The Tempered Radical

TWIT: They Write. . .Once in A While!

It's been another difficult week for me.  Too many conflicts and not enough comfort---and that's on me.  I'm a fighter by trade, and am one of those people who never seems completely relaxed unless he's in the middle of a good argument. 

It's exhausting, though.  I gotta give it a rest.  I'm a walking, breathing example of teacher burnout in action. 

That's why this note---which I found in my mailbox on Friday---is making my "eyes wet" right now:

Dear Mr. Ferriter,

You don't know how difficult writing this letter is. 

It means admitting that my middle school career is finally drawing to a close.  Three fleeting years have passed in the blink of an eye, and I'm so thankful that you've been a part of them.  The year that I spent in your class was one of the most exciting of my life.  For the first time, I enjoyed coming to school each day and reveled in the fun of it all.

You taught me to look at the world in a new perspective.  I learned about all of the things that technology can produce.  I mean, who could forget all of that awesome blogging?  But most of all, you are an all around awesome guy.  You are funny, smart, witty, and can make light of almost any situation.  Thank you so much.

Very truly yours,
Kyle

I hate using phrases like "these kinds of words are a teacher's greatest reward" because too many people use that as an excuse to pay teachers nothing for the work that they do, but I will definitely say that these kinds of words mean the world to me.

For whatever reason, teaching is often a thankless grind.  It's hard, hard work in a profession that is constantly under attack.  We're battered by criticism---and unrealistic expectations---from every corner. 

So when a kid takes the time to say thank you, the world stops for a bit and I remember what it is that I've been fighting for.  Touches the ol' heart, that's for sure. 

This is why I teach.

TWIT: They're Learning from Me

As a middle school soccer coach for the better part of the past 16 years, I can honestly say that there's NOTHING I enjoy more than being out on the field with the lads for a few hours every afternoon.  Something about athletics brings out the best in boys---and that's just plain fun to watch. 

I think what I like the best about coaching is that gives me an opportunity to have a completely non-academic relationship with kids.  Everything about our work on the field is connected to the kinds of character traits that I care the most about.  Determination, hard work, pride, honor, and commitment to others define the lessons that I'm teaching when I'm with my team.   

(I know.  I know.  I could teach the same traits in language arts.  It's just that "Come on, guys.  Don't quit until you  find those comma splices!" doesn't have the quite the same impact on tweenage boys.)  

What's most powerful is having the opportunity to model how men are supposed to act in difficult circumstances-----and it's just that kind of opportunity that I've been wrestling with all week long.

TWIT: They Always Wonder

It's been a few months since I spent any time reminding myself why I teach.  I guess that shouldn't be a surprise.  I am, after all, a "glass is not only half empty...it's shattered on the floor in a million pieces" kind of guy.  I get lost in the battles I'm fighting and forget that there are real reasons why I love the work that I do.

They're called kids.

  by  John-Morgan 

The past few weeks have centered me, though.  You see, we're coming to the end of a science unit on energy---studying light, sound and heat----and each day has been a bit more amazing than the last. 

Wanting to take advantage of the full science lab classroom that I've been assigned for this nine-week period, I nearly killed myself planning a bunch of hands-on activities designed to introduce my kids to the key concepts behind the ways that sound, light and heat are transferred through our universe.  I spent hours and hours scrounging up supplies and setting up stations that were manageable for my students---not to mention dropping $100 on consumables that we didn't have in our storage room.

Then, I made a bit of a gutsy instructional decision:  I decided to place the focus of assessment in each of our stations on nothing more than the quality of the additional questions that my kids asked after engaging in each activity.   "Kids and scientists are a lot alike," I explained as we began our unit, "They both have incredibly curious minds.  It's just that scientists do a better job documenting their curiosity.

TWIT: They Still Dream

The weather was absolutely gorgeous here on Veterans Day, and having caught up on all of my planning and paper grading, I decided to take a day off!  (Anyone who knows me will realize exactly how big a deal that really is.)

As soon as I'd finished off two sausage burritos at the local Mickey-D's and watched an hour's worth of Judge Mathis---two selfish pleasures that I'm not all that proud of---I decided that I was going to spend 8 consecutive hours outside.  Being a writer and a work-a-holic, I find that I sometimes miss daylight for weeks on end because I'm trapped behind a screen somewhere---so I needed to soak in some Vitamin D.

And being a guy who loves reading more than life itself (hyperbole, anyone?), I grabbed my Kindle, headed off to a local shopping complex with great options for outdoor seating, and settled in to crank through a few hundred pages of Pillars of the Earth---a Ken Follett historical fiction bit set during the Middle Ages. 

Just as I'd hit my mental stride, my phone rang.  I actually cursed, knowing that whoever was vibrating my hip was going to need more cognitive energy than I was willing to give.  "WHY CAN'T PEOPLE LEAVE ME ALONE!" I thought, fully planning to let the call go straight to voicemail.

