What I Didn't Know
Copyright © 2016 Creative Nonfiction Foundation.
All rights reserved.
Kristin Leclaire’s “Inside the Labyrinth” was originally published in Biting the Bullet: Essays on the Courage of Women (Chatter House Press 2015) and appears here by permission of the author.
Portions of Anne Raeff’s “Mayans in East Oakland” were published in “Reimagining California,” a partnership of the California Endowment and Zócalo Public Square.
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Table of Contents
Foreword
Lee Gutkind
Introduction
Jahana Hayes
Introduction
Irvin Scott
Teacher Edit
Lynn DeFilippo
You Can’t Say That in Here
Anne P. Beatty
I Thought I Was Ready
Sherri Wright
Lessons in the Dry Season
Sara Ackerman
Nothing Gold Can Stay
A. V. Klotz
Order
Michael Copperman
Ancient Beef Made Me a Teacher
Lori D. Ungemah
Inside the Labyrinth
Kristin Leclaire
Unsaid
Shannon LeBlanc
Trust Fall
Leslie Hill
Joe
Jane Bernstein
Teaching for America
Kate Ver Ploeg
Mayans in East Oakland
Anne Raeff
Jiao Wo (Teach Me)
Caitlin Dwyer
On My Own
Karen Kelley Perkins
An Honor and a Privilege
Mary Ann Hutcheson
You Can’t Wrestle Windmills
Chris Girman
Sealed Forever: On Becoming a Teacher
Cynthia Miller Coffel
The Substitute
Marcia DeSanctis
It Took an Island: Why I Became a Teacher and Stayed
Deborah Meltvedt
About the Contributors
Acknowledgements
Foreword from the Editor: Making a Difference
Lee Gutkind
When my brother Richard was nearing the end of his college career back in the 1970s, he didn’t quite know what he was going to do. He was a math major but had no interest in accounting, he didn’t want to become a CPA or tax attorney, and in truth, he wasn’t crazy about the idea of playing with numbers for the rest of his life. So, in his senior year he took a couple of education courses in a program that was a shortcut to teacher certification, and upon graduation he was offered a job in a newly opened middle school. He pondered for a while, then decided to try it out. It was a way of starting adult life with a steady paycheck, decent hours, long summer vacations. For my brother, becoming a teacher was a beginning, not a passion or a mission—just a job for a young man seeking a direction.
Many of the contributors in this collection became teachers under similar circumstances, as an interim thing, a first job out of college. And for most of them it was the first stop in a long journey leading to a real career and fulfillment, professional accomplishment, and personal satisfaction. That’s not to say that all of these writers have remained in the K–12 sphere—many have moved on to universities, community colleges, and administrative positions—but in one way or another, all have stayed connected to the teaching profession.
Some of the other writers in this collection were not teachers first; among them are an attorney, a research scientist, and a network TV producer. Dissatisfaction with what they were doing led them to teaching, despite all of the obvious and well-known challenges. Like low pay. Or the political agendas of outsiders, who measure progress by often irrelevant standardized testing. Or conflicts with parents—or with the students themselves. But these writers remained teachers despite the frustrations because, they discovered, teaching makes a difference—not only to students, but to teachers, too.
For an example of the difference teachers can make, we can look to the story of Jahana Hayes, who contributed one of the introductions to this book. Jahana grew up (as too many American children do) surrounded by drugs, violence, and poverty. She became pregnant at age seventeen. But twelve years later, after working her way through a community college and a local university, she returned to her hometown and got her first teaching job. In 2016, she was named National Teacher of the Year by the Council of Chief State School Officers. In Hayes’s first appearance as Teacher of the Year, with President Obama at the White House, she discussed the passion and commitment required of teachers. She also talked about the great responsibilities with which we entrust our teachers, including the responsibility, as well as opportunity, to share their “empowering stories with students and communities and elevate this profession.”
This is exactly what What I Didn’t Know is all about: teachers sharing their experiences in the trenches of the school system and exploring what those experiences meant—and still mean—to them. Some of these stories may be difficult to read or believe because of how hard these teachers work, how much they care about their students, and how frustrating and sometimes downright devastating their days—and their semesters—can be. In Order, for example, Michael Copperman labors to understand his most troubled student until, suddenly, the boy storms into the classroom, knocks over desks and chairs, and spits in Copperman’s face. In Ancient Beef Made Me a Teacher, Lori D. Ungemah observes a fight between two high school boys in her classroom. She is horrified at the sound of cartilage popping and the explosion of blood, and she breaks down sobbing. But she is even more horrified when, after the fight is broken up by security guards, her streetwise students file out of the classroom, silent and seemingly unfazed.
