Teach your children well

“One child, one teacher, one book, one pen can change the world.” 

                                                                                        ― Malala Yousafzai

AUBURN, Maine — Getting behind the wheel of a classroom is like trying to fly a kite in a hurricane or outswim a tsunami.

And when you are a long-term substitute teacher who has been ordered to parachute into the middle of a school quarter, you feel like a hiker lost on Mount Katahdin during an old-fashion Maine nor’easter.

Teachers are the whole ball of wax, and if a teacher doesn’t have lessons lined up and establish a provisional government, it will be a long 75 minutes for everybody in that room — and there will be anarchy.

I have had the privilege of teaching five classes – American Literature and Senior Writing – at Edward Little High School for the past few months. I was given the keys to the classroom until a wonderful teacher returned after coping with a personal problem.

It has been a dizzying 60 days. Dozens of students walked in and out of my classroom, placing a variety of demands on me. I spent hours pleading, cajoling and coaxing students to turn in work. I listened to students plea bargain their cases when their work was tardy. I thought of creating an appellate court to hear each student’s plea, hoping the judges would lessen my burdens. But just when I thought students turned a deaf ear to me or found me as interesting as watching paint dry, the work started flowing in, and all of a sudden, I experienced the endless joy of correcting papers. I cheered and hoorayed students who turned in a well-written essay or miraculously pulled off an A on a test. I told them they were wonderful human beings, and I meant every word of it. And when students fell behind, I wanted to bribe them with great deals like free pizza for a lifetime or gas card at a local filling station. But as a last resort, I was tersely warned them that flunking a course does not do a body good. Mention san “F” — that dreaded letter in the alphabet to all students — and watch the essays start appearing on your desk.

I have been that dedicated and besides, somebody had to get the job done, and that would be me.

So I held my ground and promised myself I would not allow this two-month stint to act as a corrosive and eat away my brain. I was working two full-time, rewarding jobs, and there were moments when this sleep-deprived teacher had day dreams of my bed and soft, fluffy pillows as Mozart’ Eine kleine Nachtmusik played on in the background.

It took a week to get my bearings and right a ship that was taking on water. Before I was given the green light to take the helm, this particular classroom was like a revolving door at a Las Vegas variety show. Several substitutes made brief appearances in front of the podium before I moved and set up shop in Room 209.

Of course, the first two weeks was sort of like the Rodgers and Hamerstein’s show tune: “Getting to Know You.” I was being vetted by students as I lectured during each period. My every move was scrutinized. I became a public figure who found himself under a microscope.

I was on my own, but I am capable of thinking on my feet and welcomed the opportunity to “wing it” in all five courses, and I enjoyed being a one-man show.

Over the next two months, I was introduced to many fine students who take their studies seriously, and that makes my life easier in the classroom. And those students who fell behind inspired and drove me to find unique ways to teach the subject matter.

For those of you who think dedicated teachers are living the dream because they have summers and holidays off, I dare all know-it-alls to take the reins of a classroom. This is no job for the timid or those who lack charisma or public speaking skills. If you don’t deliver, students will see it, and you will be held accountable for being inept.

I also felt a moral obligation to get the information across to all students and try to make them understand that knowledge is a way out and up in a work force where education is a categorical imperative.

So I jumped into this melting pot of diverse personalities and classroom melodrama. I tried to keep students interested in Stephen King’s “The Body,” a story where profanity is rampant. But King’s book takes on child abuse and does a wonderful job painting a picture of four boys who are forced to go it alone in life.

The writing classes were also a challenge. I gave sporadic lectures about how words start wars, bring peace and inspire people across the planet. We discussed one particular phrase: “All men are created equal.” I told them this sentence in the Declaration of Independence helped trigger America’s Civil War and eventually set the bar for all humanity for the past two centuries.

I did my darndest to make students understand writing is like being a sculptor. Putting words on a blank piece of paper requires thought, patience and creativity. I saw this process done well in many papers that reached my desk.

Several students asked me, that’s right — me — to help them to sculpt their college essays or write a recommendation. I considered charging $100 for each edited essay or well-written recommendation, but I knew that would be unethical. I was honored by students’ requests and would do headstands to help out any student who wants to pursue a college education.

Each student is unique and they all got under my skin. I came to appreciate them and their different and sometimes multiple personalities. I will miss their daily interaction with me. They are a fine bunch.

I make no apologies for how I ran the show. Teachers aren’t there to become good friends with their students. We are role models and mentors, and that dividing line between student and teacher should never be crossed.

I have nothing but respect for these students. I hope they feel the same about me and for the privilege of getting free education.