Tuesday, July 28, 2015

teaching tuesday on "raising" students

I have a lot of whirly-swirly thoughts floating in my head and my heart about teaching and what it is that I'm really doing here. (which, not ironically, seems to be the question I ask God the most.)

Beyond, or perhaps, beneath the complexities of managing a diverse, equitable classroom and having good pedagogy and all of those other education buzzwords, mostly I think about how much I love my students. I believe in them and I want them to succeed because even a small taste of success is a step in the right direction for them. Highs for them are highs for me, and lows for them are problems for me to help solve and a listening ear to be given.

I've been thinking more recently about how often those of us who are involved in the lives of the growing, whether that's being a parent, a mentor, a teacher, or what-have-you, seem to be stuck in surviving the day-to-day spinning wheels. When you're replaying the same movie again for your toddler or that one kid shows up, refusing to do any work for you for the third day in a row, it can be hard to think of the larger picture of what we're all really doing here.

What types of people are we raising?

I understand that I'm not "raising" my students in the same way that their parents are, but I spend an hour each day with them and you can bet that I am hoping and dreaming with them and for them with my whole soul. It takes a village, right?

Yes, I want my students to be better writers and debaters and readers and all of those English skills that really are very important. I want them to have the words to voice those deep quavers of the human soul that are what make literature and art and history stand the test of time.

Mostly, I want my students to be brave. And kind, gracious, aware young adults who take chances and know both when to reach out and when to hold back.  I want them to forgive seventy times seven and then turn their cheek again.  I hope that they know that there's some good in this world, and it's worth fighting for (thanks, Tolkien).

I hope to keep that bigger picture in my mind and heart this year. After all, those are the skills worth developing. How we get there is a different story.