And yet these teachers stayed in the classroom—not forever, but for several more years. And they are not alone. Education is the fourth largest major at universities and colleges in the United States. The annual overall attrition rate for teachers is barely 8 percent (though it’s higher for early career teachers and for teachers in lower-income schools). In a recent study conducted by researchers at Arizona State University, nearly 60 percent of respondents (they were all K–12 teachers in Arizona) reported that they were “very satisfied” or “satisfied” with their jobs.
One thing that makes teaching special and fulfilling is the amount of independence teachers have and the influence a teacher can wield. While it is true that teachers must follow a curriculum, they are pretty much on their own behind classroom doors, with anywhere from twenty to fifty individual, unformed personalities, kids seeking answers to questions that they might not even understand. Teachers must advise, communicate information, solicit and encourage ideas, and maintain discipline and an atmosphere conducive for learning. And they must be flexible, able to roll with the punches (literal or figurative) and fill voids, sensing and responding to their students’ needs.
It’s a tall order, to be sure. And not every teacher can reach every student, every day. But the best teachers can reach most of the students, most of the days—and that can make a tremendous difference.
In a statement to the White House, Jahana Hayes recalled the importance of teachers in her life. Teachers recognized her potential. They did not give up on her. They gave her books to read at home. They “encouraged me to do more, be more, expect more.” Her teachers made a lifelong impact; ultimately, she says, “They i
nspired me to become a teacher so I could make the same kind of impact in my own students’ lives.”
Sometimes, it’s impossible to guess at the impact a teacher can make; sometimes it takes years, and sometimes the impact is quite unlikely.
My brother Richard stayed in the classroom for many years, and then he became a principal, and then an executive director of the school system in which his teaching journey began. He is now the director of a graduate program in education, but his students from his middle school teaching days still remember and appreciate him. No matter where I go with him in his hometown, Richard is recognized. Former students, who now look almost as old as he does, come up to thank him for his guidance and wisdom. Not long ago, we attended a production of the Tony Award–winning musical Kinky Boots together. After the show, he was welcomed at the stage door and embraced by one of the cast members.
“What was that all about?” I asked him later.
Richard explained that during his first few years in that middle school where he first taught, the teacher coordinating the annual play—that year, it was Babes in Arms—could not follow through with the production and had to drop out. Even though he was a math teacher and knew nothing about musical theater, Richard volunteered to fill in, and he learned how to produce and direct a play. The actor who hugged him—then in the sixth grade, and now in his forties—never forgot how Richard jumped in to save the play and, in a way, launched the actor’s career. That actor—Billy Porter—went on to win the 2013 Drama Desk Award for Outstanding Actor in a Musical and the 2013 Tony Award for Best Actor in a Musical.
All these stories in What I Didn’t Know do not end so triumphantly. But even those with more complicated endings convey the importance of the work teachers do. The hard work is worth the effort.
Whether you are a teacher, a prospective teacher, a parent, or just someone who cares about kids and the future of our country, What I Didn’t Know will open your eyes and your heart. The true stories collected here vividly capture that moment of truth when a teacher first comes to grips with the fundamental challenge and awesome responsibility of shaping minds that will someday shape our country and our future. Although they may have hoped, or even expected, to influence their students’ lives, it’s only after living, breathing, suffering, and celebrating in the classroom day after day that they could fully appreciate the profound and lasting impact they could make. These teachers—all teachers—make a difference every day.
Introduction: The Importance of Connection
Jahana Hayes
My first day in a contracted teaching position should have been easy. I had graduated in the top of my class with a 3.97 GPA, passed all of the certification exams in my state, and had been hired to teach in the building where I had just completed fifteen weeks of student teaching under a wonderful teacher. He was comfortable in his role, which he had occupied for more than twenty-five years. He knew everything and never had to refer to any notes. He did not follow a traditional lesson plan format, but somehow it worked. It always worked. I could never tell the line of demarcation between active learning and closure, but somehow it always worked; students always learned. The discussions were robust and the student responses were evidence that they “got it.”
I watched in awe as he moved the conversations forward. He was a very distinguished gentleman with a PhD, working in a large urban public school with a very diverse population. Somehow he had commanded the respect and admiration of all the students. I watched as he allowed students to express their opinions and take risks without fear. I watched as he fostered a culture that was inclusive and democratic. What seemed like casual discussions always ended with a history lesson. I took lots of notes, but I still couldn’t really put my finger on the chemistry that existed between the students and the teacher.
I had started my student teaching experience in September, and then a series of amazing opportunities and doors opened up for my cooperation teacher. Suddenly, he was out of the class, and there was a job waiting for me. I knew the routine, was working with a collaborative staff, and I was taking over as the teacher with a group of students I had worked with all year. Changing my title from “student teacher” to “teacher” should have been easy.
But it was not easy. In fact, I was unexpectedly panic-stricken, paralyzed in fear at the beginning of a new journey. No longer an apprentice under the tutelage of a master teacher, I was totally responsible for the teaching and learning. If things went wrong, it would be all my fault.
