Do you remember teacher portfolios?
Approaching final semester, our college of education required student teachers to confidently compile a binder full of sample lesson plans, recommendation letters, student work, our teacher philosophy and anything else to score us that straight outta college first teaching job.
We were sure to impress with our glossy page protectors, chalkboard bordered resumes and scrapbook-style photographs of smiling students covered in mud splatter or finger paint or pretty much anything that screamed “hands-on.”
My husband actually stumbled upon mine in our last move, admiring the one-stop-visual-shop of my career-long accomplishments. Although I don’t dare whip it out for an interview, it’s evolved into a holding place for my journey as an educator, tucked away behind Spring Break 2002 photo albums and old tax files.
As we strolled down memory lane, my crispy portfolio cover sheet read:
I am a teacher. I am a counselor. I am a custodian. I am a nurse. I am a mother and father. I am a detective. I am a nutritionist. I am a police officer. I am a big sister. I am a travel agent.
And so on and so on. Back then, I don’t recall us teachers carrying the title as superhero, but that might’ve made for a catchy portfolio cover page. Maybe Wonder Woman with my face Photo-shopped and a whiteboard marker tucked in my gold-plated forearm shield.
I am not a superhero.
Seven months pregnant, mother of a toddler, full-time teacher, wife, and human being..yes, but not superhero. I do not save lives. I cannot fly. I can barely remember to turn off the faucet these days. My daughter is watching Despicable Me 3 for the thousandth time while I eat Kilwin’s sea-salt fudge slivers off my protruding belly.
I don’t want to be a superhero. I want to be an effective educator. I want to be a good mom and a good wife. I want to have a social life and spend time with my family and friends and travel from time to time. But I do not want to carry the weight of a superhero.
So can you stop calling me a superhero? You’re making me look bad.
In the classroom, proudly, I wear the Kween’s Crown of High Expectations. Investing time and sweat into promoting student self-motivation and ownership of their poetry, research projects, math investigations and debates is my focus.
Teaching students to revise and edit their writing, to truly listen and respond to each other during group work and to take plain pleasure in reading takes precedence over warm fuzzy team builders, pep-talks and healthy birthday treat lectures.
Obviously safety comes first. Putting hands on other kids and bullying are not tolerated. Kids cry and confide in me about home stuff. I buy Costco-sized trail mix for those who miss breakfast. We play games during Brain Breaks and we have weekly shout-out rituals where students praise each other for showing good values, such as perseverance and thoughtfulness.
Teachers are educators, not psychologists.
Definitely NOT police officers.
We may be parents, but likely to not more than five children. Doctors train and specialize in medicine and teachers train and specialize in pedagogy.
We can pretend to be superheroes, but I’m pretty sure only superheroes are the ones with special powers. My training and experience, not powers, grant me the skills and passion to teach reading, writing and facilitate critical thinking. I wish my powers could erase poverty, change emotionally-abusive parents and eradicate racism and fear in my students’ lives.
Self-aware and magic-free, I focus on what I can control, and what I’m (mostly) good at...teaching.
These days, I give this “superhero teacher” narrative the cold shoulder and stay in my lane. Of course I will advocate to hell and back for a kid who needs therapy or specials services, but I am not those special services .
Superheroes save lives. I am not saving kids lives. Providing the tools to have a happy future? Yes. Offering experiences and windows to the world’s possibilities? Yes. Showing and practicing love and perseverance and social responsibility? Yes.
At twenty-two, bright-eyed and ready to take on my first real teaching job, I believed every bit of that interview-ready portfolio cover. That’s what teaching is, right? This is what we signed up for, right?
Umm, maybe for a few years, yeah. Right around twenty-five though, I think we wise up and realize that the ability to be magical is more like a fantasy. We are educators. Don’t call us superheroes.
We are quite satisfied with teaching a kid how to read for the first time.
Power to the teacher!
Definitely NOT police officers.
We may be parents, but likely to not more than five children. Doctors train and specialize in medicine and teachers train and specialize in pedagogy.
We can pretend to be superheroes, but I’m pretty sure only superheroes are the ones with special powers. My training and experience, not powers, grant me the skills and passion to teach reading, writing and facilitate critical thinking. I wish my powers could erase poverty, change emotionally-abusive parents and eradicate racism and fear in my students’ lives.
Self-aware and magic-free, I focus on what I can control, and what I’m (mostly) good at...teaching.
These days, I give this “superhero teacher” narrative the cold shoulder and stay in my lane. Of course I will advocate to hell and back for a kid who needs therapy or specials services, but I am not those special services .
Superheroes save lives. I am not saving kids lives. Providing the tools to have a happy future? Yes. Offering experiences and windows to the world’s possibilities? Yes. Showing and practicing love and perseverance and social responsibility? Yes.
At twenty-two, bright-eyed and ready to take on my first real teaching job, I believed every bit of that interview-ready portfolio cover. That’s what teaching is, right? This is what we signed up for, right?
Umm, maybe for a few years, yeah. Right around twenty-five though, I think we wise up and realize that the ability to be magical is more like a fantasy. We are educators. Don’t call us superheroes.
We are quite satisfied with teaching a kid how to read for the first time.
Power to the teacher!
