Not Superwoman

           This week, I was almost to the breaking point with one of my classes.

           Since I have last written (which has been a few months), I have received a full-time teaching position on a Native American Reservation teaching Social Studies to junior high and high school students.  I came with wondering anticipation, excitement for what the year may bring, and hope for the goals of this year.  However, it has been six weeks in, and I feel like I have been months in.  I knew that the job I accepted wouldn’t be easy.  I was well aware of racial boundaries, historical connotations, and home-life struggles that panther at my students’ feet when they enter through the school doors.  But I still came here hoping that there might be something I can do, something I can say, that might inspire my students to realize better things can be their realities. 

            Six weeks in, and the walls that I briskly acknowledged are hitting me like punches to the gut.  Just yesterday, I wanted to pause for the last period and cry.  (Oh, why couldn’t school have ended then?  However, I still had one more class to teach.)  Surprising to myself, no tears came, but the heartache remains.  I am already longing for weekends and mourning the coming of Mondays.  How did it get to be like this – and so soon?  Teaching is my dream job, and people are already discussing how so many educators will quit before year seven.

            Not exactly what I need to hear right now.

            Or at least it’s not what I want to hear.

            I’m having a hard time telling the difference at this point.

            I might have come here with the idea that I could inspire my kids to greatness.  That despite whatever nightmares that walk alongside their memories, my encouragement would be enough to spur them onto their greatest potential.  I was hoping that my kids would see my intentions, and with grace, trust that I am doing the best I can to ensure their education to be secured.  I dreamed that every word I spoke would have students think not only about the subject matter, but also would start asking questions and seeing how things relate to their lives.  However, things aren’t like my imaginations or my dreams.  I am busy and tired; and when my plate empties, another thing manages to pull me away from any expectation of rest.  I am not the Miss Riley of Coalwood, West Virginia who pushed four boys to look beyond the stars.   

Rather I feel like I am increasingly failing at a profession I hope(d) to love.  Why else would my students continue to act up (and to be fair, I should note that the majority of my kids aren’t like this)?  Why else would they constantly complain about how I run the classroom, and how I teach my subject?  I must be failing, because it is taking every inch of my tenacity to relay just one lesson to them.  No, I am not the most popular teacher (the English teacher next to me is).  I realize popularity is only momentary; it does not linger, nor is it a measure of effectiveness.  Furthermore, my goal as a teacher is not to be the “hippest” and eye-catching for my students.  It is for them to learn.

Goodness.  That is easier written than walking it out.  Just last week, I had to send out two-thirds of a class out in the hall for constant talking.  Another day, a different class, I had a student fiddling around his chair, ending up lying on the floor, and not doing any work.  It was like a horror scene from 60 minutes where the teacher had no ground in discipline or order for his students.  It’s easy to watch a news-clip, point and comment how the teacher is failing to put his or her foot down; how one can obviously take over and show how it is done.  And yet, just a couple days ago, I was that teacher.  How the heck did I lose control?  How is it that my students will cnstantly talk when I’m trying to teach?  Or they accuse me of not listening to what they have to say or helping them on their assignment (while at that moment, what I was trying to do was to tell the other interrupting student to decease their jabber out of respect for his/her classmate)? 

I feel so lost on this one.  The methods that worked back in my hometown are ignored here.  I don’t know what to do.  How do I teach in a manner that catches their attention long enough so they can learn?  There’s gotta be a jump that I am not making; an understanding that remains incoherent.  Heck, I haven’t even talked to all the parents I should, and most of my students are struggling in my classes academically.  What am I doing wrong?!?  It’s been two months, and I am finding that I don’t have all the answers.  I am trying…but I am still missing, messing things up.  And perhaps I am blaming myself too much.  (If another one of my teacher friends was in the position I now am in, I would tell them to be more forgiving of themselves.)  But the length of this struggle is taking its toll, and I realize that the problems my kids are facing; whether it be their home-life or habits that have been metastasized, it’s taking more than two to three hours to solve the issues. 

Life does work that way.  Hardened behaviors and ideas only loosen with time.  There is hope for the future.  Just right now, I am not seeing what I desired for my students.  I don’t want to turn this blog-post into a battleground of debate.  I don’t mean to rag on my students.  (And to be blunt, teachers who complain about their students, just “to get something off their chest” aren’t helping any matters.  Unless you aim to find new methods of trying to help the students you are teaching, are you then being the bully that we so often warn our children to not become?)  I love my kids and I truly consider it an honor to be their teacher.   I enjoy the life and spirit my students have, and I love being one of their cheerleaders.  But in saying this, I just need to relay the truth of teaching: it’s not as easy as I thought it would be.  I knew it was going to be tough, and my plate would be full, however, I didn’t fully comprehend the cultural background where my students are coming from.  Whether it is my fault, the school system, the students, or the parents…honestly, each component can always find something to help improve the situation as long as someone is willing to make the connection for each child’s academic success.

 So, I plead:

Please be patient, students.  My aim for you is to learn, and I will do the best I can.  Come expectant to learn something fantastic, and be willing to allow you to open a new world to you.  I am for you, and I will fight for you.  If there is anything you need – whether it be school-related or something is going on in your life, I am here to listen and assist in the way I can.  I am already proud of you, and desire the brightest future for you.

Please give grace, parents.  I really am trying.  Be assured that I am doing the best I can, and am willing to adopt suggestions to make my classes be more engaging for the students.  Please realize that this is my first year, and everything is so new.  I am still figuring out where your student’s knowledge and skill levels are, and I am continually reconfiguring my methods so I can be a better teacher for your children.

Please be enduring, tired and weary soul of mine.  This is just your first year.  You don’t have to expect to be perfect.  You can’t be completely be terrible, or else why would the girls come to you when they need advice?  Why would a student ask if you’ll be here next year, and state that he hopes you don’t leave if your intentions weren’t in the right place?  Right now, the situation is improbable of success.  However, do not give up.  Nothing’s impossible, and you don’t have to be superwoman to make a difference.