Cannonball! (The Things Teachers Live For)

On days when the media rains hate on public school teachers, when legislation about education toils and troubles in the cauldron of those whose last moment in a public classroom was that afternoon they stepped out of high school back in June of 1960-whatever, when the elemental forces of standardized tests, national policy, and “merit” (everything out of my hands)-based pay combine to create the perfect storm of stress, apathy, and suicidal tendencies, I have to remember the small and simple things that make being an educator worth it.

Whether you believe it or not, you can look back and find an educator who has made some kind of difference in your life. Unfortunately, the teachers themselves usually never see the end products. They rarely discover just how much impact they have had on their students—just how far the concentric waves slosh over the tiled edge after they have cannonballed into life’s pool. And usually, most teachers go all-out, no holds back, as they scream like Ham Porter (from The Sandlot) into a career where others sit on the side and gawk at what these teachers have willingly done with their lives.    

Now I don’t want this rant to seem cynical or discouraging or like an anti-anti-educator bashing session. I just want to point out a few small things that make everything worth it, at least to me.

Earlier this week, I had the privilege to be assigned to accompany our 9^th graders up to the high school for orientation and a grand bout of rah rah hoopla pep talk and games-to-get-you-fired-up –or-next-year-and-fall-just-short-of-hazing assembly. It wasn’t a bad time—just very loud. At one point, a former honors student (I’ll call him W_____.) came up and put his arm around my shoulder.

“Mr. A, do you remember that A minus you gave me?”

I lied. (Honestly, teachers don’t remember everything; there’s only so much information and so many names you can cram into our craniums at one time.)

            “Well,” W_____ continued, “I just want you to know that you made the right choice. I didn’t deserve the A. I can see that now. Thank you. I learned a lot.” He looked at me, straight and seriously for a moment. I saw no guile. And with that, he ran off to be loud and obnoxious with his buddies.

            Last Friday, I was getting ready to pack up to go home. When I look up, J_____ (another former student) was standing in the doorway. I hadn’t seen him for at least three years. J_____ came to me as a 7^th grader and struggled somewhat with reading. He grumbled all the way through that year, but he improved. He was a likable enough guy, though, so I took him on as my TA as an 8^th grader and put him in charge of my library for a semester. By the time 9^th grade came around, he squeaked into my honors class. Yes, he still struggled, but he worked hard, often revising multiple times until he made a respectable grade.  That Friday he came to personally invite me to the opening of his mission call for the LDS church. I couldn’t attend due to previous obligations, but he told me (paraphrasing) that he wanted to come back to the junior high to make sure he reconnected with two of the teachers who made a difference in his life and helped him work toward his goals. I thought all my pestering just made his life miserable. (The other influence was his Spanish teacher. I tip my hat to you, Senor Moss.)

            Earlier this year I received this email from another student:

Mr. Anson,

My name is M_____, and once upon a time (okay, only two years ago) I was in your ninth grade honors English class. I am now a junior at SFHS, taking an AP Language course. I wanted to inform you that because of your teaching, I was able to proficiently compose a complete rhetorical essay in under forty minutes. I am grateful for the applicable lessons you taught me, and if you ever have students gripe about the demanding "timed writes", show them this email, and let them know that you are teaching them valuable stuff. Thanks for your hard work as an amazing English teacher. 

Her testimonial worked to inspire my current students and to inspire me. I held my head a little higher that day.

            I recently put out an email to former students who never got deleted from my Google contacts, asking for help with a presentation a colleague and I put together for the Utah Council of Teachers of English. I asked for them to reflect on the benefits of when teachers read aloud to students, either in my class or another. Within five days, I had over 60 responses, most packed with stories of reading activities from my classroom and titles of books we explored together, memories of the class itself; some shared how I helped them to find a book that they liked for the first time. One student reminded me of when a good portion of the class shed tears as I read aloud the climax of Choosing Up Sides by John H. Ritter. Keep in mind that I had them as 7^th, 8^th, or 9^th graders, and a couple had never finished a book on their own in their lives. (There are many ways to fake it, as we all know.)

            At that UCTE conference, I ran into two former students (M_____ and S_____) who had since become English teachers in different districts. S_____ sat next to me during a breakout session, excited to whisper that she was teaching The Diary of Anne Frank, and she was using some of the activities that I had her class engage in (role playing and reflective journal writing).

            The other day, I was scrolling through random blogs, and I happen upon another former student (J_____) who had reposted something from my own blog regarding poetry. As a ninth grader he claimed to abhor poetry with a passion. I also had no idea he knew I had a blog.

            These moments just happen, and like shooting stars, the burn brightly for a second—just long enough to brighten your day and fill you with a streak of hope and light before they fade away. Whether these shooting stars are Z_____ as I pull in to get my oil changed, A_____ at the credit union, K_____ at Wal-Mart, or A_____ and B_____ at church with their families, the seemingly trivial comments about what they got out of 8^th grade English many years ago make a lasting impression on me. They radiate back to me, and I catch a glimpse of what I have been trying to do for fifteen years: be a positive influence in the lives of students. Sometimes it has to do with the content of my class, but just as often it does not; it’s about how they felt and what they learned about life that radiates brighter than anything.

            Even when rough and ragged E_____, whom everyone thought would take up residency at the state prison after he dropped out of high school, saw me across the crazy environment of Jumpin’ Jacks and all its boisterous bounce house glory and made it a point to come and say hello and thank me for being a good teacher, made my day. I’ll admit that his beard and tattoos and three kids through me off as to who he was at first, but it didn’t matter. I’ll mix my metaphors here and simply say that the stars that I thought were fleeting still hung in the sky. The wave of my cannonball reverberated of the chipped pool wall and came washing back.

            I don’t share these bits to boast; I’m no better than the majority of underappreciated, underpaid educators in the world. I just want to share a glimpse of why I continue to do what I do. Regardless of what the legislature mandates, or how many parents rise in opposition, I still want to make a difference. Specifically, I want my students to become better readers, better writers, better thinkers; and as a result, better human beings. I feel the way about all public servants, but that’s another tale for another day. Small thank yous from the PTA or parents in the grocery store last longer than you think.

Most days I wish that after fifteen years in my profession and three university degrees, I didn’t (still) have to work a second job to maintain my family. Summers off? Whatever. I’m busier learning and teaching even more; sometimes they are busier than the days I’m in the classroom. For me, and educators everywhere, it’s these small and simple interactions and thank yous make all the media and parent criticism worth it.  that help us crawl up the ladder after a gut-shaking, tooth-jarring belly flop and hobble back to the edge of the pool only to jump back in for more.

Cannonball!

P.S. Take a moment. Look up one of your old teachers, or someone else who made an impression in your life. Call him. Write her an email, or an actual letter. Make someone’s day, someone who helped shape your life, someone who’s ripple of influence crashed into your life. Do it. I dare you.