My husband and I met on Frenchmen Street. Locals and tourists know this better-than-Bourbon block of music bars and late-night hangs as a place to see and be seen in New Orleans.
Making eyes at each other from a distance, I wore a red dress, he wore a microphone, and a night mixed with instant chemistry and my over-the-top game of hard-to-get, later led to baby, marriage, baby and life as we know it.
Cliché as the fan meets musician story may be, there was something about his voice that moved me that night. His performances have that kind of effect on people, the type of impact that changes you forever or momentarily brings you somewhere far far away.
Like many musicians, his originality, talent and artistry have the power to transcend.
And just like musicians, teachers are artists. We create something from nothing and share our gifts with the youth of America in hopes it will ignite and fuel hopes, dreams and eventually the tools to do whatever makes them happy in life.
This means, (obviously) that the teacher matters. The teacher’s values, experiences, natural gifts, interests and levels of emotional intelligence impact the classroom, likely much greater than professional training, alma-maters and content knowledge. Again, we know this.
All that we give our students is based on who we are. Our own artistry in motion. So how do we know if we’re doing a good job?
Who the hell knows. There are subtle cues but nothing enough to make us know we’re effective or impacting lives. There’s no instant gratification to help us push through when the going gets tough. No backstage gratitude for the performance. No commission bonuses. No 30% tip for service.
I’ll shamelessly confess that after fifteen years, I still need consistent positive reinforcement of my teaching craft. I mean, I think I’m doing an alright job, but I’m definitely not confident that I’m what the fancy rubrics call “effective.” Yes, I might get decent ratings on formal observations or my kids might shine on state tests from time to time, but am I actually doing a good job? Not sure.
Teachers need fuel for the fire. We need gratification and acknowledgement like any other, and just because we are “superheroes” and work a “thankless job,” as the narrative goes, it makes it all the more apparent that our tired butts need some authentic compliments every so often.
I think novice teachers would agree that informal walk-thru feedback is always sandwiched with some smiley-faced comment about what’s going right, in your hot mess of a classroom. Even though sometimes superficial, as newbies, we hang on to any scent of validation that makes us not search indeed.com more than twice a week.
Years later, when you’ve finally got your groove and can stop obsessing over classroom management and can start refining curriculum and instruction...you gradually start to blend in...your own self-talk becomes the loudest voice in the classroom...and you wonder if you are actually “making a difference.”
School leaders and coaches have opportunities to recognize the difference we are making and gain major respect for it, in the process. A handwritten note, an email or some sort of personal interaction that shows us, “hey girl, I see you. I see what you do. I see what you created. I see your happy kids. And it’s pretty amazing.”
Beyond leadership, there’s nothing like recognition from an esteemed coworker. Colleagues asking other colleagues to watch them in action is pretty powerful.
Furthermore, it makes me think of how I treat my students. Do I really see them? Do I pause a lesson to praise an original thought, or do I hustle though because the online timer says four minutes and we still have four pages to get through?
Playing Silent Ball has become a sacred time in my class over the years. More recently, over a game of not-so-silent-silent ball, one of my students shared that the night before, he had a nightmare that all New Orleanians were suddenly under Puritan Law (circa 17th century)-there were public beheadings and a whole lot of madness.
My initial reaction was, wow. My teaching worked. I was pretty proud that my social studies lesson on religious persecution was so moving that it haunted my kids at night. Is that bad?
In a school community, we want gratification. No, we’re not needy, we are human. We want to see the fruits of our labor, even if it’s just a slice of the apple peel. A little nutrients to jumpstart our artistic flow.
It took me a long time to become self-aware and somewhat confident as an educator. Still, it matters that others see those same strengths in me. Or at least acknowledge the things that matter to me most…
My now husband saw me that one night on Frenchmen Street. Do you see me? Yeah, I see you girl…
Power to the Teacher!
