Becoming a Teacher

When I was a junior at Los Altos High School, in the San Francisco Bay Area, my honors English teacher was twenty-three, held a Stanford B.A. and M.Ed., shared my liberal, feminist ideology, and was well-rounded enough to teach a range of demanding and fascinating English classes, coach the track and cross-country teams, and even chaperone the school dances. I wanted to be her when I grew up.

We kept in touch when I, too, went to Stanford. I took creative writing classes, so she had me come back and teach a creative writing unit every year. We met up for Hobee's coffee cake and talked about teaching and running and Stanford. I called her the night I heard Jaime Escalante (the movie "Stand and Deliver" is about his success teaching Calculus AP to struggling math students) speak, to tell her how inspired I was and that I knew I would become an English teacher at some point. But somehow, I sensed that I would not be ready to walk into a classroom and lead teenagers to academic success--or even enrichment--at twenty-two. Margaret had done it. I did not feel strong like her. I wanted to try other things.

I was seduced by the technology boom in Silicon Valley when I graduated from Stanford with B.A. degrees in English and Feminist Studies and an M.A. in English. I had worked for the English and Feminist Studies departments, worked in student services as a residence assistant, and worked at a nonprofit. Yet I searched for a job that would make my boyfriend at the time proud. Something that would help me break the corporate glass ceiling. I went to work for a Public Relations agency in which I learned a great deal--mostly things like how awful hourly billing is and that there are many careers in which a college degree means nothing. I stood it a year and joined the dot-com revolution, in which I learned how easy it is to run a company into the ground (just have a lot of parties) and screw people who aren't in management positions (at least I got to take a loss on my taxes for the worthless stock options I exercised; our VP's and CEO walked away with huge bonuses).

I got a writing job at another dot-com. It was supposed to be my perfect job. I certainly made enough money that it appeared that way on paper. But there wasn't enough work to do. The site wasn't feeding anybody's soul, least of all mine. I still wrote for fun on my own, and went back to my high school to talk about writing and how even if you never become a writer, the skill is important. That summer, I realized that it was my side projects--writing my column, volunteering as a Girl Scout troop leader at a homeless shelter in San Francisco's Tenderloin--were feeding my soul, and that my regular job was depressing me so much that when people at parties asked what my job was like, I would actually say, with an Eyore-like sigh, "You know, I hate to be rude, but I'd really rather talk about something else." Obviously, it was time to find my true calling. I knew how my work and skills were valued monetarily in the corporate sector. I knew what qualities good managers possessed, and how to make friends and adjust to a new work environment. I had participated in staff meetings at many different companies and nonprofit organizations. I had attended conferences, even spoken at some, and had been to and organized training sessions. I had experience, and I was ready to be fulfilled. Money was no longer an object.

I soul-searched for weeks--summer in San Francisco lends itself well to that--and I determined that while creativity is something that has to be in my life for me to feel whole, I cannot be a full-time musician or writer. I rely on the structure of the work day and office environment for direction, and I do not do well imposing such structure upon myself. I also knew that I felt most important when working with children. I considered and rejected social work, because I also knew that whatever I did still had to incorporate my intense passion for good literature and writing. My clear purpose emerged, as if it had not been at the back of my mind since high school: I would become an English teacher.

During further dead time at work, I applied for a credential program at Notre Dame de Namur University in Belmont. A month later, I got in. I decided I would begin the program in January, either full-time (I would quit my job) or part-time if I chose to keep working for some extra money. At the beginning of October, I got bronchitis. When I went to get my antibiotics, the pharmacy told me I no longer had insurance. That was how I knew I was getting laid off, though the HR people refused to explain why my insurance had been cancelled; in fact, they waited until 6:00 P.M. the following day to call and let me know I had been let go. I regard that ridiculous situation as a message to me--leave corporate America; it's never going to feed your soul. Clearly, the major change I had sought had arrived. I recovered from my illness and went to Baker Beach every day for a week. The next week, I dyed my hair pink and partied every night. The third week, I hung out with my family in Los Altos. I felt that I was making a symbolic transition to a new life. I could sense that something important was about to happen. It did. During my week in Los Altos, I got a phone call from the credential administrator Notre Dame. "I don't know if you're even working, but we got a call from a school that needs an English teacher right away. They had to fire someone [for throwing a desk at a kid, I found out later]."

"Which high school?" I asked.

"It's actually a junior high. Parkside, in San Bruno."

"." I had never, ever, in a million years, pictured myself teaching junior high.

"Would you like to interview with them? You would get paid while you complete your credential, and it's near the city."

Why not? I'm not exactly a shrinking violet when it comes to personal or academic challenges. What the hell. "Sure, I'll interview."

She gave me the phone number, I called, and they had me come in the next day. In two hours, they had hired me. In three hours, I had signed a contract. I called my mom to tell her. "That's great, hon!" She told me later she was shocked, yet confident that I had made the right decision. She didn't raise me to live life in anything but the fullest way, that's for sure. I remember her telling me once never to avoid anything that seemed "too hard."

