by Dan Brown
They were laughing. Then they abruptly stopped. The three administrators seemed to exchange meaningful glances. Mr. Jenkins put his fingertips together in a pyramid. “Look, Dan. Mr. Alvarez asked for you to be removed from the school community. We talked about it and we agreed that an apology could… ease the upset. Mr. Alvarez has another commitment right now so he can't be here. We heard your apology for slamming the door and you're right—that's completely out of bounds. Everyone seems to say you have a bright future in this profession, but doing something like that is exactly the way it could get messed up. I've seen good teachers’ tempers really bring them down. What do you say?”
My temper in the classroom had nearly destroyed me before. Back at P.S. 85, at the lowest low moment in a day of disappointments and frustrations, I had snapped, screamed, and pummeled my fist through the chalkboard—all in front of my traumatized students. The incident was literally papered over—I put a poster in front of the cracked surface for the balance of the school year—but I'll never know the damage my fourth-grade students absorbed by seeing their teacher go berserk. This was something I needed to fix.
“I'm really sorry that I slammed the door. I appreciate the importance of security being able to do its job. I really don't see how taking away my few students’ water bottles made sense though. I'm sorry it escalated into this heated power struggle, but that sort of thing—someone entering the class unannounced—hadn't happened before and was truly alarming. That said, my actions were born out of a real closeness and I guess a sort of protectiveness I feel for the students—our students. I'd really like to finish out the year with them. If you need to eject me or fire me, I understand, but I'd really like and I'm sure my students would really like to conclude our time together on a positive, continuous note. I appreciate the opportunity to say my piece.”
Jenkins broke the silence with an expulsion of air that sounded like a half-laugh. He leaned back. “Look Dan, I hear what you're saying. And I've heard what Jim and Maggie [O'Dowd] have offered on your behalf. You've clearly got a real passion for teaching and you're very energetic. Honestly, your… spiritedness reminds me a little of myself when I was just starting out—”
I was saved! Each administrator took a turn to reiterate that slamming doors was bad and to recount wistfully their own brashness as a young teacher, many moons ago.
It emerged that Alvarez's direct order was hastily made and sloppily enforced, and no one in the room felt comfortable owning or defending the decision. I left duly chastened for my door-slamming, and discreetly encouraged to avoid Mr. Alvarez. That was easily done since it was the last week of school and I'd never seen him before that day.
I walked away awash with relief and new appreciation for the administrators; they had looked past the cut-and-dry breach of protocol in my rejection of the direct order. In my brief career in public schools I'd already crossed paths with bureaucrats from whom I would not have expected understanding and good faith.
My final days at Clinton were extra-sweet, since I knew how close they had come to being yanked away. After receiving my pardon from the bosses, I revised my farewell letter to the kids and poured in a little extra.
June 11, 2008
Dear Students,
I don't know how much of a secret it was, but you were part of the first high school class that I have ever taught. Each period we spent together was for me a new, uncharted adventure. Now that our time as teacher and student is ending, I want to express to you my true gratitude for your sharing of your personality and working each day as you did, educating me, little by little, how to be a more effective teacher.
One thing I have learned is that when there are thirty or more people in the room, one book or conversation or activity can be experienced so many different ways. I got feedback that the Langston Hughes poetry celebration felt to some like a special class. Others were bored. Many of you acknowledged that reading Hughes led you to interact with poetry in different ways than you had before. When we read Bodega Dreams, many members of the class responded enthusiastically to the gritty, streetwise tone of the book. A few students told me it is now among their all-time favorite books. Some, however, quietly expressed disappointment with the story for a variety of reasons.
Abraham Lincoln famously said, “You can't please all the people all the time.” He may be right; I know I haven't pleased all of you all of the time. However, my great hope has been to challenge all of you all the time. I have sought to test your limits, to push you into unfamiliar intellectual places, and you have always risen to the task. I hope that this semester has broadened your understanding and skills in seeing the world. In my opening letter to you, I wrote that I wanted our classroom to be a place where ideas matter and everyone has a voice. I hope that the reality matched the aspiration.
I became an English teacher because I believe that words are power. The greater your ability to use words and respond to others’ words, the greater your power will be to kick open doors of opportunity. I have the highest confidence in you as you move forward. Still, if you would like to keep in touch, I would be very happy about it. Email me anytime to talk about school, books, college, or anything. I will still be available to write college recommendation letters in the fall if you would like one. Just send me a line and we'll make it happen.
Each of you will leave your unique mark on the world. I can assure you that during and after this semester, you have left your mark permanently in my memory and my heart.
Keep reading, writing, asking tough questions, making connections, advocating for yourself, and always aiming high. To offer a little bonus life advice from Gandhi, “Be the change you want to see in the world.”
Thank you for a wonderful semester.
Best wishes,
Dan Brown
On the 4 train home, when I read their responses after our final day, I knew I'd be a teacher for a long time.
I liked the fact that on ALL work that we were given you took time to comment on everything I mean everything. In my notebook you paid mind to the time [on the clock] which I wrote down [next to my entries]. I was shocked when you said: “This was great (my poem) and you wrote this at one in the morning.” This made me more determined to work hard knowing that you see I put pride into my work.
