Things (Mostly Lies) I Tell Myself In Order To Get Through the Last Nine Weeks of School

by Cari

            As humans, we do what we can to survive.  It’s in our chemical makeup.  In the case of our caveman ancestors, they just needed to be able to run faster than the guy next to them.  Today, it’s not quite that serious.  Or violent.  However, as a teacher, getting out of bed and dragging yourself to school during the final quarter of the year, feels about as monumental as outrunning a saber-toothed tiger.  At least at 5:00 a.m. before coffee, it does.  Being that I am a “glass half full” kind of girl most of the time, I have found that some positive self-talk does help lower the anxiety just a bit.  I mean, I’m not standing in front of the mirror in the mornings like some kind of wackadoo, telling myself how awesome I am, but at night, before I lay my head down on my pillow and set that God-forsaken alarm clock, I like to get my mind right.  Or lie to myself.  Call it what you will.  Either way, here are just a few of the things I tell myself when I am facing the final nine weeks of the school year with Seniors who are drowning in Senioritis and freshmen who think they are already done:

• ·      This didn’t kill you the last (insert number of years you’ve been teaching) times you had to do it.

• ·      Most, if not all, of your professional development is over.  There’s something to celebrate. 

• ·      Other people are about to work the next nine weeks and NOT get the summer off.  It could always be worse. 

• ·      There will be so much testing going on, you will probably only have to do about six days of actual teaching.  You can handle six days.  Hopefully.

• ·      You’ve done such a bangup job of teaching the previous three quarters that your kids will be fine no matter how many days you end up flying by the seat of your pants.  Not that teachers do that.  Ever.  I’m just sayin’.

• ·      By the time you factor in all of the end-of-year awards and trips, you will only see about half your kids most of the time, anyway.  Their numbers will be weakened, thus their complaining will not be as loud.

• ·      It could be worse.  You could be starting the second nine weeks tomorrow.  That would mean you only had a quarter behind you, but now, you only have a quarter to go!  (Try not to be too impressed with my ability to do simple math.)

And last, but definitely not least…

• ·      There are (insert number of remaining leave days here) days that you can take off when none of the above motivators are doing the trick. 

In all seriousness, we are in the final laps.  We are no longer learning names and assigning seats, but we are the masters of our classrooms.  By this time, not only do we know Little Johnny’s name, but we know what class period he’s in, who he can and cannot sit beside, and all about his obsession with Japanese Anime’.  We’ve got this licked.  We’ve survived this before, and we’ll do it again.  I have faith in us.  And Jesus.  And coffee.  Lots of coffee. 

Reminding Myself Why

by Lisa

For me, March, April, and May are the most trying months as an educator. At my school, we refer to this period as the testing season. Freshmen and sophomores are taking standardized writing and reading tests. Honors students are taking their AP and AICE exams. Math, science and social studies students are also taking EOCs (end of course exams).  It is also the time of year when almost every discipline and club take a field trip- or two. 

Okaloosa Island

Along with the multitude of tests and excursions, illnesses run rampant. Yes, flu and strep seem to be epidemics this year, but more than that Spring fever and senioritis have hit campus earlier than usual and plague the student body. Living 30 minutes from the most beautiful beaches in the world makes coming to school a challenge when the temperature is 78 in February.  

Nothing gets my cornflakes soggier than when a student comes in after missing a critical lesson or assessment with freshly sunburned cheeks and has the audacity to play the sick card. (I didn’t fall off the turnip truck yesterday, Sweetie. Don’t forget that earlier this week you could have passed for a member of the Cullen family from Twilight.) 

It takes an overwhelming amount of patience and flexibility to maintain a steady pace with the curriculum when every day handfuls of kiddos are missing in every period. Even the ones present are more distracted than ever. Spring sports are in full swing, and summer break is nearing. The girls are talking about prom dresses, and the boys want to be outside doing something other than reading Macbeth or Animal Farm.  They are less focused on school than they were the first semester, but it is the most critical time of the school year for most of them. I am teaching like my britches are on fire, but all they seem to be worried about is finding someone in class with a charger so their phone doesn’t die. 

During this 3 month period, I am the most frustrated and the most stressed. I doubt my effectiveness in the classroom. I reflect on the year and become highly critical of all that I have done. I look over my past lesson plans and second-guess any value that I once saw in them. This time of year makes me crazy.  I have to double up on my supply of L’Oreal Excellence hair color, and chocolate must be an arm’s reach away from my desk. 