I took a 50% pay cut to start teaching. I was also paying for my teaching credential program, so looking at my tax returns from 2000 to 2001 is rather amusing. The first year was unbelievably hard. I taught in a community I didn't know, that was incredibly diverse. Most of the kids were on free or reduced lunches (watch the film "Super Size Me" to get a sense of the nutrition options available to such children, and you'll have an idea of the resultant behavior issues I had to deal with). Many kids had family members in jail. I have no idea how I did it, but somehow I created a curriculum that was fun, engaging, and actually taught them something. We read Holes and made T-shirts with clever, book-related logos on them (my favorite--Camp Green Lake: Can You Dig It?), then had a peach bake-off. We read The Outsiders and created pretend families and job charts, role-playing the book on a personal level. We acted out scenes from Shakespeare. I read most of the books out loud to my kids to ensure that they understood them AND paid attention. It was grueling. I went home many days and cried.

But I loved it. I loved being in a classroom and not at a desk. I loved being "the cool teacher." I loved sharing music and poetry with them. I loved hearing about their families. I loved the hugs, and the stories, and the stickers, and their journal entries. I knew this was my calling.

There is something unique about junior high, when a kid that age feels that you love them. They love you back. The notes and pictures I have from that year reaffirm that I really created a little community at Parkside.

I couldn't hack it two years in a row, though. I didn't have enough support there and I was ready to move out of the city. I wanted to move down to Palo Alto, where I'd grown up and gone to college. I wanted to try working in a district that focused on academics and see what that was like. I got a job teaching 8th grade English and Newspaper at my junior high.

That fall, there were new challenges. I shared the same background as most of the kids at my school, but learned that children's issues are the same everywhere. No matter how much money or education a child's parents have, they might still be abusive, neglectful, or going through a divorce. Kids everywhere have learning disabilities that make school hell. Kids everywhere have social issues that make school hell. As a teacher, I was responsible not just for delivering curriculum (and in Los Altos, that curriculum had better be strong in grammar, vocabulary, reading and writing), but for counseling, managing parents, serving on committees, organizing events, chaperoning dances, and grading papers. My principal is hugely supportive, and the other 8th grade English teacher experienced and fantastic, but now one can mentor you completely through your first year at a new school. You just have to slog through it yourself to figure out what works.

Start by remembering the names and faces of your 150 students. Gradually memorize what their handwriting looks like, so if they don't put their name on their papers, you can still give them the grade and return it to them. Internalize their writing style so you can catch them plagiarizing (Google Advanced search, baby!) if, heaven forbid, they make that poor a choice. Meet their parents at the Back to School Barbecue, Back to School Night, and at various events. Try to avoid saying, "Nice to meet you," the third time you see them, because you've got enough to remember already without remembering whose parents go with whom, too. Get to know the nice ones best, because they compliment you and share insight about their child in a non-demanding way, and even send gifts sometimes. Hug the ones who tell you they thought you were 22. Get in touch with your last name.

Realize that your tattoos will be front page news. Realize that at least your Stanford degrees will, too.

Be happy that even though you have to wake up at 6:30 every morning, which means that you are always the first to leave any weeknight social gathering, you at least get the afternoons to work out and do things like go to museums, readings, and plays, and read books. This somewhat makes up for the fact that you never meet eligible bachelors and can't stay awake on a Friday night past 11 pm.

Teaching is some of the hardest work in the world, and I teach at a very well-run school, with few behavior problems. Still, there's so much to juggle. I deliver curriculum all day, in as engaging and creative a way as possible, to adolescents who would rather complain and show their midriffs and boxers. I never get to sit down at my desk, no matter how desperately I might want to, because I have to be up there teaching a lesson. In addition to that, I have to remember who came in late, who has to leave early for the orthodontist, what I said yesterday about the book report and whether I said it to first period or just second through seventh, who needs to come in at lunch to make up a test, whose birthday it is, and who is probably PMSing. After school, there are staff meetings, committee meetings, parent conferences, parent emails to respond to, school events to attend, and the occasional kid needing counseling.

When kids tell me that I am a role model, and have inspired them, I realize that it is all worth it. I can hold up my head high at cocktail parties, because now I really like talking about my work. I count on the support of my friends and famikly to stay alive in this job, as does every teacher. I am so grateful to everyone who has listened to all my ranting and raving, all my weepy stories, and all my funny anecdotes. This is the most important work I have ever done, and the hardest. I think I'll probably stay in it, because apparently I'm good at it. But the critical thing that I have realized is that we all have something to offer society, and we can all find the right path for ourselves if others support us. I have found my place, at least for now, largely because others have helped me along the way. And I'll do the same--for my friends, for my students, for their parents, for new teachers. I am not my junior year English teacher, but I am like her in the ways I wanted to be. I hope that I have inspired some of my students too, and that someday, I get to see them in the classroom, carrying that torch of love for literature, writing, and other humans on.

Alice Walker once said that in time of social repression, the best thing you can do is to be as creative as possible. I think my job is creative. It also allows me to be creative. I have time to read and write on my own. I am encouraged to take classes in literature and psychology. I play in a band with other teachers. I have found my place in the world, and it feels great.