More than "One Word Wednesday"

So many words. Too many words, I fear. Too many for a One Word Wednesday, for sure.  Maybe too many simply because it causes too big of a risk for me.   But I'm going to let them go. Because I can. Because I'm brave tonight. Because I need to.

I love being a teacher. I honestly and truly do. And there was a time I felt exceptionally good at it. I felt connected to kids and families and administration. I felt happy - There were mornings I didn't want to wake up and get out of bed, but there were not mornings that I didn't want to go to school.

And now...

The times are different. And maybe they're for the better. Maybe for the worse. Time will answer that question - Not me. I have my opinions, but I don't profess to know for sure. I don't know how this all shakes out.

I still love being a teacher because it's all I ever wanted to do, really, and because I can't think of anything else in the world that I want to do. I love being a teacher because I think that being a teacher matters because children matter above all that we do in society. I'll spare you the "Children are our future..." song. The truth is - Like them or not - The children will lead us.

Which is why I don't love education right now. I may be wrong - I hope I'm wrong. Or I hope that if I'm right we'll figure out way to balance it all before it's too late. I simply don't know that we're walking in the right direction right now.

I woke on Tuesday with a knot in my stomach. Testing. Testing. Testing. It's all I could think. We're testing today. I teach Kindergarten and we're testing today.

Like standardized testing. And my students are five and six.

And they've taken this test twice this year thus far. And they have growth targets that we "need" them to make. Normed growth targets, albeit. Which means that we can (or should) expect about half of our students not to make that target. But, we expect them all to. Or want them all to. Or, worse...Need them to.

We need them to because we're broken, people say.

Broken.

Not accountable.

Failing.

Lazy.

But, we're not. I know we're not lazy or not accountable because every day I work with this amazing group of teachers that gently and not so gently holds children in their hands and molds them. Loves them. Protects them. Pushes them to learn. Loves them. I wish everyone could see these people that beat themselves to the ground when a child doesn't make a "growth target" or doesn't read to a certain level. And fairly - We all want out students to learn and we all want to do right by them. The teachers I work with don't need to be told by policy makers that they aren't accountable. They hold themselves to a higher standard than anyone in power ever could. The teachers I know don't sleep easily at night when they know a child in their room isn't learning like they hope.

Are they unusual in this regard? I don't know. I doubt it. I've worked in three different school districts in two different states. I've worked at four different schools. I've worked with a lot of teachers and the teacher that doesn't care is the exception. The very rare exception. The teacher that hasn't shed tears or been wracked with guilt or sat at a computer researching, researching, researching how to meet a child's needs....Well - That teacher is ever so rare in my experience.

I can say we're not broken or failing or lazy or unaccountable because I live it. And I love it. And I love the people I do this job with every single day.

I love being a teacher. Thankfully, every day I have a reason to remember that. I've taken to letting my sister know them from time to time. Just to help me remember. This is what I love. This is why I do this.

But, I don't always feel good at it anymore. Certainly not often enough.

That pit was there on Tuesday and I try, try...Try to shake it away.

But, here's what I wish the world knew - I wish they'd step into my classroom and know the children the way I once did. The way I sometimes think I still do.

I wish the world knew these children as people and humans. I wish they loved them like I do. Because, I have to believe if they did, they'd see what I see when I take a group of five and six year olds to a computer to judge what they'd learned this year. To judge how I've taught this year. I wish the world knew they were so much more than a score taken on one day, in one forty five minute block...

I wish the world knew that a super bright and super amazing girl froze and cried because she is so bright that she was presented with division problems and she didn't know what do. She cried out of fear and self-doubt. She is five. Five.

I wish the world knew that one child may or may not have had breakfast that morning. I wish they knew that one child was walked to school by his brother and his brother probably picked on him the entire way.

I wish they knew of the sweet and sensitive girl who cried for the loss of her aunt's cat the entire way up the stairs to the test. Or the girl who developed a tooth ache - The same tooth ache she developed when we last took this test - and cried. Or the child who was sick that day and has to take the make up portion with someone on staff that he barely knows.

Or the fact that one boy is so upset if he's not first at something that it pains him. Literally pains him. Or that one girl is so startled by loud noises that if the headphones are too loud she freezes. .

I wish the world knew the boys that were born in August and will eventually be as mature as their peers, but aren't now. And because they aren't they don't get what it means to "try your best" or to "think before you answer". They just think they know and they answer. I wish they knew that there was no level of "teacher accountability" that would make them mature before they can. No teacher that could put in enough hours or work hard enough to make them age faster. And do we want them to?  What would be the advantage?  Would they be that much more ahead?

I wish they knew that every day one of them tells me at least five times what he's having for snack because it's just that fascinating to him that he thinks the world shares that enthusiasm. I wish I could have video taped when I was coughing and sputtering so badly that the office staff came from across the hall with water because they could hear and were concerned, but standing at my desk telling me about his morning was one of my students. Oblivious to the fact that I was red and coughing and gasping for oxygen.

I wish they knew. Oh how I wish they knew. And I wish they loved them too.

Because I know. And I love them. But, sometimes the pile of curriculum and learning targets buries me to the point I forget. And that's when my stomach hurts. And I think I'm not good at my job. A job that is far more than a job - A job that is a passion and way of life. Before the Fuss, I first defined myself as a teacher. It was who I was.  Now I'm a mother.  And a teacher.  Just like that.  Still a teacher defines me. 

Do I do enough? Do my students learn enough? Do they love school? Not like they used to. I know that's true and every day that weighs on me and I promise to find the way back to that. In the days I felt really good at my job I know my students loved school. I know they felt loved and safe and happy. I felt that way too. I enjoyed them and celebrated them and met them exactly where they were and took them exactly where they could go.

I had a parent today tell me I was the "BEST". In caps, like that. "BEST."

Do you know why?

Not because her child met her growth target. She has. Not because she's learned a lot this year. She has. My word she has. Her child is independent and amazing and complicated. She has things she's really good at it and things she has left to learn. Her child is a human and full of the humanities that make her beautiful. She is both like and unlike every other child in that room.

But, today, her mom was thankful and happy because I know her child. And I let her know that I know her child. And I love her child. So very much.

It was a picture I sent of this sweet and silly and complicated little girl. Dressed in an outfit like no other. Wearing her hair like no other. And feeling like a million bucks because she was so fully and wonderfully like nobody else that morning. I love that little girl so much for that. And for who she is. Which is so much more than a score.

I am accountable to that child. And to the 19 others that come to me every day. I have failed them at times. And at times I haven't. I am human too. Full of humanities.

I have forgotten that they are more than a writing sample. More than a test score. More. Just more. Sometimes when this pressure is coming from somewhere (and honestly, I don't know where) I panic. Like a flawed human.

The thing I need to remind myself is - I can't. I don't get to fail these little humans. Not often, anyhow. I need to figure out what is right. Where their truth and success is. How can I do it? How can I do what's asked but still be worthy of being called the "BEST?"

I start their lives in school. I am accountable for that. As much as I'm accountable for their learning. They are every bit as human as I am. Imperfect. And perfect all the same.

So perfectly imperfect.