The only thing I hate more than phone calls, though, are voicemail messages!  After all, it ain't like I can just pretend that the vibrations never happened----and once the message is left, it becomes my responsibility to call back. So I decided to answer---and when I saw my caller ID, my spirits lifted instantly: 

Johnny, one of my favorite kids of all time was on the other end of the line!

Turns out that Johnny had just finished his last day of basketball tryouts for the junior varsity team at the local high school.  Being a freshman---and being slightly smaller than the average 9th grader---Johnny was rightfully nervous about making the team and he just wanted to talk to me about the whole tryout process. 

 

"I guess a bit of good news," he said, "was that coach had me playing on the good team at the end of tryouts.  We were taking on the returning 10th graders, and I got a bunch of minutes.  I'm no where near as athletic as the older guys, but I didn't stink either."

Just listening to the hope in his voice was a reminder to me.  You see, sometimes I forget that every one of the kids that I teach have the same kinds of dreams in their hearts.  Some want to be gymnasts, soccer stars, or grid-iron heroes.  Others want to be writers, doctors or lawyers.  I've had future veterinarians in my room sitting next to microbiologists, rappers, deejays and dancers.   

Sometimes twelve-year-old dreams seem logical and attainable and other times they seem like too much fantasy, but the neat part is that sixth graders still dream---and dreams are a source of incredible passion and personal interest.  Johnny was willing to invest any amount of time and energy into making the basketball team, and to make the team would be a source of remarkable pride for him. 

And my role is refreshing, don't you think?  I can inspire and guide and coach and train and lead and support and console kids as they walk towards a future they'd give anything for.  While it's often hard to remember, I'm a part of something much bigger than end of grade tests, state-mandated curriculum or a focus on results---even though it sometimes seems like my work is defined by nothing more than numbers.

Knowing just what Johnny needed to hear, I slipped into counselor mode:  "Kid, even if you don't make the team, I'm proud of you for trying out.  We live in a world that rewards risk-takers, and that's what you showed yourself to be today.  And as a coach myself, I can tell you that I'd love to have you on my team.  You're a kind-hearted kid who supports your team-mates and hustles all over the floor.  Those are traits that will serve you well for a long while." 

It felt good to reinforce Johnny's dream---and it felt good that he came to me looking for support even after having left my classroom years ago. 

This is why I teach. 

(Image credit:  Crooked by Wetsun, licensed Creative Commons:  Attribution)

TWIT: A Color-Blind America

Ask most people who know me and they'll tell you that I'm a "glass-half empty" kind of guy.  I don't know why, but pessimism just feels right to me.  In fact, I've always described myself as a "glass-thrown-against-the-wall-and-broken-into-a-billion-pieces" kind of guy.

So I can get stuck in moments of negativity about my work sometimes.  I take the criticism levelled at education personally, get frustrated when I don't have the influence over key decisions that I desire, and wonder why in the world I stay in the classroom each month when I balance my checkbook!

In an effort to remind myself that teaching is one of the most satisfying professions on the planet as long as you're on the lookout for the rewards, I'm planning to start a new category of entries here on the Radical called TWITs.  TWIT stands simply for "This is Why I Teach."  The entries are likely to be shorter and lighter than the topics I typically tackle---hence the name TWIT---and they might not be for every reader. 

Now, I know what you're thinking:  The world sure doesn't need another "smiles-and-daffodils" teaching blog preaching about how wonderful children are and how teachers are Saints on earth.  After all, if we looked hard enough, we could probably drown in glasses over-flowing with warm and fuzzy.

But what I need is to deliberately look for the moments where my interactions with kids leave me energized.  Otherwise, I'll completely forget that I like what I do.

Does this make sense?

My kids gave me one of those moments on Wednesday morning.  I'd stumbled across this great image representing the Presidents of the United States on Patrick Moberg's Illustration Blog: 

Because we're working on identifying main idea in our reading classes, I asked my students a simple question:  "What point do you think the artist was trying to make with this image?"  My students' answer: 

"Well, that's pretty obvious, Mr. Ferriter.  He's trying to say that the United States has never had a woman president."

Amazing, huh? 

Was gender the first thing that you thought of when you looked at the profiles of our previous Presidents?

It wasn't for me.  I expected them to point out that for hundreds of years, America has been ruled by old white men.  After all, race has defined many of the most powerful conversations in our country over the past 200 years---and as a white man teaching in the South, race has always been an issue that I've danced around.

My kids didn't see race, though!  Barack Obama's image didn't stand out despite being the only black man on the page.  All that they noticed was that he was a man---nothing more and nothing less. 

That's got me feeling pretty good about the future of our country.  Sure, there are people who will always look at other individuals through the lens of skin-color.  While racism is abhorrent, it's also a sad truth of the human condition.

But as more and more children grow up in an increasingly tolerant world with successful role models of every shape and color, our country---like my kids---becomes increasingly color-blind...and that' just plan cool.

This is why I teach.