Last month, when the new semester at Nueces High School started, some students changed their schedules. In third period geometry with Judy Tracy, one of the classes I was assigned to for student teaching, eight students left over the first week of the semester. I asked Judy why everyone was leaving, and she said that the school had a very open policy about letting students change their schedules. “Sometimes they just don’t like the teacher. Or they want to be in class with their friends,” she explained. “Personally I think they shouldn’t let students change just to be with their friends, or with another teacher.”
“They don’t like the teacher? So these students switched out of this class because they don’t like me?”
“No! Well, we don’t know. We don’t have to ask them why they changed,” Judy explained to me. “Also, some of them might have wanted to change one of their other classes, and it didn’t work out with their schedule unless math class changes too. So it might have nothing to do with you.
“Hmm,” I said. I still felt like all of this sent a message that some students did not like me. It was discouraging.
One new student did transfer into the geometry class, a sophomore girl named Angelica. She seemed like a decent student. Judy had her in a different period the first half of the year, and she got a B. Kate Matthews’ Basic Math B class got two new students this semester. One was a loud redhead named Brittany who often made jokes about smoking marijuana. I was not sure what the chances were that I would have two red-haired stoner girls in the same class, but it was pretty much the last thing I needed to deal with. Marie, the other red-haired stoner, did not seem to talk often with Brittany, but I made sure to seat them at opposite ends of the room, just in case. The other new student was a teaching assistant, not a math student, a senior named Kara. I usually had Kara do routine tasks like passing back papers, when I needed her to, but I often did not have much work for her to do. Nothing in my teacher training had really prepared me to have a TA. And because of that, I had a misunderstanding that led to one of my worst days of student teaching.
Everything seemed normal when I left for Nueces on that Friday morning. Monday was the Presidents’ Day holiday, so the youth group kids from church were leaving at noon for Winter Camp. I had lots of fun at Winter Camp last year, but this year I was not going. I would not get back from student teaching in time, I had class this afternoon, and I had a lot of studying to do this weekend.
I arrived at Nueces High just three minutes before the first bell, much later than I wanted to. Police cars and tow trucks were clearing an accident on the freeway, and traffic slowed down for a while. Also, approaching a school a few minutes before the start of the day always creates a traffic mess, as students and their parents all drive to the school at the last minute. I parked in my reserved spot and rushed to Kate’s classroom, at the opposite end of campus from my parking spot.
“Where were you?” Kate asked when I walked in. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” I replied. “Sorry. There was an accident on 100, and traffic was backed up.”
“The bell is about to ring. I’m going to head to the work room. Do you have everything under control?”
“I think so,” I said. I did not yet realize that I did not have everything under control. I wrote today’s assignment on the board, took attendance, and then realized that I had a problem. When I was attending school at Plumdale High, we would listen to the announcements read every day over the public address system. This was the norm in 1999, as it still is in schools today. But Nueces High currently occupied a building constructed in 1950, and there was no public address system. The morning announcements were printed on paper, and placed in each teacher’s mailbox, to be picked up when we arrived at school that morning. Since I had mostly taken over first period Basic Math B, I had been getting the announcements from the mailbox and reading them to the class myself. Kate would sometimes spend time in the teacher work room, leaving me to myself in the classroom. I liked that level of independence; it made me feel like a real teacher. But, since I had arrived late today, the only thing on my mind was to make it to the classroom on time, so that I could get class started. I had not taken the time to stop by the office, and now, as a result, I had no announcements to read.
I started to panic. The announcements must be read. Students must know this important information. This aging campus also had no phones and no computers in the classroom, so I had no way of getting a message to the office that I needed the announcements. I looked around the room, trying to stay calm, when my eyes fell on Kara. Of course. She could help here.
“Kara,” I said. “I forgot to get the announcements from my box in the office this morning. Can you keep an eye on the students? I’ll be back in two minutes.”
“Sure,” Kara replied.
I jogged from the portables in the back, across the outside of the smaller of the two permanent buildings, and into the office, grabbing my copy of the morning announcements. I turned around to jog back when I heard Ms. Matthews’ voice call out, “Greg! Who’s watching the students?”
“Kara is in there. I’m going right back now. I forgot to get the announcements.”
“Don’t ever leave students unsupervised in the classroom!” Kate said, almost shouting. “Go!”
I turned and ran back to the classroom. Ms. Matthews seemed really upset. I did not see it as that big of a deal. When I was in high school, I had teachers occasionally leave their rooms unlocked at lunch with students inside. I could remember at least one time when the teacher actually had to go to the office during class time, and he left the class unsupervised for a few minutes. When I got back to Kate’s classroom, everything seemed in order, and Kara and the other students were sitting in their seats waiting, so I calmly read the announcements. After that, I continued presenting the lesson and walking around while the students worked. Kate returned about ten minutes before the end of the period and sat at her desk. I could see a hint of disapproval in her expression.
The bell rang, ending the period, and students left the classroom. The campus of Nueces High was so large and spread out that students had a long eight-minute passing period between classes. This gave Kate plenty of time to lecture me after the students left, while her second period students trickled up to the closed door and waited outside.
