In Honor of Teachers

As a teacher, I reflect back often on all those who took part in my education and shaped the educator I am today. My English teachers are all among my favorites by simple virtue of teaching my favorite subject -- and it was my favorite mainly because it was the one at which I was best! 

Way above any other was my eighth grade English teacher.  A sturdy and sort of manly looking woman, she didn't engender the fawning glorification of younger, more attractive counterparts.  Rather, she earned our respect and affection with her vast intelligence. She introduced me to Shakespeare and Dickens...allowed me to explore writing my own novel...taught me the proper research paper techniques that formed the basis of my own term paper unit.  And the vocab...how I loved vocab!  She taught us the coolest words.  And in return, we treated her to total teenage shenanigans by completely misusing them on purpose.  One memorable unit included the word "ensue;"  My girlfriend and I both submitted the following sentence that week: "Me enSue walked to the store."  We couldn't wait to see how she'd react, and we were not disappointed.  She laughed heartily.  That was another reason we loved her -- and probably explains to you why it is I react as I do to my own students.

The honor roll of other memorable teachers I enjoyed is long and illustrious.  I remember some because they were wonderfully creative and well-liked...others because they set examples I shouldn't repeat.  Here are some of them, in ascending grade order!

-- the third grade teacher who was widely desired by kids for his penchant for field trips.  I recall going on ELEVEN excursions the year I was in his class.  But he was also reviled by legions of youngsters for his tortuous habit of calling us up to practice our "times tables."  Firing off equations in rapid sequence, he could cause us to shake with fear if we couldn't answer quickly enough.
-- the fifth grade teacher who would send us postcards over school breaks from her vacations across the country.  She also celebrated every calendar holiday with special treats or projects and let us move our desks in a semi-circle around an ornately decorated Christmas tree. Having a particular limitation that sometimes kept me from gym class that year, I spent precious time alone with her.  I've never forgotten her sensitivity and nurturing guidance; she let me help check papers, pass things out, and see secret teacher stuff like the copy room and back area of the office!
-- the sixth grade language arts teacher who had an entire wall of paperbacks -- JACKPOT!.  Several days a week we were allowed to simply grab books and read.  Since she taught a double-block class, that meant over an HOUR of pure bliss.  (She was also notable because we caught her smooching another teacher in the adjacent teacher area.  Both were married...to other people...but not for long!)
-- the tenth grade social studies teacher who made me read aloud longer than any other kid in the class because I could pronounce all the words better than anyone else -- even him!  It was rumored that he suffered from PTSD, so bratty kids would also slam the textbook to the ground periodically to see if he really would dive behind his desk. He never did, as far as I know...but still they tried.
-- the twelfth grade history teacher who had graduated from Ohio State University and made me do a report on Woody Hayes, knowing my plans to attend U of M the next fall.  He was a football coach...go figure...and was not happy with my unfavorable description of the rival coach.
-- the high school French teacher, notorious for looking down girls' shirts and keeping Paris Match magazines on the back counter.  Paris Match had NUDE PICTURES in them.  I spent three long years in his classroom -- a classroom whose organization irritated me so much that I wrote him a two-page letter detailing how he could improve it. To his credit, he wrote me back graciously. 
-- the high school band director whose signature we could all forge flawlessly -- and who knew it -- but let us do it anyway to hang out in the back room of the band room.  It was a win-win; he got his sheet music filed, and I taught my best friend how to write essays when we were done.

Of course I had memorable college and grad school instructors, but it's the teachers of my youth whose images are burned deeply into my memory.  Knowing that gives me great pause now, keeps me mindful of the impact I have on the minds of these impressionable youths. 

But what they don't realize is the impact they also have on me.  :)

Dichotomy

Dichotomy: n, division into two mutually exclusive, opposed, or contradictory groups.
Colloquial definition: a middle school student.

I have been teaching middle school for just over twenty years now.  It's no small understatement to say that I love it.  I adore the personalities, the fragile sensitivities, the stunning and often surprising glimpses into deeper thinking than one thought possible...all of it.

Most of all, perhaps?  

I love the dichotomy that is a middle school student.  As proof, I submit the following:

1. "Alot" of ado:  Every year, I teach students about my grammatical pet peeves and other common mistakes they must avoid.  One is the incorrect use of "alot."  "A lot" is actually two words, an article adjective and a noun.  It is an expression of abundance based on an actual unit of measurement. Perennially, I have students argue with me that "alot" is one word, they know it, they can prove it, they see it ALL THE TIME! 

And then once they figure it out and see how much it bothers me to see it expressed incorrectly, some decide to torture me "alot." Almost every day, I come into the classroom to find an anonymous note on my podium, scribbled on my white board, or stuck into the attendance folder.  Someone is having "alot" of fun at my expense.  

The dichotomy between knowing better and using it anyway?  I love it alot.

2. Hashtag hilarity:  I'm told teenagers have taken to the Twittah because their parents took over Facebook.  And I've noticed my students joking in conversation about with Twitter lingo. 

"That party was so fun, right?  Like...hashtag totes cool (#totescool)!" or "My parents were so harsh on me! Hashtag brutal #brutal)!" 

And then I noticed they were taking hashtagging to a new level...at my expense.  A frequent misspelling of my last name is "Martian."  One child does it intentionally, pretending I am an actual alien being.  I told him he was right on one level...I AM out of this world. 

He stared at me...nonplussed...and then regrouped and began a new assault.  It took off like wildfire, and suddenly I've been "hashtagged" in a variety of ways on a daily basis.

The dichotomy between using technology as a way of life and a way of spoofing your teacher?  #WellPlayed.

3.  Cursed by the Cooties: Again, the white board presents opportunity for much fun in school.  I don't know why, but every child I've ever met LOVES to write, draw and goof on the board any time allowed...or unnoticed. 

Case in point: On one recent low-key afternoon, the students were playing word games after a grueling research unit.  Soft music was playing, windows were open, I was working quietly at my desk...keeping one eye on the kids and one eye on grading.  I was blissfully unaware that anything might be amiss. Then the  principal walked in with a parent on a tour, and we explained why we were thusly occupied.  All was well...until I glanced at the white board.  At some point while the one eye supposed to be on the kids apparently was not, they had surreptitiously written the following:

Only when the principal and prospective parent walked in did I see it...and erupted into giggles.  Looking at me quizzically, the principal hurriedly left with her visitor.  And then I put a different eye on the students:  THE STINK EYE...that was twinkling with more laughter.

Now the Cootie Curse has blossomed.

 The dichotomy between looking innocent and acting innocent? My daily curse.

4. Deep Thoughts: And then always...when I least expect it...the daily shenanigans that are so typical of a middle school classroom fade away and leave me speechless...breathless with wonder and awe. Whenever someone asks what level I teach and hears the answer, there's often a sharp intake of breath and a look of pity.  "Wow, middle school...tough age.  WHY?" 

I've always said I love middle school because it offers a glimpse into who an individual will be someday. 

I've always said it's because I love thinking I'm the smartest person in the room and then finding out I'm not when that one special kid GETS IT...laughs at something he/she wasn't supposed to understand.

I've always said it's because the kids both warm my soul and break my heart.

Most years I do a poetry unit and start with simple, formulaic options to get them engaged.  The biopoem is a great format...students are to explore their personalities and share their loves, fears, talents, etc.  This one stopped me in my tracks the other day:

The dichotomy between what you see and what's inside?  The epitome of a middle school child.

I've been #blessed alot.