personally find this time bittersweet; some students whom I've known for 3 or 4 years (or longer!) will be leaving, most never to return. A few will undoubtedly come to visit in the next few years, but the relationship will have morphed. It will no longer be a didactic and dialectic conversation, the immediate give and take of brain cells firing in the here and now, but one of nostalgia, of ossified memories and what-ifs.

The sweet part, of course, is watching your seedlings flourish into autonomous agents in the world. I love having the conversations 1, 2, 3 years out, when my former students expound on their newfound passions, relationships, and experiences. They come into their own and usually become the people I knew they could become.

That said, I don't think I could summarize all the advice I have for outgoing seniors. And to be honest, the most important things in life must be experienced to be understood. Only a few are able to neatly bundle up their words and deliver them in a neat package: I suggest you read (or find Youtube clips) of these thought provoking commencement addresses. These are the ideas that should not be saved for an annual ritual, but should be reflected upon regularly.

So, departing students, let me close with some clichés. YOLO and Carpe Diem. This does NOT mean do stupid things to shorten your lifespan; in fact, this is an exhortation to be as Epictetus and not sweat the small stuff while taking control of your own actions. This is an exhortation to live with authenticity as Kierkegaard and Nietzsche would recommend. Do NOT let life pass you by, or you will pass by life. Take the bull by the horns and run.

To Those Left Behind:

We aren't done yet! Get back to work!

Do you wish you could leave? Do you hate coming to school? Have you packed up the cupboards of your mind and your synapses are singing sayonara? Well, my love may be unconditional, but it doesn't mean it isn't taxing for me to put up with you giving up.

Giving up and checking out are cop-outs. It is a way to flee responsibility and hide from that which is difficult. There is no pause button on life; you cannot flee the inevitability of moving out, finding a job, being a citizen of the world. Those things will happen to you whether you want them to or not. So don't flee it. Embrace it.

The more you know, the more power you have. The more power you have, the more you can affect change. If you don't like how school or society works, you have to change it. No one else can because they aren't you and haven't felt it in your exact way. You are the one affected, so you must be the agent of change.

But before I go off into too many platitudes, let's bring it back to the here and now. Why should you finish that homework assigned last night? Why should you do that assignment in class? Here's a secret: it isn't for you to learn that tidbit of information.

The real reason we teachers want you to do work (from the mundane to the transformative) is to empower you to empower yourself. If you can "suffer through it" then you can "rise above it." Life is about outlook. If your approach to adversity is defeat, anger, pity or apathy, then you will be defeated, angry, pitiful, and apathetic your whole life. But if you can do the unsavory tasks (whether homework, scrubbing dishes, or reading through this whole diatribe) without those negative qualities, you may realize that you can handle anything thrown at you, and that makes you powerful. And, because it bears repeating, power gives you the leverage to change the world. You can change those boring, miserable, and unsavory tasks. You can rise above them.

So yes, I know it's nice outside and you want to go to the beach. I know it's so much easier to put in your earbuds and tune out the world. I know it's convenient to write that note to get out early, or come in late. And believe me, we teachers feel that same siren's call sometimes. But together we must power through it. It may be the end of the school year, but that is an arbitrary construct. There will always be something else around the corner. So we should heed Larry's advice.

Let's git r done.

Friday, February 14, 2014

A Valentine's Day Message to my Students

To my students - I love you.

To the loud ones: I love the way you inject humor and feeling into a class. I love the way you aren't afraid to say what's on your mind (though I do sometimes rue when and how you say it.)

To the quiet ones: I love the way you can be tacitly self-confident. I love the way you can draw or write or express your infinite wisdom and smile to yourself as you take in the world. I only wish you could share it more with others.

To the unsure ones: I love the way you puzzle out difficult problems. I love the way you don't give up, even when you feel like a ship lost at sea. I only wish you could take strength in your struggle instead of despair; through adversity come solutions.

To the aloof ones: I wish you understood that I love you. You are not an island, and neither am I. We can solve problems together if you and I put in the time together. It is never too late to change the approach, and it will only work if we have the conversation.

To the "smart" and "dumb" ones: I hate those labels, but I love when you overcome them. If you think you know it all, you haven't tried hard enough. If you think you know nothing, you are taking yourself for granted. Each person has a unique talent, and sometimes it can be hard to understand what that is in yourself. Never stop trying because of a label.

To the leaders: I love the way you motivate and inspire others. I love the way you listen to others' problems and try to find solutions. I only wish that every person could realize there is a little bit of leadership in themselves, too.

To the thinkers: I love the way you take longer to answer a question because you are thinking over all the ramifications and possibilities. I love the way the world is not black and white for you, but a myriad shades of gray. I only wish you could spread your patience to others.

To everyone: I love you because you inspire, create laughter, heartbreak, wisdom, perspective, innovation, and more. You make teaching exciting, challenging, demanding, rewarding, and completely awesome. If you are feeling alone today, don't. I love you.