I knew this year would be different- I was hoping going back would feel easier, less stressful, and I think my hopes were realized, with the exception of Sunday night, when I thought I might pull my hair out and vomit every five minutes...
But we started, and I 'm in it for the long haul. It's hard, when you've been disappointed in what you're doing, to not go in expecting that same disappointment. I'm doing my best to be open, willing to engage myself in whatever comes my way, and hoping that with another year of experience comes another leap in growth for me as a person and educator.
Challenges abound. I spent some time talking with our new eighth grade teacher the other day. A first year teacher, she was surprised to be given a class of eighth graders, and a little naive. In our school probably like countless other *big city schools*, little is guaranteed, and you're not only fighting the battles of educating the students, but also of educating their parents and of fighting prejudices, stereotypes, and expectations that are bigger and stronger than you can imagine. It's a hard line to walk. You come in young, idealistic, full of hope and promise, and that is good, but it can't last. You have to take a dose of reality, and walk that fine line between honesty and cynicism. You have to admit to yourself the atrocity of your students' lives, but not believe that that horror is unending. It's even harder when that trust, that faith that we hold is broken, and hers was broken the first day, when the kids got into her purse, stole her change, went through her phone, and ruined a few of her things. "It's frustrating," she said "to know that I spent my time and money on kids I'd never met, and this is what happens. It makes you want to quit. That fast."
It does. It's so hard! So hard to hold on to that piece of you and believe in that piece of them when you are faced with the things we see every day. It's so easy to fall into old and established patterns, to judge things on race or socioeconomic lines, to blame this or that, or mom or dad, and to forget that when one part of our society suffers, we all suffer. We can not possibly achieve our highest potential if any part of us is held down, chained by mindset or gender or stereotype or race or religion or money, we can not realize our own worth if we are judging the worth of others. It hurts, literally and figuratively, to work so hard for the future of these children and to have that work, and these children, cut down one by one, be it by violence, neglect, ignorance, or chance. It's difficult to start on that note, to have your trust and good intentions ripped in half, and it takes a strong character to not allow that event to be the guiding force in your future actions.
I believe in you, *first year teacher*, because it means believing in myself as well, and because it means believing in my children, and in their future, and I am afraid, deeply afraid, that if I stop believing in those things that there may not be anyone else who does, and because I know that the job we do is too valuable for us to not believe in ourselves and the importance of what we do. I pray that you will give them another chance, because life may not, and we hold in our hands the opportunity to be that change in the world. I believe in you.
But we started, and I 'm in it for the long haul. It's hard, when you've been disappointed in what you're doing, to not go in expecting that same disappointment. I'm doing my best to be open, willing to engage myself in whatever comes my way, and hoping that with another year of experience comes another leap in growth for me as a person and educator.
Challenges abound. I spent some time talking with our new eighth grade teacher the other day. A first year teacher, she was surprised to be given a class of eighth graders, and a little naive. In our school probably like countless other *big city schools*, little is guaranteed, and you're not only fighting the battles of educating the students, but also of educating their parents and of fighting prejudices, stereotypes, and expectations that are bigger and stronger than you can imagine. It's a hard line to walk. You come in young, idealistic, full of hope and promise, and that is good, but it can't last. You have to take a dose of reality, and walk that fine line between honesty and cynicism. You have to admit to yourself the atrocity of your students' lives, but not believe that that horror is unending. It's even harder when that trust, that faith that we hold is broken, and hers was broken the first day, when the kids got into her purse, stole her change, went through her phone, and ruined a few of her things. "It's frustrating," she said "to know that I spent my time and money on kids I'd never met, and this is what happens. It makes you want to quit. That fast."
It does. It's so hard! So hard to hold on to that piece of you and believe in that piece of them when you are faced with the things we see every day. It's so easy to fall into old and established patterns, to judge things on race or socioeconomic lines, to blame this or that, or mom or dad, and to forget that when one part of our society suffers, we all suffer. We can not possibly achieve our highest potential if any part of us is held down, chained by mindset or gender or stereotype or race or religion or money, we can not realize our own worth if we are judging the worth of others. It hurts, literally and figuratively, to work so hard for the future of these children and to have that work, and these children, cut down one by one, be it by violence, neglect, ignorance, or chance. It's difficult to start on that note, to have your trust and good intentions ripped in half, and it takes a strong character to not allow that event to be the guiding force in your future actions.
I believe in you, *first year teacher*, because it means believing in myself as well, and because it means believing in my children, and in their future, and I am afraid, deeply afraid, that if I stop believing in those things that there may not be anyone else who does, and because I know that the job we do is too valuable for us to not believe in ourselves and the importance of what we do. I pray that you will give them another chance, because life may not, and we hold in our hands the opportunity to be that change in the world. I believe in you.
I'm not the only one.
