(Originally Published Feb 15, 2016)
I have been asked on multiple occasions why I teach, most often by my students. The About Me section of this site attempts to explain the impetus for my career and why it seems to suit me, but this isn't specifically what my students mean when they ask this question. They did not ask why I started. This question is asked with a strict adherence to the present tense. There is also a physical grammar to the question as much as there is a linguistic one; they ask this question with an inflection and a scrunch of the nose or raise of an eyebrow that reveals an intended - but unstated - subordinate statement: cause I wouldn't do it.
There are reasons not to teach, of course, and most have become a trope. Sure, the pay is mediocre, at best. And yes, you pay for your own supplies too often (and can write off very little for tax purposes to boot!) And sure, I spend my own time grading work, planning, and communicating with students and parents. And yeah, I guess, there is an element of controlled chaos to wrangling a room full of people whose attention can at times be comparable to a gnat. (There are also, recently, serious concerns about the ability of teachers to teach material without being targeted for the content of the material — 2023 Lydon chiming in.)
These are the things my students are considering when they ask this question, yet these do not explore the biggest challenges that I feel are inherent in teaching, which are failure and disappointment. I wrote a bit about being wrong in my previous science post, and will definitively say that error is not the problem here. When I get something wrong, I try to figure out why and move on. When my students get something wrong I try to help them figure out why so that they can move on. Being wrong is not the problem.
Rather, the problem stems from the fact that success at my job is dependent on more variables than I can control. I cannot account for siblings that require babysitting, or time spent between two parents. I cannot account for jobs that help support a social life or supplement a family income. I cannot account for the possibility of seven classes worth of homework on any given night, or a timidity to ask questions, or sense of hopelessness, or so many other things. I try my best to recognize and meet these many challenges, but the reality is that my capacity to be effective depends on much more that just me; the student, their friends, their families, their environment all play a part.
These many things, in a thousand different configurations, make education a serious challenge for teens. The High School Slump is a reality. It is easy to look back on high school as an adult, compare it with the complexities of adult life, and determine that high school was easy. There are absolutely more impediments to success as an adult, but by this time in a person's life their faculties for managing these issues are well developed. Teenagers are just learning how to combat all of these, and so they can be overwhelmed. It happens; it is not something we should hold against them; it is absolutely something they will overcome with time and support.
That said, watching this struggle take its toll on a student's academics is a tragedy. I desperately want my students to succeed. They are smart kids, they are good kids, and they deserve success. As a result, seeing them struggle - and fail - is the hardest part of my job. Seeing good kids give up hurts. Their reasons are myriad, but the outcome and its effect on me is the same.
On top of how hard it is to see people that I value - that I believe in - fail, I have to take ownership of their failure as much as they do. My job is try to provide them with the support they need to be successful, and when they aren't succeeding I need to own that. I could have presented the material better, I could have connected it to things they knew better, I could have collaborated better with home support systems, or met individually with them to set a corrective plan. I disappoint myself daily.
I am under no illusions that I can do this all of the time, or even most of the time. There are too many variables, and the only one I have complete control over is myself.
Thankfully, success is a beacon in that tumult of social, biological, and academic struggle. Seeing a student get it is a reward that trumps almost everything else. When I get to tell a student that their grade is better than they dared to hope, or when they see that they did well on an assignment, or when they come in and tell me that "it was easier than I thought it was going to be" as they turn in their homework, I feel unabashed joy. I'm proud of my students regularly.
Most recently, I've had a tremendous uptick in students coming to see me for after-school tutoring. They are coming in with specific skills to work on and specific tasks to complete. This dedication reveals much about the character of my students; if we are measured by what we do, then these young men and women are dedicated to self-improvement and overcoming obstacles. That makes them, in my estimation, the best of us.
This gives me another, arguably better reason to be proud of them. I'm proud not just of what they have done, but of who they are.
I do not always like my job. Usually, but not always. It exhausts me emotionally and physically. It intrudes on my personal space more than anyone (my family especially) would prefer. But I love what I do and the fine people I do it with, those that I have the pleasure of greeting with a handshake each and every day.