This week marks the end of another school year, and I’m not sad. It hasn’t been the greatest year of my career; I’ve grown immeasurably as a leader and a teacher, and I’ve gotten a clearer vision of what I want for myself in my future, but I’ve struggled with frustrations about the nature of my work, sometimes feeling stuck or downright discouraged when I felt like I cared a whole lot more than my kids.
It always seems that when I’m faced with these dark moments that I experience these flashes of brilliance and I’m reminded why I’m in education. Because teachers really do change lives. We don’t always know we’re doing it, and if we’re asked, we might say that we hadn’t made a difference for anyone. But beyond what is expressed on all of the cheesy inspirational images on Facebook about all the good teachers do, we really do change lives.
Stu started teaching four years ago with a very challenging assignment: he was given two sections of Dropout Prevention (I’m not sure if that was the course title, but it was something like that) and three sections of English I. Those were dark days for Stu. I tried the best I could to help him (as much as he would allow) but he struggled to keep the interest of those students, to manage their behaviors, to connect with them and help them to achieve. He tried to use techniques and strategies he had learned in his eduction courses and in his internship with gifted students at the middle school, but one strategy after another failed, and Stu was left to feel useless and stressed. At the end of the year, he insisted that his schedule change because he had such a hard time with it. Stu would never say that he made a difference for any of the kids in that class, but on Monday he received a note from a student he taught in English I that year. She said: “I wanted to thank you personally for helping me enroll in honors and advanced classes, because without having done that I may not be going to USF now.” Stu hadn’t been in contact with her at all in the years in between, but this student recognized that his involvement in her education changed the trajectory of her life.
Last week, I had visits from two of my favorite students (I know I’m not supposed to have favorites, but I can’t help it). One student, Lauren, was in town to visit family before spending her summer working at an internship in DC and then heading off to NYU in August for law school. I’m sorry, Lauren, if you’re reading this because I’m about to tell your story. I taught Lauren as a freshman, sophomore, and senior in my first ever AP Literature class. I knew she was something special from the day she walked into my classroom, and she has never proven me wrong. Lauren was valedictorian of her senior class and attended Emory University where she did even more remarkable things. I nearly peed my pants when Lauren announced that she had been accepted into Harvard Law School (cue Perfect Day lyrics here). Ultimately, Lauren recently interviewed for, and earned, a very prestigious scholarship to NYU law school. In fact, she interviewed in DC with Justice Clarence Thomas in his offices. At the Supreme Court. You know, because that’s normal.
Such a remarkable young woman seems like she can do all things on her own. But Lauren has never let me forget how thankful she was to have had me for the majority of her English courses in high school. I helped Lauren on her way (honestly though, she would have done brilliantly in anyone’s English classes; I’m just glad I was lucky enough to teach her).
It isn’t just teachers who make this kind of impact. Our parents or children, our families and friends, our bosses or coworkers, our pastors, the random girl you speak to on a two-hour flight, all have the potential to make a difference. If we let them. And we have the potential to make a difference for anyone we come into contact with if we’re engaged enough to recognize the opportunity.