Delayed Gratification

N.B. This essay is dedicated to Renée Hoskin-Schiber.*

Fearless Readers, after a long and painful slog, another academic year draws to a close for Chicago Public Schools and for your intrepid urban educator.  Of course, the rest of the country has been out of school for going on two or more weeks by now, but ole Mayor Grinch** wants us, students and teachers alike, to carry on beavering away at making quality education a reality for the youth of the Second City.  And so we remain, awaiting the end of a particularly soul-sucking 2012-13 academic year at my school.

But, what I really want to talk about now is what keeps us teachers going nowadays.   The public school system in this country has been under attack, in the dubious name of ‘reform’, for quite some time.  In Chicago it’s more like being under siege.  And, of course, it’s the teachers – the infantry grunts – who bear the brunt. Meanwhile, about all the politicos and pundits and just plain pests can agree on is that it’s all the teachers’ fault.  It’s those reform-resistant, union toadies who are failing our students. (It’s gotten so ubiquitous, this teacher-bashing, that it deserves a name:  Historian that I am, I propose theTeacher Scare.  Sort of like the Red Scares of the 19-teens and 1950s.  As in, “Are you now, or have you ever been, a Public School Teacher?”  But I digress.)  Point is, why do we stick to the job in the face of all the ill use at the hands of everyone from the President on down to my own principal?      

Talking to colleagues throughout the years as well as myself (yes, I do talk to myself – something wrong with that?), I have a pretty good idea of why teachers teach.  In Chicago, thankfully, public school teachers earn a decent, if not extravagant living wage, unlike lots of places in this county, not to mention pretty much the entire Southern Hemisphere.    But nobody in their right mind goes into teaching for the money – it’s simply not enough to compensate for the turd balls thrown at us every day, mostly from our own admin.  No, we teachers teach because we love to teach.  Yes, we do get a few really cool side benefits with the job, chief among which is summer break, that one glorious perk almost all teachers enjoy.  But mainly we are among those who follow a calling, rather than a career.  And the Calling has its own perks.  For instance, we on occasion get to enjoy that particular shot of pure joy that most teachers experience when a student’s eyes suddenly light up with enlightenment and understanding.  Those and other similar moments with our students are like fuel for teachers; they keep us going for days afterwards.  But the real reason we follow the Calling, and our primary source of fulfillment, boils down to one thing.  The Future.

Right, cliché of all clichés.  Our children, our future, blah blah blah.  So let’s make it more real and less Hallmark.  OUR children.  By which I mean MY children.  By which I mean the students who I spend my days with in the classroom every week.  Most days I could give a rat’s ass if AMERICA is falling behind the Chinese in Math, or that Finnish kids can ace a basic US Geography quiz that most adults here wouldn’t even pass.  My focus?  Will Jorge get his 4^th grade reading level up enough in his four years at my high school to be able to survive when he leaves?  Will bright, young Amanda manage to avoid getting knocked up by some boy (emphasis on ‘boy’) before she escapes the hood and gets safely away to college?  It’s hard to get too exercised about the potential impact our latest educational crisis might have on future US global competitiveness when so much is stacked against my students.  How relevant is keeping ahead of Japan when dodging rival street gangs on the way to school is their daily reality?  

So we teachers, urban or rural or suburban, are the world’s champions at delayed gratification.  Particularly in a public climate that lately has been so poisonous against us, we have to wait quite a while in order to reap the rewards of our calling.      Anyway, back to reaping rewards.  Once in a while, randomly at the grocery store, or at report card pick-up or some other school function, a former student will seek you out and, in the course of catching up and such, let drop that you, their 10^th grade US History (or Art, or Math) teacher, somehow, in some small way, ever so slightly changed their lives for the better.  It rarely has to do with actual academics.  It’s more like, “Mr. Peabody, I was such a shit in your classroom as a sophomore, but that didn’t stop you from treating me fairly.  I learned something from that.”  Or, “Ms. Ashley, I can’t hardly remember a damned thing about Calculus, but the way you always tried to explain things in interesting ways that we could all understand taught me something.” 

