What It Means to Be A Teacher, Today

The first day I stood in front of my classroom as a new teacher and I knew it was where I was meant to be.

I came to this career later in life after success in the private sector, and I knew that day the drastic salary reduction was worth it. I could take all my knowledge and experience and share it with young, open minds, turning them on to all the possibilities life has to offer. I knew what it took to make it in an increasingly competitive, evolving, technological, creative, unstable marketplace, and was thrilled to be able to share what I had learned firsthand with the workforce of the future. And teaching is in my blood. My father was an Milwaukee Public School administrator, my mother a 4th grade teacher at St. Robert's, my brother a long-time Marquette High Spanish teacher (now Nativity Middle School principal)...so my new career was hardly a stretch.

Another big reason for this life transition was the toddler I was suddenly raising myself. (I reluctantly now had to circle "D" in the "Marital Status" column.) Teaching would be ideal for a single mother, right? Our schedules would be the same--I could take her to school and pick her up, have vacations and summers together...Sweet!

Uh, not so much. Teachers arrive well before their students, at my first job the school day started at 7:05am, so I had to be in my classroom no later than 6:35! (My daughter's preschool opened at 8.) And after school? My starting teacher's salary was so low that I had to augment it with extra-curricular assignments, which took my workday to 5:30 or 6:00pm. Or I should say my at school workday, because once I got home I had to plan lessons, grade work, and study for my graduate school classes. (Oh, and raise my child.) I couldn't be a good teacher without constantly growing and learning myself, and grad school gave me a chance at more responsibility and a higher salary.

At least I had vacations and summer, right? Well, there was grad school through all of those, and summer jobs to try to keep my financial head above water. I wanted to raise my daughter in Shorewood to give her the same great educational foundation I had as a child. Not the cheapest place to live, but an investment in her I was determined to make.

More than the surprise of the enormous time commitment required to be an effective educator, I could have never imagined the emotional investment and toll it takes. It is not the type of job you can leave at the job--even if by some miracle you have all your schoolwork done. During the course of a typical day I can have 125 different students depending on me to inspire, motivate, educate, validate, nurture, forgive, understand, acknowledge, praise, and help each of them with their individual needs, styles, challenges, and desires. Oh, okay. No sweat. Because students are always open to everything a teacher does or tries to do, always giving them respect and the benefit of the doubt knowing that the teachers are there for them, have their best interests at heart, really care for each of them, and are expert professionals in their field. Again, not so much. Gone are the days that students respect or listen in deference of age, experience, or authority. Gone are the days when parents believe the teacher over their child. Respect needs to be earned, which is not a bad thing, but harder to do when overcoming automatic cynicism, negative assumptions, or closed minds. Motivation to do well in school is less and less intrinsic, leaving it up to the teacher to instill its importance and spark interest. Attention spans have shrunk over the years, so every class has to have a "Showtime at the Apollo" variety show feel. Complete with the figurative (or literal) "boos" and "cheers" from the crowd.

My students are depending on me to be everything they need, and push for me to be everything they want--as diverse as those needs and wants are. And I am constantly trying to be all things to each one of them. I am haunted by my failures to connect or motivate, worry about their struggles and baggage, take every low grade, missed assignment, or discipline problem to heart. What can I do differently, better, how can I reach them, what do they need I am not giving them? Not to mention worrying about--and trying to compensate for--what their home lives are like, what they have been through, what they have to endure outside of the school walls, what society is doing to them. My reading for "pleasure" now is about education, psychology, child development, teen issues, poverty, racism, bullying, brain development, child abuse, etc.

But I stand in front of my classroom still knowing this is where I was meant to be. I am richer for this career choice, in the riches that matter. I will give everything I have to the job until I have nothing left. I will not let down the students entrusted to me. I will not give up on myself and my ability to make a difference in their lives. I will never stop trying to find ways to do so--whatever that means physically and emotionally.

And I will continue to do this no matter what astonishing craziness happens to the profession in this ridiculous political climate. Being villainized, marginalized, and demoralized doesn't help me help them. Cutting my salary, benefits, and job security is hardly supportive. Silencing my voice and input--ignoring my professional experience and expertise--is working against the cause. Increasing my workload, class size, and lengthening my workday is counterproductive. Decreasing programs, support staff, and equipment takes me away from what I do best. Imposing unilateral policies, procedures, laws, and requirements is defeating the purpose.

My father once told me that his job as an administrator was 90% to support teachers--facilitating whatever they need to do their jobs--and 10% making sure they do them. What happened to that level of trust and support? When did those proportions get so flipped? Whether you are a parent, administrator, community member, support staff, or board member--we are a team, in this together. I am a teacher. I care. I make a difference. I matter. I am there for your children. What are you doing to help me?

I can imagine the tenor of some of the comments to follow this blog. "If you can't handle it, get out." "It's your choice to deal with it or not."...  To the unenlightened I say: Follow me around for a week or even a day. It takes a very special person to choose to be--and stay--a teacher. Especially now. I can handle it and want to, and will do the best I can under these conditions. But I could do better, the conditions can improve, and our kids do deserve the best.

Judging by my now 16 year-old daughter, my choices were all more than worth it. Shorewood is sure doing right did by her--now it's time for all of us to stand up and do right by Shorewood, and every teacher and school district out there.