I recently had the opportunity to talk
to the teachers new to our district about why I teach and why I teach at Union
Public Schools. I was originally going to try to write this in blog form
(versus speech form), but my brain has made all its allowable decisions
because...August. So I’m leaving the speech as-is below:
I’ve been asked to talk to you about
why I teach and why I teach at Union. And I’ll be honest, this intimidates me a
bit because even though most of you are new to Union; many of you are not new
to teaching. Many of you should be telling me why you teach and
yet here we are. So bear with me and grant me grace.
The first thing I want to say, whether
this is your first year or thirtieth or somewhere in between, is thank you.
Thank you for choosing this profession and thank you for choosing Union. The
sacrifice it takes to be an Oklahoma public educator is not lost on me.
I am big on stories and backgrounds,
so I’ll start with a bit about my family. I married my college sweetheart,
Brett, who also works for Union. He’s one of four CPAs on the finance side and
manages the payroll department here. Brett is the ever-calm to my constant
state of heightened emotional frenzy. I swear the man can defuse any
situation in 7 seconds flat. He is able
to negotiate peace in just about any circumstance, which comes in handy these
days as we find ourselves attempting to parent a 3.5-year-old, Jonas. Jonas is our sweet miracle baby, who--like
all three-year-olds-- keeps us on our toes and teaches us about love and
patience on the daily. Jonas has also convinced me that no matter what age you
are, we as humans can be simultaneously ingenious...and completely inept. For
example, Jonas—for the life of him—cannot throw overhand. He can be given
extremely clear directions (“Put the ball in both your hands; put your hands
over your head; drop the ball.”) and he still can’t quite manage it. But the same kid can categorize cars by make
and model no matter the color, year, or angle he’s looking from.
I’ve found my high schoolers are not
too different. I’ve caught calculus students taking out a
calculator to multiply by one “just to check.” “Just to check”? Just to check what? That one is the still the multiplicative
identity? That the foundation of our number system hasn’t changed since
yesterday? I don’t know. Yet these same kids figure out the security
guards’ schedule after the second week of school so they know when to park where
so as to avoid a parking ticket.
Smart when they want to be.
These same smart cherubs figured out
that our district-wide goal—100% graduation, 100% college- career-ready—could
be used in their benefit too. “What are you gonna do, fail me?” I’ve heard.
“100% graduation, remember?”
DEEP BREATH.
In the spirit of transparency: I was
not too into our goal for a couple years.
And then I heard this story, which I
had heard dozens of times before. It’s about this shepherd who has a hundred
sheep. He loves his sheep. One day, he realizes one of the sheep is missing so
he leaves the ninety-nine and goes searching for the one lost sheep. When he
finally finds it, he’s so overcome with joy and emotion that he drapes it
across the back of his shoulders He carries it this way--much like you
would a toddler-- all the way home. Once
home, he runs to tell his family friends, “I found her! My sheep was lost and now she’s found.”
Look, I don’t know if that sheep
wanted to be found or not. Maybe she was having a grand time on the mountain by
herself. But the message of this story really helped me have a paradigm shift
regarding our mission. It helped me understand that “100%” is less about
grades and more about people. It helped
me not only buy into our mission but embrace it. I now embrace the idea that we
don’t leave anyone behind. I embrace the idea that every kid is worth finding
and bringing home to the fold. And maybe most importantly, I embrace the idea
that ninety-nine is not good enough. Now, that doesn’t mean we lower our
standards; that absolutely does not mean we just put a passing grade in,
because sometimes—quite frankly—kids also need to be allowed to fail safely.
But that does mean that we personalize education here at Union—we meet kids
where they’re at. That phrase “set the bar high and students will rise to your
expectations”? It doesn’t sit well with me. Because it gives no allowances for
stories and for backgrounds. Listen, there have been days when I wanted to chew
a student out for earning a B while also doing a happy dance that a different
kid made a D on the exact same assessment. Kids deserve unique goals
because kids are unique. They’re unique in their stories, their backgrounds,
their current struggles, and their dreams.
The reason I love working here at
Union is because this is a district that understands that. My admin has had my
back every single time I’ve said, “Help me understand this story; help me
personalize a plan.” I’m always expected to be a part of that plan to bring the
student back to the fold, but I never, ever have to go it alone here at Union.
I want to emphasize that. You are not alone here. Find those people who will
support you and cling to them. Mrs. Witcher was my principal my first
year teaching here and I have clung to her ever since. I still call her when I
need advice or just need to vent. And I know I can do so without judgement.
Find your tribe and cling to them.
Speaking of Mrs. Witcher, I remember
when we built this beautiful addition that we’re sitting in now and she said to
us, “One of the reasons we build amazing facilities like this one is because we
believe all kids should feel proud of where they go to school.” And that
statement there is so central to why I love teaching here. Here, we believe all
kids should feel dignified when receiving their education. We believe that
buildings like this tell our kids, “You are worth it. You are worth it whether
you’re rich or poor. Black, white, Hispanic, Asian. You are worth it whether
you live on the south side or the north side. You are worth it whether your
ancestors came here on the Mayflower or you just got here. Welcome. These rooms
were built for you. Our arms are open wide. Welcome to the fold.
Everyone’s in. We don’t close our doors
to anyone.”
Now when you look at our beautiful
buildings, you may think we’re a pretty wealthy district. We get lumped
into the same category as Jenks, Bixby, and Owasso frequently. The reality is that, on average, our families
make $30,000 less each year than those that attend Jenks, Bixby, and
Owasso. $30,000 less every year.
