For the last two years, my friend John has been teaching over in Detroit through a program called Teach For America. I have known him since my first year of college. I have worked alongside him and looked up to him as a role model. His job in Detroit, no doubt, has been challenging and difficult at times, but I am confident that this experience has enabled John to grow, learn, and take on anything that comes his way after this. When we first heard from John on Yow Yow! he was maybe half a year into his program. Please read his guest post here.
How do you tell a student: “I know some of how you feel about failure: I feel like a failure everyday”?
I am no stranger to anxiety. My mom says it runs in the family. But there is a special kind of anxiety that comes with teaching. That anxiety usually rears its ugly head once a week, in the late morning or early afternoon of Sundays from September to June, telling you the kids are coming back. A former teacher of mine once stated it like this: “no matter how hard you work today, you will not do enough for your kids, and feel like you are letting them down”.
Some days I work a lot as a teacher, and some days I do not do enough. But there is one common trend: I always feel like I have not done enough.
For those of you thinking about teaching, be inspired by this sentiment: teaching is so freaking rewarding. There are such beautiful tangible and intangible results that I am so grateful for. But for me, teaching was a glaring reminder of all the ways I don’t feel like I stack up.
When coworkers find out that I am not teaching next year, they question: Is it the kids? Is it the administration? Is it because you feel this work is impossible? I make up a different answer every time, but the truth is that it is none of those things.
Some of my students are the strongest people I have ever met. I am truly filled with how their passion, vitality, and work ethic drive them to successes in avenues I could have never imagined. One student has 5 different places he stays, one for each night of the week, and carries a 3.7 and a 21 on the ACT (the Detroit average is 14.1, he is easily in the 90th percentile or higher). Another has familial drug problems and abuse, yet shows up rocking her Jordan’s and a smile everyday. One loves the band Paramore, and makes online music websites. One went outside 4 months ago in a pretty average neighborhood to see his brother bleeding to death from a gunshot wound. One student slept in the park for 5 weeks last year, and now is a few credit recovery classes away from being back on track to graduate. These are real events. Please read these and understand how real and alive these students are, and how many goals they have for their own lives.
Contrary to feeling this work is impossible, a big reason why I am not teaching next year is because this work in infinitely possible. I have been beat down by lack of connection to Detroit and students, lack of respect, and lack of skill in teaching, and this wearing away has made me feel like I am not the person to do this job. I feel the weight of 145 student’s futures, and I crumble. I am trying to run away from the burden of responsibility for their education.
For an egotist like me, 75 students putting you in the spotlight everyday might sound like bliss. But this role put me in a spot where I was in charge of student “success”, when I had no feeling of success in my own life. I have felt like a failure most days. Every day in the classroom, there are opportunities to learn, grow, teach and show your mettle as a human. Many of these days, I have gone home feeling disappointed about the mark of who I am. I am disappointed to my initial reaction to things that happen in my classroom. I am incredibly underwhelmed by my response to failure and inadequacy as a teacher.
But the beauties of teaching, as I wrap up my last couple weeks, are small meaningful victories. Every teacher has them. But the myth is that they come in moments of high intensity and drama. One student (let’s call him J) is a year behind in credits, and came into the year with a 0.3 gpa in high school. But we have built relationship, and has begun thinking about graduating. He has bought into his improvement and the value of hard work. But he fell off after a week of not doing his work, and his progress report said “D” in my class. When he saw it, he began a letter to himself:
“Dear J:
Why do you keep fucking up? Why are you such a failure? You have been a failure since 6th grade. You are not worth anything. No one even cares if you show up to school. You are such a failure. Failure failure failure failure failure failure……”
When I saw this, I bent down next to him, and stated: “You feel like a failure? I feel like a failure every day. J, you are one of the reasons that I show up everyday. You are so much more than schoolwork, or grades, or failure. You are a smart, talented, and recently, hardworking person who gives me motivation to keep improving my teaching.” The moment where we could connect on a level of inadequacy reminded me that I still have something to provide for my students. It motivated me to write the following to give J before I leave:
“Dear J,
I wish I could show you how much you mean to so many in this school. You make this place better by being here and being your best. I am so proud at how much you have grown this year, and I can’t wait to hear about what comes next for you. Keep looking and working to be the best J you can be, and that J will be more than enough to do great things.
Keep in touch,
Mr. C.”
So at the end of a bumpy road of teaching, the worst part is that I truly feel like there is so little resolution. This is not a story where you read and there is a happy ending. Kids in Detroit are still graduating at a rate of less than 50%, and many of those graduating struggle with basic reading and math skills. Racism prevails in the Detroit Metro area, and it shows up in ways I never would have realized before this job: from umpires saying things about my ballplayers like “I bet you struggle to have them keep their grades up” (in fact, my team gpa is over 3.0, you racist ass), to choir members saying “are you afraid where you live?” But the one that sticks with me, and may never be resolved, is what might be if I didn’t hate teaching this much. Could I do this work that needs to be done? Could my kids learn more than with someone else? Could I continue to work to put an end to injustice in their lives? I will never know, because I am removing myself from anguish and anxiety that I feel daily. But learning to own that reality, and the reality of my students, is causing me to grow to be the best I can be. Hopefully, that best will be enough for others down the road.
Thank you and peace be with you,
John C.