These seemingly small moments are our life support system as teachers. I walk away feeling a warm glow that lingers for weeks.  One such encounter gives me the energy and motivation to soldier on, knowing that the work I do has – or will have – a lasting and meaningful impact on the lives of at least some of my charges. 

Last weekend, I was fortunate enough to meet with over a dozen former students and find out how they are doing.  I held a small reunion party at my house for students who had been on my debate team back when I was coach.  One of my debaters, just about to graduate college, had texted me out of the blue a few months ago, which led to a meal with three of my former charges, all of whom wanted to let me know how they were doing and how important they saw my own influence in their success (which was good for a couple of months renewed inspiration!).  This, in turn, led to a larger gathering at my place on a lovely Sunday afternoon, complete with burgers, dogs, brats, and fixins.  And 16 young folk with whom I had spent countless invigorating hours over my years as a coach.  These bright young people had spent time with me in twice-weekly afterschool practices, at pre-tournament Saturday practices, at winter and spring break practices at my house, during Saturday debate workshops, and, of course, competing in a half dozen or more marathon weekend debate tournaments per year.  Of necessity, we all became quite a close-knit band, all watching each others backs, and sharing in triumphs and trials alike.  The fact that they were eager to spend another few hours together and with their old coach, years after graduation, was deeply gratifying for me, but not surprising.  These were, after-all, MY kids.

I always maintained that the job of debate coach, although arduous and mostly unpaid, allowed me the privilege of hanging out with the funnest kids in the school.  This past Sunday proved the truth of that even after they have long since graduated.

Even more gratifying was to learn through the course of the afternoon that all of my kids are doing well. Most are either still at university or have graduated and started on a career.  One of my girls just had a brand new graduate assistantship position created just for her – involving the teaching of public speaking.  Another graduated a year ago and has embarked on a career in advertising.  A third has just graduated from an elite West Coast private college where she spent considerable time studying abroad in Asia as part of her degree program.  Yet another has girl more year left at UIC, where she has been involved in a myriad of organizations and causes.  Others, who have not followed the collegiate path (yet – I still hold out hope!) are pursuing training as chefs, are retail sales managers, are working as trainers for restaurant personnel.  One of my team captains stumbled accidentally into a career as a personal banker when a bank manager noticed her and was impressed by her intelligence and comportment.  She’ll soon be making more than I do!  College or not, all of my young folk are embarked on building what promise to be fruitful lives.

As my crew was wrapping up the party – some three happy hours after I had anticipated it winding down – I told them how proud they had made me, all grown up and productive and responsible young men and women.  When I was debate coach, I was famous for my impromptu, often teary end-of-season inspirational speeches delivered on that last, late-night bus ride home from the City Championship tournament.  This was no exception; indeed, I would have disappointed if I hadn’t delivered my requisite pep talk.  On this occasion, however, they interrupted my speech, because they had their own message for me.  They told me that, like it or not, I was in large part responsible for their various successes. 

For once I did not mind being interrupted by my students.

So, in a nation rampant self-entitlement and instant gratification, we teachers bide our time, patiently, for the seeds we sow to sprout, take root, and flourish.  Our reward, when it comes, tastes all the sweeter for the wait.  

___________________

* Renée is a 25-year veteran teacher from downstate Illinois.  In her 13 years of service at Collinsville High School, a school she describes as 'working class' and 'hardscrabble,' her AP English students scored 20% above the national average.  She also wrote a grant to add technology -- such as a Smart Board -- to her classroom.  She is that sort of teacher.  Renée  ran into trouble with her administration when she failed to get the message to change the grade for the Assistant Superintendant's daughter; the following year it was the child of a School Board member.  Finally at the end of this year she was forced into retirement to as punishment for her professionalism and integrity.  

** I have decided that Mayor 'He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named' is rather unwieldily, and the acronym HWSNBN is simply impenetrable.  Plus, well, just look at the original Dr Seuss cartoon and compare that to a picture of the mayor of Chicago.