Today sucked. I wrote that (but with more verbosity) on facebook. One colleague/friend said that she heard I was a great teacher. In response, I wrote:

my weltschmerz is not due to me questioning my teaching abilities, actually. i’ve grown out of that first year trap. right now it’s all about the school bureaucracy, the time sinks we’re asked to sit through, the faux reflectiveness which never is seriously intellectual nor tangible. what i want is for the powers that be to say “you’re more than competent, you have taken a role in the larger school community, so we will leave you and your time alone so you can do what you do best. we’ll lay off and give you support when you need it, because you’re a team player and you support us and the larger community.” 

I got home, feeling like (a) I’ve had this feeling for a long time, (b) that I didn’t have it last year, and (c) that I hope it isn’t that dreaded second-year burnout. I hope it’s just one long-day burnout. I LOVE TEACHING. But at this particular moment in time, I feel like I’m treading water and that I’m being foiled from all sides by nonsense, keeping me from doing what I know I could do so much better if just left alone.

I need to be let free, given my independence, so that I can fly.

So my question for you is:

I bet that I need to sleep this off. I’ll probably wake up with perfectly coifed hair; I’ll bound out of bed, and two little cartoon birdies will fly around my apartment, picking my clothes and making me breakfast. 

UPDATE: Slept it off; feeling much better.

… for example, I hated the young kid talking to a convention of teachers that was making the rounds (here). It’s supposed to be elevating, motivating, sweet. Instead, I just got supremely annoyed.

But… I saw an inspirational video that actually… well, inspired.

There’s something captivating about the metaphor. I liked it because it got me thinking about teaching.

• Students — when they are pushed just beyond what they think is capable — can surprise themselves and others.
• Teachers — when they trust students enough to push them beyond what they think is capable — can bring out some really amazing results.
• Teachers need to remember that each kid is different, and you can’t expect every student to do the same level work. But you can and must expect them to work up to their potential. (“Do your best.”)
• Students can’t succeed if they have a defeatist attitude.
• Teachers can’t succeed if they have a defeatist attitude.
• Positive encouragement goes a long, long way.
• Students can inspire other students.
• Students can inspire teachers.
• Teachers can inspire students.

I’ve mentioned to parents that my teaching philosophy is to try to teach students just beyond the level they think they’re capable of. (I don’t always succeed.) But I’m thinking that after a particular difficult assessment, when I’m really blown away at how my students did, I might share this philosophy with them. And show them this video. And tell them that I’m really proud of them.

Hopefully I’ll be lucky enough to have that moment sometime this quarter with each of my classes. I don’t know if each one of my classes will pull it out, but I really am pulling for all of them all the time. Some students might not always see it, but I’m always on their side.

PS. I know this is from a “Christian movie.” No, I haven’t seen it. No, I don’t intend to.

I’ve been hearing a lot about Michelle Rhee, Chancellor of Education of the DC school system. I haven’t read anything about her, though, but after reading this Time article, I want to read more. Something to whet your post-Thanksgiving appetite:

She says things most superintendents would not. “The thing that kills me about education is that it’s so touchy-feely,” she tells me one afternoon in her office. Then she raises her chin and does what I come to recognize as her standard imitation of people she doesn’t respect. Sometimes she uses this voice to imitate teachers; other times, politicians or parents. Never students. “People say, ‘Well, you know, test scores don’t take into account creativity and the love of learning,'” she says with a drippy, grating voice, lowering her eyelids halfway. Then she snaps back to herself. “I’m like, ‘You know what? I don’t give a crap.’ Don’t get me wrong. Creativity is good and whatever. But if the children don’t know how to read, I don’t care how creative you are. You’re not doing your job.”