And I have nothing but respect for those districts; I have dear friends
who teach and send their kids there. But I mean just the fact that we get
lumped in with those other schools is a testament to this district. I’m
here to tell you though: not only do we
get “lumped” with these schools, we are the district that often leads the
charge. Did you know you can take
Differential Equations at Union High School?
That’s the class you take after Calculus 1, 2, and 3 all of which we
also offer on campus. Did you know you can get medical help if you live
in the Union district? Affordable
healthcare. Our national Congress can’t
even figure it out. But our district
has. Because, yes, we know education is
a key out of poverty, but how can you educate the mind if the body hurts? So accessible, affordable healthcare is made
available to our community members. Did you know that Union students can
graduate with two degrees--an associates and a high school degree at no cost to
them? Did you know that we offer
after-school music lessons to kids who can’t afford in-home private
lessons?
Occasionally people will tell me,
“Union’s population has really changed the last ten years.”
And I always reply, “That’s
true. And we’re better for it.”
We may not have parents who can donate
two million dollars to build a new STEM lab, but I’m ok with that. It
allows our kids see the intentionality with which we build, the care and the
stewardship.
That’s why I chose to pursue teaching
and specifically chose to cultivate my craft at Union. I chose teaching
because I felt public education empowers, enlightens, and liberates. Everyone
has a seat at the table. Everyone gets access to quality learning. That’s the
script—that’s the calling—I chose. One of inclusion. One of love. One where
everyone’s in. One that seeks to eliminate marginalization and end generational
poverty through education.
The reason I teach is that I want to
add value and dignity to students, sometimes for the first time in a long time.
Sometimes just when they need it most. [1]I teach because of Cara, who lost her
mom in elementary school and has since lived with her alcoholic dad and
step-mom, the latter of which doesn’t speak to Cara. But Cara told me that the
silver lining in all of this is that she was able to attend Union Public
Schools. And that even though her childhood has been bleak; her adulthood is
promising, due to the opportunities afforded to her through Union. Cara is will
most likely be one of our National Merits this year. I teach because of Andrew,
who struggled so deeply with depression and anxiety that he tried to take his
own life. But courageous Andrew reached for help. And now he is a vocal
proponent of mental healthcare, especially as it relates to teenagers. I teach
because of Shirin. Just two years ago, Shirin was in a different district where
she was bullied because of the color of her skin. No one looked like her at her
old school so certain students thought that gave them right to be cruel. Shirin
was bullied so severely that her mom pleaded for a transfer to Union, even
though they didn’t live within our boundaries. The transfer was granted. Now
Shirin has friends that look like her, and don’t look like her, who welcomed
her with open arms. I teach because of Seth, who wants to be a high school math
teacher when he grows up.
I try to live by two philosophies: (1)
there’s no such thing as someone else’s kid and (2) there’s a reason each kid
on my roster is on my roster. That does not magically make it easy to like
every single one of them. The veteran teachers can back me up on this: some of
your kids are going to be hard to like (and they will probably manage to have
perfect attendance). But those are also the kids who need you the most. I
will admit: there have been days in the past—and there will be days to
come—when I didn’t want to step foot in my own room...because of that parent
phone call or that situation blew up...and I just didn’t want to deal with him
or see her again. But I’ll also say this: somehow, those kids
became some of my favorites.
And that’s up to us: we write that
narrative. We can continue to let that annoyance or even hurt fester inside us,
or we can decide: I’m going to speak truth into this life. I’m going to be the
adult who sees the good in this child, even when he doesn’t even see it
himself: I will choose to see it and pull it out. I will be the adult who
pleads the cause of my students, even when they’re too mad, too hurt, too
exhausted, too overwhelmed to plead for themselves. I will be the adult who
says, “Oh you can and WILL be someone great—someone who adds to, and not
subtracts from, to our community.” I’ll be the adult who says, “The chains
break here. You are free. Free to be yourself. You’re safe in my room. You belong
just as you are. You matter. You’re here for a reason. You are not an accident.
You are mine and I am yours and we are in this together.”
And some will respond right away and
others won’t. Some will come with open arms, so ready for that love and others
will continue in destructive ways...sometimes even to us as teachers. Sometimes
we get hurt as teachers, right? We don’t talk a whole lot about that. But kids
can really hurt us.
When that happens, we have a choice:
step away and say “Not my problem,” (which I admit I've done my fair share of
times) or lean in and remind ourselves: “Ninety-nine is not good enough.”
My utmost desire for you and for me is
that this is the year we lean in.
May we see every kid. May we see them
for who they were made to be. May we pay special attention to the ones who
don’t want to be seen, and to the ones who feel invisible. May we have
the courage to show them—day in and day out—they are more than visible to us.
They are our life.
My hope is that this year you’re able
to create a culture--a classroom--that you’re excited to come to and that
your students can't wait to be in every day. That the kid who lost his mom
this summer feels loved in your room. That the one who struggles with anxiety
and self-harm feels worthy in your room. That the one who was bullied last year
feels safe. That the shy one feels heard; the loud one belongs. That our labels
dissipate and your students become...your kids.
May this be a year where mutual
understanding and learning take place. May we enter not as their saviors but as
fellow sojourners. Yes, sojourners who have walked a bit longer, but travelers
on the same journey nonetheless.
As one of my favorite writers said, In
the end, maybe “we’re all just walking each other home.”
[1] Names and certain details of
students have been altered to protect their privacy.