Usually in English classes, you have to read books that are only about racism or are “classics.” And for once I read a book in class where it had to do with Hispanics and wasn't necessarily considered “classic literature.” And that was different because a lot of teachers would find Bodega Dreams unacceptable literature.
If you were ever to give or suggest having vocabulary words as summer homework, I would certainly acquiesce to that offer. But as for now, I wish you the best of luck or blessings for your future. Continue to be a laudable teacher who will always be known to vigor a sullen class, and empower or inspire young minds to aim high, never stop reading or writing, and realize that English doesn't always have to be formidable. You are greatly appreciated.
I know I haven't participated much in class discussions, but I don't like to speak much in a room full of people. However, I am increasing my speaking ability. The two presentations that we've had in class helped me and I hope you continue to have more presentations like that in your future class. It's a great way to help students overcome their obstacles of speaking to a large group.
I have always been a person who loves to think about why life is the way it is, why there is so much hate and pain, why there is so much anguish in the world… etc. I keep to myself and love to think while I am alone. And it felt great to write those thoughts out and have someone else read them, it meant the world to me, to have someone else “listen.”
The last note hit the hardest. I read it twice and promised myself to earn more of these.
Dear Mr. Brown,
… I never really took to poetry and avoided it at all costs, but I guess that was just because I was never introduced to Langston Hughes’ poetry. Now I even write my ow
n poems sometimes. I thought it was strange that I went through many years of American history class and I was deprived of knowledge about these great Americans. Take no offense, but I found it ironic that my English class was more like a combination of history (Black) and literature and that it was being taught by a young Caucasian male.
Literature hasn't always been an interest of mine and I only read literary novels when I was required to. From freshman year until now, I managed to avoid The Great Gatsby or To Kill a Mockingbird. I thought I'd be lucky if I made it through high school without having to read the aforesaid novels because I thought that they would be boring and old-fashioned. I was wrong. The Great Gatsby and To Kill a Mockingbird challenged me to think differently and to scrutinize works of literature. I also think that To Kill a Mockingbird is now one of my favorite books; it is a moral story that I learned along with Jem and Scout. I also learned about new critical lenses. The psychoanalytic lens stood out to me the most. Even though I was supposed to use the lens to interpret novels, the psychoanalytic lens gave me insights on my life. It educated me on the reasons why I behave and think the way I do and it helped me cope with personal problems that I have.
There are many other positive things about our experiences together, but if I was to tell you everything, I wouldn't close this letter. Dr. Seuss said, “don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened.” I will miss having you as a teacher and I hate saying goodbye but as I sat here and wrote this letter, it dawned on me that this isn't goodbye but a new beginning to new experiences. I wish you the best of luck with your relocation and I hope your students in Washington are as enthusiastic as our English class. I'm glad to be a part of your teaching experiences and I hope that I have left a positive mark in your memory. I will read the novels you purchased for me and again, thank you.
* * *
The 2011-2012 school year will be my fourth as an eleventh- and twelfth-grade English teacher at the SEED Public Charter School of Washington, D. C. I'm not a super-teacher, like anything you've seen in Hollywood, but I know how to run a rigorous, engaging classroom. Each year I get better at refining my curriculum, anticipating students’ needs, collaborating with parents, and participating in the school community. I inaugurated a tradition of publishing a senior class literary anthology, and I co-direct students in a Shakespeare play each spring. I'm even a founding member of the school's New Teacher Induction team, designed to help rookies through their treacherous first year.
These successes are possible because SEED is a functional learning community. My classes range from ten to seventeen students, so I'm able to give individualized feedback to each student on each assignment. Teachers at DeWitt Clinton carried workloads of five classes with thirty-four students apiece; it's staggering to consider the time involved in grading 170 essays.
My school leaders are supportive former teachers who know all of the students and their extended families. They clearly care about test scores, but they don't force disproportionate test prep on teachers and students. The principal encourages her teachers to seek out opportunities for professional growth and she footed much of the bill for two other colleagues and me to pursue National Board Certification. This rigorous year-long process—assembling a four-piece, sixty-plus page portfolio and taking six essay tests—constituted the most rewarding professional development experience of my career. I had never even heard of National Board Certification at P.S. 85, where a choking anxiety seized me every time I saw an administrator headed my way.
At SEED, I'm able to shape my curriculum. My classes belong to me to invent and re-invent. When I wanted to order class sets of Sherman Alexie's The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian, I got the green light. When an English department colleague and I sought a partnership with the PEN/Faulkner Foundation to bring authors into our classrooms, my principal gave us a thumbs-up and now we each host three writers a year.
Being a confident teacher is fun. At P.S. 85, I looked to Sonandia as my beacon in a tempest. Now, there's no storm; I have primary control of the atmosphere in my classroom, putting me in a much stronger position to elicit real growth from my students. I teach my students to lead structured literary discussions and by the time we're wrapping up books like The Great Gatsby or Their Eyes Were Watching God, there is no doubt that they are becoming stronger analysts and deeper thinkers.
