Of late, I find myself in the early morning hours in front of the late night blue screen searching for words to emerge to describe how I feel about micro-conversations in which we share, chat, discuss, and, with some predictability, argue about all things education on twitter. There have been few moments in my life when I could not find words to describe perspective on this. But of recent, I just couldn’t get anything to stick to the page. But today in a room full of kindergartners, I think I remembered the words I need- not new words, not 21st century words, not ed-jargon words- but simply the words of the person who helped me understand that nothing holds more power than the voice of an educator who remembers that we are first teachers, no matter our position.
We are, at any given moment, in 140 characters or less, political, social, educational, and emotional bedfellows, living in word-based relationships that occasionally verge on divorce or fickle love over the turn of a phrase. We bridge distance and time in a real-virtual world that sometimes pulls me into a fleeting thought about the philosophical conundrum of materialism-dualism in our world. But then, I am pulled back to the reality of iPads, charters, teacher quality, testing, unions, TFA, Ravitch, Rhee, performance pay, grading, tenure, assessments… a place where sometimes, I worry that my own words inside the tweet world create an identical magnitude of earthquake out of every cause on my list. Then, I begin to ask myself, “Of all the things I can choose to spend time on and care about, what’s most important to the learners and educators I serve?”
And it is that question which led me back to my mentor and to connections, reconnections and bonds that began on thefirst day of my teaching career and ended two years ago when I was tapped to speak the eulogy voice of educators’ he had touched. He was a champion of the powerless, a fierce voice of passion on behalf of our profession, and a mentor who cut to the heart of what it means to be a leader, a teacher, and a learner. He might have been a TFAer if growing up today, but instead he entered the Peace Corps after his Ivy League school graduation; then dedicated a life to our profession. He taught me long ago about the hope our profession offers; and what I learned from him helps me see beyond our issues, divides, and the current crises of our educational heart.
Lesson I: You the leader set the tone for the culture in the classroom. Build and model a culture of learning, not punishment, for adults and the children they serve.
How can you create chaos in the first ten minutes of your teaching career? Pull a snake out of a pillow case in a roomful of seventh graders, say something like, “ he won’t bite.. “ and then stand there with a black rat snake chomping down on your hand, dripping blood on to the floor. With kids screaming, standing on tables and chairs, I knew “this will be my first and last day as a teacher.” Then the principal opened the door, never saying a word as I attempted to regain crowd control, and waited just long enough to know I was okay. It was my first teachable moment with this mentor. I said to him later that day when we talked, “I thought you were going to fire me.” His response, “and how would that help you teach?” I laughed, he smiled, and in that moment we together launched my career in education.
Lesson II: Keep your door unconditionally open and be available to the people you serve. Relish the opportunity to help them find solutions to problems. In doing so, you both become part of the solution and not the problem.
He was the eternal optimist and where some people see problems as rocks that cannot be moved or surmounted, this mentor worked like water flowing in a river; always finding pathways over, under and around problems. There have been many times over the years when I would knock on his door or pick up the phone and call or email after our pathways diverged. I can hear his voice now, a caring, but confronting, voice which did not brook escape from responsibility:
“So, are you going to spend your time admiring the problem or actually solve it? Do you just want to ‘awfulize’ about this, or work it out? You might as well spend your time rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic unless you are willing to really do something about this problem.” Or, I might hear his favorite comment on who really owned the problem, “Pam, you can bring your monkey into my office- and I will pet your monkey- I will even feed your monkey, but when you leave- you need to take your monkey with you.”
Lesson III: Determination comes from inside people. It’s what keeps young people learning when adults move out of their space. It’s what moves adults to remain open to trying new ways of reaching a young person disconnected from learning. It’s the realization of passion, inspiration, and joy through both work and serious play.
- Our children are still developing adults, they make mistakes, and our job is to make sure they learn from them and are not defeated by them.
- Make decisions based on what is best for children, no matter what.
- Trust that teachers are always in the best position of making instructional decisions.
This mentor, a master weaver, created a fabric of influential professional voices over time; facilitating many of us to find our teaching voice, our leadership voice, our personal voice in the service of young people. He articulated a powerful vision that all children (and educators) will learn, given enough time. He taught me that what’s important to learn transcends that which is simply rote, and, we must walk the walk of commitment to create rich learning options for every child we serve. Every day he modeled unswerving passion for and gratitude to our profession; a lifelong choice for a man whose brilliance and resources allowed him the option of pursuing any career.
These lessons that I learned frame the compelling work of teaching, learning, and leading and define a profession that must be about culture, people, and determination. The kindergartners with whom I spent time surprised and delighted me with their enthusiasm for all things learning, seeing themselves as growing up to be scientists, Olympic swimmers, artists, paleontologists, and, yes, even teachers. When I think about all the “earthquakes” on my list, it’s the kindergartners who remind me of what’s most important. I thank them for reminding me of my mentor’s learning lessons, the most important of which is make sure our young people leave us with a love of learning.
