When my students don’t respect the messenger, they can’t receive the message
“I’m tired of doing the impossible for the ungrateful.” — Denzel Washington, Roman J. Israel, Esq.
Washington’s character may have been a defense attorney, but in my eighth year as an educator of color, I feel this pain all too well: I’ve spent my entire teaching career working with students who need me but don’t always want me.
I’m from Georgia, and I have taught the most at-risk students in some of the country’s poorest cities. Some of the students I teach have no running water at home and no access to technology; in the worst cases, their neighborhoods resemble Philadelphia’s Osage Avenue after the MOVE Bombing. The poverty rate in these areas is high, and the unemployment rate mirrors the bleakness of the communities. Literacy levels are among the lowest in these states. I, along with my educator colleagues, walk into the blaze every morning, eager to help.
Caught in the crossfire are the students who love to learn but whom we never notice — the ones who could bloom if they only knew their worth.
On paper, the fit seems perfect: I’m a 30-year-old Black man, relatively young and aware of the social issues that are relevant to my students. Yet too often I find myself fighting to get my students to respect the messenger before they can receive the message. In them, I see the same kids who tormented me when I was young. Some will read that statement in shock, but it’s true.
So many educators find that the students they fight the hardest to save, more often than not, can’t be saved. Caught in the crossfire are the students who love to learn but whom we never notice — the ones who could bloom if they only knew their worth. I could relate: In my younger days, I never seemed to be able to get my teachers’ attention because of the fires they were constantly fighting to put out.
At this point in my career, I’m no longer standing at the front of a classroom every day. Instead, I consult with working teachers, helping them reach their students. That’s who matters, after all; we work in service of the students. But we also have to acknowledge that students, especially high schoolers, can be temperamental, impulsive, and unwilling — a trio of obstacles teachers struggle with every day.
I believe in what I do. Why, then, do I feel as if my work is in vain?
I believe in what I do. Why, then do I feel as if my work is in vain? Why do I feel as if I am doing the impossible for the ungrateful? Perhaps most of all, what does it mean if I decide that I no longer want to continue on this career path?
I see how the promise of more money and stability lures people away from teaching altogether. I can’t blame them; the government’s unwillingness to honor loan forgiveness and the impending fear of a recession is enough for anyone to seek more. Who doesn’t want to make more money and afford themselves a better life? I want to get married, and being able to provide for my partner is a major concern; it’s no wonder the private firm life captivates me.
But inside, I know that this is the precise reason I must continue the fight. I used to be a kid at one point. I wasn’t abrasive, but I could be just as stubborn and uncaring as students in classrooms today. We seldom know what we don’t know. I just have to remind myself what I was told by one of my elementary school teachers I encountered as an adult, about five years ago. I said to her that I chose to teach, and she told me, “Your job is to plant seeds, baby. You may not always get to see the fruits of your labor, but that’s not your job. Plant seeds, baby.”
So: yes, ma’am. I will keep planting seeds in hopes that they bloom one day. In the meantime, I will keep praying and hoping that the Creator keeps providing me with the right sun, water, and soil to keep growing and cultivating young minds.
Wright World 