It's not always sunny. Plenty of days, I still come home feeling like a failure; working with teenagers can be heartbreaking. But my lows aren't as low anymore—I've learned to avoid or defuse no-win power struggles with defiant students. My expectations for myself and my charges are higher.
People rise to the occasion when they feel ownership. My children at P.S. 85 had their finest hours—Dr. Seuss day and the Pocahontas and the Strangers unit, to name two—when both the children and I felt this sense of ownership over our work. As a clueless rookie operating in a hostile environment, I couldn't sustain, let alone build on that sense of ownership. Now I can, and the palpable progress propels me like rocket fuel.
Epilogue
My daughter Sadie was born during D.C.’s “Snowpocalypse” of December 2009. Now she's toddling around, hoisting herself up wherever possible, and pressing her favorite board books into Colleen's and my hands. At the time of publication, Hippos Go Berserk is a top pick.
I obsess over Sadie's education. Colleen and I are both products of suburban public schools and we want to educate Sadie the same way.
Sending my daughter to public school fills me with hope and fear. In my hopes, I see a kindergarten class with fifteen kids with a well-prepared teacher who loves children and sees them as individuals. I envision time to play and figure things out. I imagine that if Sadie is learning something quickly—say, her numbers from one to ten—then the teacher will notice and help her learn about numbers up to 100 and beyond. If she's having difficulty with a concept—like patterns—the teacher will notice and give her some different strategies and extra attention to help her get it. I want her teacher to model curiosity, kindness, and passion for learning. Basically, when I think about Sadie's education, I think about her classroom: who's in it and what's going on.
But then the fears creep in. If she were assigned to a class like 4-217 with a twenty-two-year-old version of me as the teacher, I'd have a heart attack, break out of my hospital room, and camp out in the principal's office until new arrangements were made.
Every successful adult I know can name at least one teacher who made a significant, even life-changing impact. Of my great teachers, none were rookies. My mentor, Mr. Truitt, had taught for three decades when I took his film appreciation class for five straight semesters.
I want Sadie to learn from passionate, experienced teachers—professionals who know their craft and speak the language of young people. My fear is that so many would-be-great teachers aren't choosing the profession because of the mediocre pay, low respect, and increasingly mechanistic conditions. Perhaps even more would-be-great teachers try teaching but leave after a few years, creating a perpetual staffing crisis.
Attracting top college grads to teaching is essential; retaining them for the long haul is what matters most. Compensation is the prohibitive factor. No one wants to move down the socioeconomic ladder. I'm an example: I grew up with my own bedroom, occasional vacations, and a college savings fund. It's very important for me to try to provide these things for Sadie. On a teacher's salary, I really can't. Candidly, I could not commit to teaching if my wife didn't have a lucrative job. (Colleen left teaching in 2008 after five years.)
The altruism that recruiting organizations like Teach For America harnesses lasts for a while, but not the long run. Affluent new grads may leap at the opportunity to earn $40,000 a year for doing public service, but it's much less attractive when they're nearing thirty, wanting a house and family, and seeing their peers earn much more.
On top of that, teaching is increasingly becoming a profession of suspicion, disrespect, and warped priorities. Teachers are const
antly wondering if they will be marked as deadbeats, with Michelle Rhee holding a broom and glaring out from the cover of Time magazine, ready to sweep you away like trash.
Some Republican governors have mined political gold portraying teachers as welfare queens with easy jobs and cushy benefits. This has opened the door to shredding collective bargaining rights and ushering in reform policies abhorrent to teachers. “Accountability,” a universally accepted term above reproach, has been co-opted to provide cover for ramping up testing to extraordinary levels. Preemptively dismissed as corrupt defenders of a despicable status quo, teachers’ voices are drowned out. Of course, teachers are the ones who actually have to implement these policies that overemphasize testing, depersonalize education, and strip ownership from the classroom.
Democrat leaders, apparently unable to come up with any better ideas, have ceded to No Child Left Behind's oppressive assessment regime. Expanded high-stakes testing—more often and for younger children—appears imminent.
Meanwhile, on the ground, would-be-great teachers are straitjacketed by out-of-touch bureaucratic mandates and then running for the hills before they can master their craft and make a real difference.
How can Sadie's public school classroom be a haven for learning and discovery amid all this? I fill with dread when I think of Sadie being taught by someone terrified of losing her job over a teacher evaluation based on high-stakes test scores.
And yet when I think about the people doing the hard work in classrooms, my spirits lift. In my journey across the education landscape since the crazy NYC Teaching Fellows placement fair in 2003, I've taught alongside educators in elementary, middle, and high schools, in public, private, and charter schools, in New York City and Washington, D. C. Overwhelmingly, they are talented and caring individuals. Since my P.S. 85 initiation, I've worked with excellent school leaders who toil relentlessly, often thanklessly, to develop their staff and to educate their students. Kind, smart administrators can pump vitality through a school community like a beating heart. Parents I've met want fiercely for their children to succeed. And most of all, students—young, curious, vulnerable, hilarious, heartbreaking, sensitive, posturing, growing people—provide the fire that fuels all of the work.
