Faith

I started this school year armed with only two things that could really help me survive: Faith that it is possible to succeed where so many others have failed, faith that I am strong enough to do so, and faith that hard work will bring a bright future.

For the first week of school there was just one poster on the wall, just one word, really, and I wanted it to be the only thing the kids saw on the wall the first time they stepped in to my class.

When I inherited the room it was full of junk and had boring old English-teachery posters on the wall. I contemplated leaving all that junk for my successor, thinking that cleaning out a bit of old classroom junk is a right of passage for working in roo, D30. In the end, I thought better of it.

One of my deep-seated insecurities is that I won't leave an impact where I've been and that I won't be missed when I'm gone. So I left that one poster on the wall, partly in hope that it will inspire the next person to turn on the lights in D30, and partly so that person knows what kind of teacher I am.

It's a homemade poster, black ink on a stark white background, with just one word as bold as I could make it:

BELIEVE.

Principal(/le)s

Ending the school year with a test of your ethics is one hell of the way to end the year.

Stephen was a senior and needed a passing grade in my class to graduate. Passing would have been simple; he just needed to get his research paper done. The same paper that he had every day of class for a month to do. The same paper that I offered to help him with after school many times, and the very same one that he refused to do. He did complete his research paper for his 12th grade English class, and at one point tried to submit a copy of that paper to get credit for my class.

During finals week he handed me a different paper. His assignment was to research an artist and their impact on the world, but the paper was on the history of the Ford Motor Company. It didn't read like his writing, either, but without being able to prove plagiarism the only thing I could say was that I didn't believe he wrote the paper for my class. After his earlier stunt, I was suspicious that he wrote it for a history class, or that another student did.

The next morning I arrived at school to find the dean waiting with a message: "The principal wants grades in this morning. And you know she wants him to pass." I filled her in on the details and why I didn't think it was going to happen for the kid, and she asked "Is this a hill you want to die on?"

"I knew in February I wasn't wanted back, so how more dead can I get?" It didn't matter, really, the paper didn't credit any sources so it counts as plagiarism by default, and the kid got an F. Two days later I found the paper he copied.

And you know what? I want to think that in other circumstances my answer would have been “Yes, I believe the kid plagiarized and I believe we fail as educators if we pass him>”

As much as I would rather not have ended the year failing a senior, it felt good to be in a position where I could stand up for what I believe in without political pressure from a boss. It's just possible that the kid will someday learn that the only way to earn what you want is to do what's required to earn it, and that there's no easy way out.

So what do you do with it?

I had an interesting conversation with another teacher during the graduation processional. We saw Mike, a kid who managed to turn himself around during senior year and graduate on time. Before this year he had a GPA of something like 1.5, but this year he turned it around and earned a 3.7. That's one hell of a change, and I'm proud of him for it.

This teacher and I talked about what changed in him, and I told her that his counselor told me I had a big part in it. At the time it surprised the hell out me because Mike is a really quiet kid and I had no idea I was so motivating to him.

It started with two things: a positive attitude in the beginning of the year, and a Jimi Hendrix poster. The kid loves classic rock and is learning to play guitar, so Jimi was enough to get him to want to talk to me.

The other teacher asked "What do you do with the posters?" I asked what she meant and she said again "As far as curriculum goes. So what do you do with it?"

"Nothin'."

This caused her to give me an intensely quizzical look. There are legions of educators who believe that every nuance of every classroom experience needs a direct tie into the curriculum, and she's one of them. I don't believe that's the case.

It's about creating connections. Personal connections. The kids have had their fill of curricular connections, and sometimes you have to let academic concerns go for a bit and make them believe that your classroom is a cool place to be. If you can do that, you can open doors for the kids who struggle most with a traditional curriculum.

I'll never see Mike or any of the other handful of seniors in my 11th grade classes this year again, but I'm proud of every one of them, and it feels good to know that I helped get them ready for the rest of the world.