Saturday, October 26, 2013

Why am I Still Doing This?

Each passing school year has become more and more difficult. The pressure continues to increase with only more to come.

From the point of view of someone on the inside who has been in education for over 15 years, it feels as though the wrong things are emphasized, the time, energy and money is not being spent efficiently or effectively, more is expected with less support given while the support was minimal in the first place.

It is difficult to argue or to defend our position as educators because it looks selfish on the surface.  The issues surrounding education keep getting simplified to a point that distort the reality.

Teaching and learning go hand in hand. 

Maybe I should write it this way: Good teaching and good learning go hand in hand.

Teachers try to make the learning experience better but it is often mistaken for making the teaching experience better and therefore, appears selfish and not in the students' best interest.  When in fact, since the two are so closely linked, better teaching experience leads to better learning experience and vice versa.

Therefore, stripping resources from the teaching only hurts the learning.  Stripping resources from the learning only hurts the teaching.

I think of when I go to Subway.  I order a sandwich and then pick and choose what items they add to the meat and cheese.  There isn't a standardized amount I get of each item.  It varies depending on the person behind the counter.  For example, one girl always drowns my sandwich in lettuce and another puts just the right amount.  I bet there is a Subway somewhere that would put very little.  They also do not record how much or what I specifically get.  They track my purchases with that rewards card, but not the items on the sandwich.

What if tracking that data helped maximize profits by informing them how much to buy or have in stock?  That would extend my stay in line.  Customer service would be sacrificed.  They would need to hire more help to keep things moving.  My time in line plays a large role in whether I frequent their business.

In education, we are doing this.  We are collecting more and more data.  On the surface it looks good.  It helps drive our instruction and know what the students need and helps maximize what we teach. We can't argue against it or we look lazy like we don't want to do more work and we have summers off so who are we to complain?

But what isn't being talked about or understood is that our "customer service" or teaching actually is compromised.  Less time is able to be spent on actual instruction so that this data collection takes place.  It defeats the purpose. 

Extra help isn't hired and more success is expected.  It is like that Subway worker having to spend more time typing in items in the computer but being expected to serve the customers in the less time in order to improve customer satisfaction without any extra help.

So why am I still doing this?

Why am I staying in this profession that is vastly different than when I started, which was already changing from how the generation before me was teaching and not necessarily all for the better?

I didn't do this to crunch data.   I would have and could have gone into accounting. I am perfectly capable of doing that.  Most teachers I know are intelligent, hard workers that could be working in professions that pay more and do so successfully.

But we all chose to do this instead.

Why?

For me, that reason happened a couple weeks ago.  It wasn't happening at all this year before that class on that Friday afternoon. I enjoyed it frequently last year and the year before. But not this year.

It wasn't a glowing moment of an old student returning.  It wasn't some award.  It wasn't a compliment from a parent.  It wasn't a great evaluation from my boss.

It had nothing to do with data or tests or grades or planning or recess or any of that.

It was the kids.

The one thing that keeps me there year after year is the students. 

They can be frustrating, cause me to lose hair and years off my life.

But they also contribute to the unspoken, indescribable feeling we get all get when that invisible learning happens. 

I suppose I can describe it and it is visible in an abstract way, but not directly.

I love Math.  I love making the students figure "big boy" and "big girl" Math on their own.That Friday and several times since, I have found myself getting lost in the lesson.  I blocked out all that is happening outside my room without realizing it.

It is difficult to articulate.

But when this happens, my excitement becomes contagious.  I see it in the students' eyes and that energizes me. Suddenly, other students who were slumped over start to slowly perk up.  I see them start to rise out of their seats and even stand.

I don't stop them.

Several students start to blurt out answers, ideas and even extending questions and I don't stop them.

This doesn't happen often.  But it happens.

I swear you can see light bulbs hover above their heads.

This feeling begins to spread.  You can see it.   Positive peer pressure kicks in at this point and this is where it thrives.

Students actually WANT to be part of the excitement around the room.  It is more engaging than anything else I have tried.

Math becomes fun without any bells and whistles, just emotion. They see my excitement and then other students' excitement and once we hit critical mass, the majority of the class is up and begging for more math.

I love that.  I absolutely love that. I truly believe more learning takes place in those moments than ever. It sounds like choas on the outside or a class out of control, which may be true, but it is all good inside. Better than ever in my opinion.

It makes my job so much fun.

 I need to plan well.  I need to assess effectively.  I do need to collect and use data.  I get it. But that isn't why I am doing this.

For me, it is about my time in that room with those students going crazy over Math or the book I am reading aloud.  It is intoxicating.

“Education is not preparation for life, education is life itself.” - John Dewey