“You can’t ever leave students unsupervised,” she said sternly. “It’s not safe.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I forgot to pick up the announcements, I was running late because of the accident on the highway, and I didn’t know what else to do. I figured–”
“Why didn’t you send Kara to pick up the announcements?”
Of course there was a simple solution. At least there would have been, for someone experienced with working in schools and having a student TA. But that was not me. “I didn’t know she was allowed to leave class,” I explained. “I didn’t think of that because I’ve never had a student TA, I’ve never had experience with student TAs, and no one ever explained that to me.”
“What if something happens to one of the students? And if you leave students unsupervised, they’re going to steal things off the desk and destroy things in the classroom. Someone could have stolen your stuff out of your backpack. Did you ever think about that?”
“Obviously not!” I said, irritated and close to tears. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re lucky nothing happened while you were gone,” Kate said. “Don’t ever leave students unsupervised again.”
“I know.”
“I need to let second period in. And you probably have work to do. Just remember, you have Kara as your TA. You can have her do things like that for you.”
“I know,” I said. I grabbed my backpack and walked to the teacher work room in the office, tears clearly visible now, hoping that no students who knew me would see me crying. I sat at the table in the teacher work room, grabbed a nearby box of tissue, and let the tears come, no longer trying to hold back.
With no class assigned to me second period, I had gotten to know some of the other teachers with prep time second period, since they were often in the work room at the same time I was. Two of them were there when I arrived, an older woman named Sally Stein who taught English, and a middle-aged man named Jim Emerson who taught science. “Are you okay, Greg?” Sally asked as I cried and blew my nose.
“No,” I blubbered. “I messed up. And Kate yelled at me. Well, not yelled. Scolded.”
“What happened?” Jim asked. “Kate understands you’re still learning.”
I took a deep breath, trying to compose myself. “I got here late because there was an accident on the freeway and traffic was slow.”
“You were in an accident?” Sally asked.
“Not me. The accident happened before I was there. But traffic was slow because they were still clearing it and a lane was blocked.”
“Oh, okay. I’m glad you’re safe.”
“Since I got here late, I forgot to stop at the office and get the announcements. When I realized that, I ran up to the office with students in the room. I didn’t think it was that big a deal, since I was only gone two minutes maybe.”
“Yeah, that’s probably not a good idea,” Sally explained. “But it sounds like Kate could have handled it better.”
“I had teachers leave the room unlocked at lunch sometimes when I was in school. And once my teacher went up to the office for about five minutes in the middle of class,” I explained. “Maybe I’m just not cut out to be a teacher. Most of the students in that class have bad grades.” I grabbed another tissue and started crying again.
“Greg?” Jim asked. “Do you want to go for a walk with me? Would that help?”
That was not the reaction I was expecting, but at this point, a chance to talk this out with someone one-on-one sounded appealing. “Sure,” I said.
“Sally, will you be here to watch our things?” Jim asked.
“Yes,” she replied. “Go walk.”
Jim and I walked across the parking lot out toward Buena Vista Avenue. “You were probably in honors classes when you were a student,” he said. “Is that right?”
“Yeah.”
“Your teachers who left students alone in the classroom, they probably knew that you were good students who behaved, so they trusted you. And I don’t want to sound judgmental, but most students aren’t trustworthy that way.”
“That makes sense,” I replied. “Especially those Basic Math B students first period. I hadn’t thought of that.”
“It’s okay. We were all new teachers once, learning to do this. We all have good days and bad days. Don’t beat yourself up.”
“I’m trying. It’s just been so hard lately. The students can be so mouthy. And yesterday only four of them turned in their homework.”
“That sounds like a typical Basic Math class,” Jim replied, chuckling. “But don’t think of yourself as a bad teacher. I overheard some of my students yesterday talking about how much they love your class.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. It was Stacie Edwards and Kayla Welch. They were lab partners a few days ago, and they were talking about you. I don’t think they’re in Basic Math, though.”
“Kayla’s in Judy’s geometry class that I took over. And Stacie is in the honors Algebra II class with Mitch Bowles that I’m helping out with.”
“Well, they think you’re a great teacher. So focus on that instead.”
“I’ll try.”
“Hey, can I pray for you?” Jim asked. “Are you comfortable with that? I know Josh McGraw told me you both go to the same church in Jeromeville.”
I was vaguely aware from reading announcements that Jim was the advisor for the student Christian club that met weekly at lunch. Someone to pray with sounded like exactly what I needed right now. “Yes,” I said.
Jim stopped walking and gently laid a hand on my shoulder. “Father God, I thank you for bringing Greg here to Nueces High. I thank you for all that you are teaching him about education, and his future. Please, now, give him comfort on this difficult day. Remind him that it is okay to still be learning. Help him to move on from this and come out stronger on the other side. I pray for the rest of his classes today, that he will have positive experiences with the students, and that he will know that he is making a difference in their lives. I pray that you will continue to put him in the right place, giving him the words to meet these students where they are, and to show them the kind of love that Jesus shows us. I pray that you will speak to him, and remind him that he is a beloved child of God.” I nodded as he continued, “In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.”
