To Be a Teacher

Tomorrow is my first day of Student Teaching!  I’ve met my host teacher, seen the classroom, and I’m ready to go!

In honor of this first day, I’ve decided to post a poem that I wrote a few months back, after a successful practicum (an hour or so that I would spend at a local school) day.  I had been working with a student when the regular teacher wasn’t there, and I had been complimented by the sub on how well I helped the student.

There is still a small part of me that is in awe of what it means to be a teacher.  It is not a position that is easy, nor is it a position to take lightly.  Some children are at school more hours than at home; they may see their teacher more than their parents on a given day.  In that sense, being a teacher is powerful.  But there is still a part of me that remembers being a student in high school, middle school, and elementary school.  I remember how certain teachers could capture my attention, and how others made me bored or uninterested.  I remember how uncertain I felt at times, about my image and identity, and how nice it was when teachers saw and encouraged my talents.

If I have formed any kind of opinion on what my “philosophy” of teaching is, it is that when a teacher forgets what it was like to be a student, he or she loses an edge that is extremely crucial.  This empathy and remembrance helps teachers to refine their lessons, teaching styles, and way of interacting with students.  It should be a constant reference point to help teachers understand what their students are dealing with.

So, without further ado, I present:

TEACHER

Let us go boldly into the world

Pretending, and then cautiously admitting

That we are powerful

And clever

And brave

And wise

That we are listened to

That our advice matters

That we can change the direction of a life

With one word

With one breath we have the power to heal or to harm

Make clear or confuse

Bring joy or despair

We are the molders of lives and the kindlers of dreams

The future depends on how well we do our jobs

But let us never forget what it was like

To be neither powerful nor wise

To not feel brave or clever

To speak and not be listened to

To give advice and have it scorned

To have our lives swerve to the beat of

So many clashing words

To be healed or harmed; confused or enlightened

To be forever tossed between joy and despair

When a student is full grown, he will be like his teacher

When a teacher is full grown

They will not forget the part of them

That was once a student