Teachers were celebrated last week with handwritten notes and PTA breakfasts, with flowers from children and discounted food from restaurants all over town.
Teacher Appreciation Week comes once a year, just when teachers need it most -- in the final sprint toward the last report card, when we're working hard to engage and encourage children, some who believe it's already summer, while also celebrating the accomplishments of the year and the growth of each child.
While teachers have been my heroes since kindergarten, I never fully understood the demands on educators until I became one almost six years ago. I also didn't fully comprehend the intangibles that have me hooked.
Before I was a teacher, I was a full-time journalist who thrived on deadlines and nonstop decision-making. I had no idea then that it was training ground for my future career as a teacher.
One day last week I tried to keep track of the number of decisions made and questions answered between 7:55 a.m. and 4:05 p.m., but the work of writing them all down and keeping tally got in the way of, well, all of the decisions to make and questions to answer.
A sampling:
- Can I have a pencil?
- Can you come to our soccer game tonight?
- Do you want to read my joke book?
- How many primary sources do I need for this project?
- Can I have three rubber bands?
- May I have another Band-Aid?
- Does this part of the rubric mean that we need to compare and contrast time periods?
- Do you know why my Google Form isn't working?
- Will you please read this email before I send it?
Some interactions are routine. Others represent evidence of monumental growth or strengthened relationships.
Would you like to read this poem I wrote?
After our recent sixth-grade poetry unit, one of my students started composing poems on the back of other schoolwork. I'll be standing in the middle of the hallway, greeting students and directing traffic, when this young poet pops up and presents her newest poem, written during lunch or at the end of social studies.
What's your favorite brand of jellybeans?
I teach a seventh-grader who likes to visit during morning tutorials. Somehow the topic of jellybeans surfaced, and we discussed the best brands. I told him about the plastic jellybean necklace I wore in the early 1980s, when jellybean aficionado Ronald Reagan was president. I regret that I lost it along the way.
This student also takes Skills for Living (modern-day home economics) and has recently learned how to sew. After our conversation, he bought a bag of jellybeans (his favorite brand) and used a needle and thread to create a necklace of dozens of jellybeans, to replace my long-lost version from the '80s.
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| Jellybean necklace in my classroom |
What does that mean?
We're studying The Adventures of Tom Sawyer in seventh grade. I read the novel when I was young and didn't enjoy it, most likely because I didn't take the time to understand it. Mark Twain's attention to dialect plus archaic cultural references can be daunting.
Teaching the text has been an unexpected gift. My students and I reread passages, ask questions, discuss social norms of the 19th century and marvel at Twain's ability to capture human nature. Every time they ask, "What does that mean?" we work together to discover the answer.
I'm thankful for our one week each year, the first full week in May, when families and communities go out of their way to show gratitude to teachers. Every gift and note is a sweet reminder of why we teach.
Just as meaningful, though, are the everyday interactions and contributions from students — precious poems and candy necklaces and literary epiphanies. Those are the moments that fuel us to the end of May.
Tyra Damm is a Briefing columnist. She can be reached at tyradamm@gmail.com.
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