I looked up and took a deep breath. “Thank you,” I said.
“We should head back now, to make sure we get there in time.”
“Yeah,” I said. Nueces High was a couple hundred yards behind us now; we were across the street from the fast food restaurants that students frequented for lunch.
As we turned around, headed back to the school, Jim asked, “Which church do you and the McGraws go to?”
“Okay. I’ve heard of that one. I know some people in Jeromeville, but they go to First Baptist.”
“I know where that is. I know some people who go there too.”
“My family and I go to Grace Baptist Church, on Nut Farm Road.”
“I don’t know that one off the top of my head.”
“It’s good. It’s been around for a while. We’ve been going there since we moved to Nueces, in 1982.”
“That’s good to be a part of a community for that long. I’ve only been at J-Cov for a little over two years, since the fall of my junior year as an undergrad. I grew up Catholic, and I went to Mass at the Newman Center before that.”
“Interesting. Have you had any problems with your family, with you leaving Catholicism?”
“Not really. Mom has always had the attitude that other Christians follow the same Jesus too. Grandma was a little uneasy at first, since she’s always been much more traditional. But… Are you familiar with the Urbana convention for Christian students, in Illinois?”
“I’ve heard of it.”
“I went to that in ’96, and Mom told me that Grandma was worried that I was running off to join a cult. But then Grandma told that to one of her old lady friends, and that lady said that her son went to Urbana in the ’60s, and suddenly Grandma was okay with it, knowing that her friend was okay with it.”
“That’s funny. Your grandma sounds nice. Do you see her often?”
“Yes, whenever I go see my parents in Plumdale, every few months. Grandma lives in Gabilan, less than ten miles from Plumdale. She’s 78. And Grandpa just turned 81.”
“I like that part of the state. My wife and I take weekend getaways to Santa Lucia a couple times a year.”
“Nice.”
As we stepped back on campus, Jim said, “It’s almost time for class. Will you be okay?”
“Yes,” I said. “Thanks for listening. And praying.”
“Any time. Let me know any time you need to talk.”
“I will.”
When I walked into Judy’s classroom for geometry, before class started, she asked me if I was all right. Apparently she noticed that I had been crying. “I had a rough morning,” I explained. I told her briefly about everything that had happened.
“Don’t let it get to you,” Judy said. Then, lowering her voice, she added, “Just between you and me, Kate isn’t always the nicest person to be around.”
“I see,” I replied, chuckling.
The rest of that class went just fine, as did fourth period assisting in Mitch’s class. When I got to the car to drive back to Jeromeville, that song that says “I want to push you around” was on the radio. Maybe Kate wanted to push me around, to make me feel like a bad teacher, but I just needed to make sure I did not let her. I made a mistake today, but I would learn from it, and I would come out the other side a better teacher, knowing more about how the world of education worked.
I had Jeromeville Christian Fellowship that night. Eddie Baker, my friend who graduated with me last year, was now on staff part time with JCF. He got paid to be a leader for the group, being supported by contributions from individuals and churches the same way that full-time missionaries are. It was his turn to speak tonight, and he spoke about John 4, when Jesus talks to the Samaritan woman at the well. “The Scripture says that Jesus ‘had’ to go through Samaria. But if you look at a map of Jesus’ route, he does not have to go through Samaria at all. He went out of his way to go to Samaria, because he knew that he had work to do there, to talk to that outcast woman.”
After JCF ended, I walked around the room to talk to people, and I told Eddie, “I was kind of on the receiving end of a moment like that today, being the outcast who got prayed for.” I went on to tell him about everything that had happened at school today.
“Wow,” he said. “God put that other teacher in your life so that your paths would cross at this very moment, when you needed him.”
“Yeah. I guess so.”
“And maybe someday you’ll be like that, being just the person a student needs. You can’t really pray with students in public school, but you can be like Jesus to them without openly praying.”
“Yeah.”
“Or maybe you’ll find yourself praying with a new teacher who is struggling, like what happened to you today.”
“Yes. I like that perspective.”
I worked at one other school later in my career that did not have a public address system, and in seven years I never once forgot to pick up the announcements from the office in the morning. My career as a teacher has not been easy. I had many more rough days, and I will have many more before I retire. That was just how life worked. I felt like a screw-up sometimes. I felt like a bad teacher sometimes. But I also had many good moments. I just needed to remember to focus on the positive, do the best I could, and not beat myself up for not being perfect. And I needed to remember to look for those moments like Jesus had at the well, or like Jim had with me today, or like I had with my friends freshman year when I blew up after a bad day and they prayed with me. Maybe I was going to be exactly the positive influence that some outcast out there needed.
Readers: Has a teacher or supervisor ever made you cry? Or have you ever been in that role and made someone else cry? Tell me about it in the comments, if it isn’t too painful to talk about.
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