Over the summer, I was reading an online thread on education and came across a post by a user who was about to begin teaching high school. “I’m a bit nervous about starting. Any tips?” she asked.
I sipped my coffee and pondered the post. Any tips for teaching high school? Whew! What a question. It was like asking if anyone had any tips before building a space station. I took another sip and thought about what I might suggest to this anonymous, hopeful teacher who was entering the classroom for the first time, just as I did 26 years ago in August.
I drained my cup of joe and began to write.
Dear Friend,
I saw your call for advice on Reddit. I am so happy you have chosen to become a high school teacher! I’ve been teaching for a while now—I’m starting my 27th year as a high school English teacher in a few weeks—and felt some weird occupational responsibility to respond. I began teaching in August 1998, back when cars still had CD players in the dashboards, when nobody carried cellphones, and when email was still like the wedding china: generally used for special occasions. Here are a few things I would say to that version of myself (a version with hair, that is) if I had the chance.
Always help the starfish
There’s an old fable about two people walking on a beach strewn with an endless line of starfish. As they walk along, one person keeps tossing the starfish back into the ocean one at a time. The other eventually asks, “Why are you doing this? There are way too many starfish. You’ll never throw them all back in. It doesn’t matter.”
The first person then picks up a starfish and says, “It matters to this one,” and tosses it back into the sea.
Yeah, that’s our profession; that’s what we do. We are the gentle handlers of beached starfish, getting them to where they need to be, one at a time, year after year after year. If you’re going to be a high school teacher, you have to like this analogy. If you think it is stupid, then the starfish will attack you. (Not really, but it might feel like it.)
Everyone in my classroom gets to be smart
Although I did not understand this at the start of my teaching career, I have learned that my level of education doesn’t make me the smartest person in the room. After I figured that out, it seemed like my students learned a whole lot more from me. I realized that my education was to be used as a scaffold rather than a line of demarcation. (Plus, I gave myself permission to stop wearing a monocle and an Oxford don’s gown.)
Beware the gossip
I have encountered a few cretins—sorry, I meant to write “colleagues”—over the years who love to talk poorly about others not in the room. Whenever someone asks me for gossip or says something ugly about someone else, I make up an excuse about having to clean my whiteboard or that I just sprained my ankle or whatever else comes to mind.
Eventually, these folks realize I don’t have a whiteboard to clean or my ankle is just fine, and they will stop trying to gossip with me. Another reason I don’t join in is because I don’t want to have to remember what I said to whom and when I said it, kind of like when I was actually in high school.
Diamonds have many sides
Teaching high school is a complex, multifaceted profession. Find the facet that you enjoy more than any other and make time for it.
For example, I really love lesson planning because I can think carefully about how parts of a class period fit together (but absolutely not because of the godlike control I feel when I am engaged in it). Others love designing curriculum, developing assessment instruments, or even outlining data-interpretation protocols (although that crowd absolutely mystifies me).
Find the facet within the profession that makes time magically stop while you’re doing it and then do it as much as possible. You’ll find your area of expertise that way. (And you’ll find what professional conferences to attend so that you can totally nerd-out with your people.)
Staring at the ceiling
I endure some sleepless nights during the school year because a school day did not go well. I have always had trouble leaving my emotions at the classroom door; I can carry the worry home with me. (My wife adores that part of my approach.)
At the beginning of my career, I thought something was wrong with me. At this point, however, I’ve accepted that occasional insomnia is part of the job. The complex ethical and moral situations teaching high school can unexpectedly—yet regularly—introduce into our personal and professional lives make it practically inevitable for me.
Beneath it all, gratitude
I have a lot of gratitude for my career, although there are still times when I seriously consider buying a copy of Getting Into the Taxidermy Business Is Fun! or becoming a florist specializing in corsages and boutonnieres. But, miraculously, I always return to gratitude for teaching, and it occurs obliquely and serendipitously. That is part of the beauty of being a teacher for me: the easy pathways to gratitude that open regularly and remind me that yes, I have chosen my career well. (Those little moments happen a lot.)
Again, I’m so happy for you that you are entering such a noble profession.
And although this is totally schmaltzy, just keep tossing the starfish back, one at a time. That’s the trick.
Sincerely,
A high school teacher who, even after 26 years, still greets his students at the door for every class period
