That's Why

God has impeccable timing. Today was a day where I felt like I can impact the lives of the kids who care, but not the ones who don't. I've been feeling that way for a while and God keeps showing me little glimmers of hope. "Don't give up," they whisper as I trudge through daily ups and downs of teaching.

I often teach both the highest and lowest math classes we offer. It creates a balance in my day and also in everyone's schedules. It's easy to feel like a great teacher when you teach kids who already understand math, feel good about their skills, and generally like school. I can take the cream of the crop and keep them there. That is a gift, but it is a daily rewarding one that is hardly ever discouraging. It is easy to feel like a lousy teacher when you teach students who have difficulty with the most basic of math skills and who are afraid of failure (or are comfortable with it) who think school is a lesser form of prison where if you serve your time, you can check out soon.

I have some of the same students from last year's lowest course in this year's regular level course (I teach that too). They are now mixed in with students of all sorts of skill levels and I can see some of my kids just trying to keep quiet and stay in the shadows. They hope to graciously accept the F and slide on through the cracks. I can't let that happen. I try all sorts of methods to prevent it and I feel like none of them are successful. If the student is ready to fail and not brave enough to put in another effort another year, there is little I can do to change that.

Last week I was teaching about simplifying expressions. One of my former (and also current) students was again doing nothing as all the other students practiced a problem together. I knelt by his desk and whispered, "You have to do one problem correctly to show me you know how to do this before you leave today or you owe me your break so you can learn it." He asked me how to do the first problem and we did it together. We continued this way for all four problems. By the fourth, he was doing the whole problem on his own. I watched silently as he did each step perfectly and explained it verbally to me as he went along. I was so proud of him, tears started to brim. He looked up nervously, "Did I do it right?" I nodded and whispered, "Look at my eyes. I'm so proud of you, I'm going to cry. It's perfect! I'm so proud of you." He smiled wide and proud. This is a student who received less than a 10% last year for his final grade and he now knows how to simplify expressions!!

The next day he was diligently taking notes, asking questions, and participating with his classmates. I wrote him a "proud of you" post-it and stuck it to his shirt as he was leaving class. I heard from another adult on campus that he keeps it in the front of his notebook - a bright pink post-it saying that he worked hard and his teacher noticed. Who knows if this is the turning point for him, but if I am able to help him see that if he tries, he may not always fail, then maybe I can see that too.

I got a visit today from a student who was big trouble four years ago when I had him. He pulled pranks, lied, damaged my property, lied about that, stole, lied about that. He was a very scary kid because he was smart and charming and used his powers for evil. Well, he visited today to tell me that he is taking the right level of math (that means he passed his math classes), he's liking school, he's learning auto mechanics, and is going to go to trade school when he graduates. He's looking forward to being old enough to vote, but he wants to take Civics first so that he can be a more informed voter and understand the process better. Here was a mature, respectful, wonderful young man who knew the importance of his education. He biked in from Fountain Valley to tell me that he was doing really well and to see how I was. How am I doing? I'm doing great, thanks, just great.

So God is reminding me that I do my job not for the results of this moment, but for the future. I may never see how I impact them and I may feel like I fail every day with some kids. But my success is not measured by some number from a test or even some grades in a class. I teach lessons that go deeper than any test can assess and I need to be reminded that this is why I do it.

My Genetic Inheritance

I look just like my mother. I don't exactly have her coloring, but I have her face. Sometimes in photos of her at my age I can't even tell the difference between us. "I don't remember wearing that shirt," and then I realize that I never have worn it. My mother majored in math and teaches it, so do I. She explains things the same way I do, down to each individual question she asks her students. We cook the same (except she's better at it), we think similarly, we even have the same precise lists we make whenever we're planning things that we both call "our brain". It seems I've inherited almost everything from my mom.

But there are three distinct things I've inherited from my father: my hair, my athleticism, and the crazy. My father and I both are pretty mellow people. We like to mingle with friends and strangers. We tell stories and laugh and can take a lot of abuse and let it roll off our backs. But some triggers are deadly. There are some things that happen that make us just snap and suddenly we are acting impulsively and intuitively and plain old crazy. The trigger is usually some supposed injustice or someone endangering themselves or others.

Yesterday, after school, I was walking from the office to my classroom. I had several things in my hands and had left my phone and keys in my room. The school was locked down at this point and several students were waiting outside of the gate for a ride. About seven of my girls were huddled at the corner giggling and pointing at the high school boys strutting across the street. The boys made flirtatious comments and generally pea cocked for the girls. There were so many boys that they could not all fit side by side on the sidewalk so several started walking in the street. I yelled out to them to get out of the street. No response. My girls echoed my demand and the boys, proving their manliness, started to walk out farther into the street. I screamed again that if they did not get on the sidewalk, I was going to call the cops. All ten were now walking in the street taking up an entire lane and causing the cars to swerve around them. Something inside me snapped.

I put down all the things in my hands, walked toward the fence, climbed over it (with only a momentary hesitant voice inside my head saying, "This could be really stupid...") and started to jog toward the crowd. When I reached them, they seemed very confused. I recognized none of them as previous students, but I herded them to the sidewalk anyway saying something like, "You will not die in front of my school. Stay on the sidewalk!" and I'm sure they noticed the crazy in my eyes. "Sorry, we didn't hear you!" "Really, we're really sorry," "Yeah, we'll be more careful!" Saying anything to just make the crazy lady stop.

I instantly realized how dumb this was. I had to walk the block back to my school's crosswalk (I couldn't very well jaywalk after that.) I didn't have my phone or keys and I had no idea how I was going to get back in. After I used the cross walk and tried to greet observing students normally (the whole time feeling totally embarrassed) I noticed that the office door was open. I went in and confessed my stupidity to those inside and hoped that my new principal has a sense of humor.

Later that night, I realized that I'm not quite as young as I used to be and I was a little sore from my hoisting over. I called my dad and said, "Thanks for the genetic make-up!" "Why, did you hit someone?" he asked. Thanks for the crazy, Dad.