Secretly, I knew I was not up to the challenge. I was a history teacher: what if I forgot something as simple as the date of the attack at Pearl Harbor? December 7, 1941, December 7, 1941…I rehearsed this date and many others, repeatedly going over them in my head, but still I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t ready. Mentally I replayed a variety of scenarios in which a student asked me a question and I didn’t know the answer. Even worse, what if a student was smarter than me? After all, this was high school, and I was not much older than the students in my class. I was not up to it; I could not do it; I was not prepared.
With the benefit of more experience and some hindsight, I can see that maybe no one is ever fully prepared for that first day alone in the classroom. Certainly, that’s the case for many if not all of the teachers whose stories are included in this collection.
On that first day, I made so many mistakes. We had a fire drill, and the bell schedule was altered. I had planned for a forty-two minute lesson, but all the times were shifted. I was nervous and afraid. I was not sure what to do and could not find my center, I fumbled in front of classes for the entire day and had more questions than answers. A part of me wanted to pretend I was sick and just go home but I stayed. And I survived. I was honest with my students and shared some of my concerns and—believe it or not—they helped me. I maintained control, but I asked them questions, and we helped each other. On that day I realized that no teacher preparation program can ever fully prepare you for what is to come. It is an ongoing process.
I read history books and committed to memory the lesson plan format. I anticipated questions that I would be asked so that I could always have an answer. In order to be a good teacher, I had to be a great student. I continued to read and learn and became more comfortable in my role as a teacher, and over the years it got easier.
But finding that delicate balance between teaching academics and addressing all of the intangibles took many years. For the first few years of my career I was never fully satisfied or fulfilled. I loved teaching, but I didn’t feel like teaching loved me back. Something was missing, I needed more. I started to think about my experiences as a student and all the things I remembered, and I realized that although I could not remember many specific lessons, I remembered dozens of personal interactions and how they made me feel. It was then that I realized in order to teach my students, I had to know my students. It did not matter how much I knew; if I could not connect with them, I could not teach them. They might not remember what I said, but they would always remember how I made them feel.
Things started to make sense in my fifth year of teaching, when I had a group of students who seemed unusually distracted and unmotivated. I could not figure out why, but after a series of conversations I realized that seven students in this one class had lost a parent to cancer, and their families were still dealing with the effects. We decided, as a group, to get involved with the American Cancer Society. These students became more active and engaged in class, and I realized that there was a direct relationship to the work we were doing in the community. The lightbulb came on. Students will not learn from someone they have no connection to.
It was around this time that I began to further develop my personal philosophy of education. As part of my graduate work I became increasingly interested in the writings of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. My philosophy is rooted in the ideas of Dr. King, who, in 1947, wrote an essay for the Morehouse College student paper, in which he described the purpose of education. He writes that most
students are confused about the role education should play in their lives and society. Dr. King eloquently sums up the essay with this conclusion: the purpose of education is twofold, to build knowledge and character. I realized that by focusing on only the academic side, I was not providing students with a complete education and therefore not experiencing the chemistry I had longed for so many years ago. The connections we make with students are as important as the content we teach.
Thirteen years later, as I write the introduction for this critical collection of stories in teacher voice, I am reminded of how important it is to connect with students by learning about their stories and including them as participants in their education. In May 2016, I was named the National Teacher of the Year, and I believe that what separates me from more than 3.5 million other amazing teachers in America is the fact that I have fostered strong relationships with my students and their community, which I have used to build capacity and give them a heightened sense of worth. I have learned that my job is to teach much more than academic content.
Most of us have vivid memories of a teacher or educator who was a major influence. I too have those memories. At every stage in my life, I can remember a teacher who had a significant impact on me. There was Mrs. McKinney, my 3rd grade teacher, who baked me a chocolate chip cake for my birthday. And Mrs. Turner, a high school guidance counselor who came to my house to inquire why I had been absent so many days from school. There was Dr. Burt Saxon, my amazing mentor and college professor, who taught me the value of making personal connections with my students before any real learning could occur. I can think of a dozen other teachers just like them, and my memory always includes the way I felt during and after the interaction.
I also remember vividly—down to the blue floral dress and the earrings she was wearing—the teacher who said no one in my family cared about me because they hadn’t attended parents’ night. You see, we used to put all of our work in a folder for our parents to see on parent’s night. The folders were left on the desk and our parents were supposed to take them home. My grandmother didn’t drive and there were no late busses in my neighborhood, and my folder was always left on my desk the next morning. I always tried to be the first one in the class so I could remove the folder before anyone noticed. I remember overhearing my teacher tell another teacher in the hallway that “their parents don’t care and no one ever comes to inquire about those students.” I knew exactly what she meant. In spite of everything that has happened in my life and all of the amazing interactions I have had with teachers, I still remember the razor sharpness of that comment and how it made me feel.