My second year as a teacher is quickly coming to a close. Although I am incredibly excited to be able to be able to pee whenever I want, I also find myself thinking about what I have learned during my two short years as a first and second grade teacher.
I have learned...
That it is possible for me to love a little person so much it hurts... Actually, several little people, all at once, each demanding something from me, every single day.
That the cycle of poverty is not an easy one to break, but that if we give up, our kids have no hope at all. Also, that education is probably the biggest ticket our kids have to building a better life.
That I will probably never know everything there is to know about teaching reading. Or writing, for that matter. And that in spite of this, these are still my favorite subjects to teach.
That even though I may not be in love with my program, I am head-over-heels in love with my super colleagues and my kids, so I am blessed.
That, although we may work hard to change this, at the end of the day, our kids are not truly ours. They go home to their parents and start to become them (not us), even at the age of 7.
That, although politics may preach differently, social-emotional development is just as (shhh.... maybe more?) important as academic development. How much do we care about the kinds of people our children are going to be? Fact: Not all of my students will go to college. Fact: Most people learn to read and add eventually. (Yes, I am aware of the research stating that once children fall behind in literacy, they fall further behind, and am not advocating that we lower our academic expectations.) But, in my opinion, learning to be kind and to have confidence are life skills that are too important to be left behind in a push for higher level delivery of instruction.
That I am pretty sure my kids will leave my room knowing that the previous sentence is true.
That I will cry for hours on Friday after my second graders leave.
That I'm told NOTHING can really prepare you for motherhood, and that makes sense to me. But getting a card from one of my young friends that says "I love you forever," followed by death stares and tears hours later because I kept her in to finish her work, is pretty close. (Especially after having the "I know this is hard, but I believe in you and you're better than this," talk. And knowing that she probably hasn't heard that much at home.)
That, in spite of all the tears, the binging on chocolate, the glasses of wine (I'm human, after all!), fears of unannounced observations, evaluations, and the threats of merit pay looming, I would do the past two years over again, the exact same way. Mostly because I have never, ever loved this hard. And I am a better person because of that.