But even though it seems that this brief period takes years off of my life, I wouldn’t trade it for the world.  I am where I belong, doing what I love.

I teach because I love my students.  I end each school year thinking that I can’t get a better class of students than those who just left, and the next year’s group comes in and steals my heart. Literature and grammar and writing are all passions in my life, but I love all the kids who walk through the door of room 820. 

The sad thing is many educators don’t. Many got into teaching for the wrong reasons. Their parents were educators. They wanted summers off. They couldn’t decide on another major. They love their subject matter.  Most of those are good reasons to teach, but if students aren’t the first reason, then the others don’t really matter.

You can’t be an effective teacher if you don’t love each kid who walks in your room- even the tough ones to love. You can’t be an effective teacher if you don’t build relationships with those students.  Educational institutions were not built to employ teachers, but they were created to empower their pupils with knowledge.  We are there to serve them, but so many educators do not view teaching as a servant role.

As I drove to work the other day, I listened to a message on 1 Corinthians 13.  Most people know this to be the greatest chapter on love in the Bible.  I have heard plenty of sermons on this topic and know these verses well.  But on that day, the message didn’t make me contemplate the love I show my family and friends or even strangers around me, but it resonated with the teacher in me.

So as I begin the months of teaching that test my mental and emotional stability, I will remind myself that I am not in it for any other reason than to make a difference in the lives of my students.  If I make a difference with a few, the gray hairs and sleepless nights are all worth it.

What if all educators approached teaching with a 1 Corinthians 13 attitude? 

 What an impact we could make in the lives of our students! 

If I have a Master’s degree, but I don’t love my students, 

I am nothing. 

If I have effective lesson plans and engaging activities, but I don’t show love, 

what good am I?  

All of the knowledge of my subject matter and best practices are worthless

if my students don’t feel like I truly care about them. 

All of my Pinterest inspired bulletin boards and handouts are useless 

if I don’t have love.

What I Love About My Big School In Our Small Town

            As a high school English teacher with a class full of students first period, it is rare for me to find myself outside of my classroom when the morning bell rings; however, this morning, I enjoyed one such eye-opening occasion. I had gathered my belongings and was headed to the library for a fun-filled day of proctoring tests (insert eye roll here), when the intercom came on.  Every morning, Mrs. V, one of our attendance secretaries, recites the pledge and calls for a moment of silence.   This particular morning, I was caught in the hallway with a few teachers (who no doubt have first period planning, the American Dream of planning periods) and a number of obviously tardy students scattered up and down a very long hallway.  All the kids had that “man on a mission” look about themselves and were quickly trying to get to class.  Then, Ms. V came on the intercom like always, and to my surprise (although I’m not sure why), every single one of the kids stopped dead in his tracks, put his hand over his heart, and said the pledge.  Then, even though I’m sure they felt the urgency to get to the class for which they were already late, they did not even budge for the moment of silence, until Ms. V announced it was over. This may not seem like a big deal, because the kids were just doing what they were supposed to be doing, but something about it struck a chord with me. 

            I have been teaching at the same school for 14 years now, but sometimes I take for granted just how great our kids are.  Yes, we are a big school, with approximately 2,000 students, but our school is not like others in our district, even though we’re the same size.  I have taught at another school in our county and visited all the others, and I swear I am not just being biased when I tell you that our school has the friendliest, most polite student body I’ve ever been around.  When I first came to CHS as a 23-year-old, doe-eyed rookie, I was shocked even then at how considerate and friendly the students were.  And I know what you’re probably thinking, “Of course they were nice to you…you were nearly their age,” but to this day, if a kid goes in a door and sees me coming, he/she always holds the door open for me.  And I don’t get special treatment just because I’m a teacher.  I see our kids holding the doors for each other all the time, despite the pressures of getting to class on time or keeping up with their friends. And I am always so full of pride every time I see a student struggling in the hallway, because there is always another student (or three!) to come to his aid without my even having to say or do anything.  Just kids helping other kids.  The funny thing is, I probably would have always taken our students for granted had it not been for the compliments from so many of those who are on the outside looking in. They say things like, “One of your boys helped me get all of my workshop materials in because he could tell I was struggling. That would not have happened elsewhere” or “I couldn’t find the room, so one of your kids offered to walk me here. It was so nice.” Hearing things like this from people who do not have to say such things is always nice and makes me even more proud to be a CHS Bulldog.  Because at the end of the day, even if we are not always first in academics or athletics, we always seem to be first in something much more important, and that’s character.