When I walked through the doors of this classroom for the first time this week, I was walking into my eighth year of teaching middle school. Each and every year has presented different challenges and different victories, but some things have always remained the same. Despite the groups of students, how many have been in my room, what grade I’m teaching, or where I’ve taught, each and every year brings tears; every year brings laughter; every year brings exhaustion and frustration. Every year shows me my weaknesses, but in every year I find my strength, and every year I work to turn all the frustrations into “teachable moments” for my students and for me. In spite of almost a decade-worth of ups and downs, I am still here, with my students in my classroom because more than anything else, every year I am reminded of my capacity to love. What I wish my students knew is that I am merely human, but I am a human with a heart the size of the ocean, and each of them takes up their own space there - among the wind and the waves.
Oh how human I truly am! Dear ones, please know from the bottom of my heart that I do try. I try so hard, but WOW! Some days are tough. Just like you, I fight with my alarm clock. There are some mornings that I refuse to get out of bed. Snooze becomes my best friend, and getting out from under the covers feels like it will be the end of the world! Or the morning doesn’t go as planned. I didn’t sleep well; someone is sick; I’m running late; the clothes I want to wear are dirty; my child isn’t cooperating; I didn’t have time to eat breakfast; I forgot my lunch; I need to put gas in my car; my house is a mess; my dogs take 20 minutes instead of five on their walk. Before I even leave my house or pull into the school, I’ve already decided the day will be awful, or I just need to get a sub, just run away forever, or just sit and cry. But then, I think of you. I think of what you need from me. I think about all the things I could teach you in that day that you wouldn’t get the chance to learn because I’m not there. I think about the commitment I have made to your education, and to some of you, your hobbies and interests. I think about how much extra pressure it is on the school staff to try to replace me on a whim, even for just a day. I think about all the ways I am not prepared to turn my classroom and my kids over to someone else. I think about whether or not you’ll be okay today - what if your morning was rough, too, or worse than mine, and you just need a smile or a familiar face. You just need to know you can count on me if you can’t anyone else. And then I know I have only one option: (turn off the alarm and get out of bed or stop whining or wipe the tears off my face or throw on the shirt I don’t really love or skip putting on makeup) get to school, get to you.
Do you know how much I expect out of myself? More than you can imagine. There is pressure from every angle. (I bet you have no idea how that feels *insert sarcasm*) Society hates teachers. (Some) Politicians hate teachers. Testing companies hate teachers. (Some) Parents hate teachers. (Some) Students hate teachers. There’s so much hate that sometimes I even hate being a teacher. It gets hard, trying to reach down deep and pull the joy up out of me to give to you, but I know it’s worth it. You’re worth it, so I push. I push myself, and I push the boundaries, and I push the belief system, and I push the stereotypes, and I push you. I carry the weight of proving the world wrong about teachers and about you, and then I work, work, work to actually do it. When I wake up, my brain starts a running to-do list – what has to happen in my classroom today, what am I behind on (everything, in case you’re wondering)? I get to school early to make sure the room feels like home, copies are made, the board is organized, and I am ready. I teach all day, tweaking and changing my plans as I need to. I stay late to have meetings or reflect or finish lesson plans. At night, I dream about my classroom and my students. My mind and my work are constantly focused on you. I expect myself to scale the mountains of your minds and leap the canyons of your understanding and bridge every gap and work out every problem and lead you to new places academically and personally. I expect the best out of myself for you, and in turn, I expect the best out of you for you. I am giving you so much, working so hard, and I wish you knew that if you would give that much back, work that hard in return, there is absolutely nothing we couldn’t accomplish in this classroom. There is absolutely nothing you couldn’t accomplish in your life. Run through the obstacles, jump over the hurdles, speed past the hate, shut your ears to the lies of failure and defeat, and tackle life with me. Work alongside me. Push alongside me. Expect alongside me. Believe alongside me. You don’t have to do it alone, but I can’t either.
I have a child of my own, you know. A two-year-old little boy with the whitest blond hair and the bluest of eyes and a laugh that makes the world sparkle with sunshine. He hugs me, and he kisses me, and he loves me, and he holds tight to me, and he talks to me, and even when he isn’t perfect, he still is, and I miss him when I’m not with him. My heart aches when I drop him off at the sitter’s in the morning. When I see pictures of him throughout the day, all I want is to grab him up and snuggle and read books and go for walks and do everything I don’t get to do all day long because I am here. I am here with you. Instead of my own child. And some days, that makes my heart break. But what makes my heart break more is that some of you don’t have mommies who love you the way I love my son. Some of you don’t get cuddles and stories. Some of you aren’t thought of throughout the day; you don’t have love to go home to. Some of don’t have anyone who thinks you hung the moon, and THAT is unfathomable to me. How could anyone look at you and not believe you are incredible? How could anyone see the spark in your eyes and not recognize the fire hiding in your soul? How could anyone hold you for the very first time or be with you any day after and not believe you were worth giving up everything else for? Because let me tell you, you are. And so, I come to my classroom every day, not out of obligation or duty or the need to earn a living, but out of love and out of awe for who you are, who you were created to be, because you deserve to know that someone sees you and respects you and believes in you and loves you. I am that someone.
