Sigh.
I thought of the movie Freedom Writers, which I watched with my students for the first time last year. The teacher in it goes to great lengths to help a group of troubled kids at a troubled school. She gets a second job to afford books, and then a third job to afford field trips. She calls in favors. Her marriage breaks up. She goes to their houses, finds them on the streets, etc. It was moving. When we finished watching, the kids asked, "Is she still a teacher?" I told them I'd look it up, but in my heart, I already knew the answer: no. You can't put that much effort in and continue to do the job for thirty years. I was right: she taught for exactly four years.
Jaime Escalante, hero of the movie Stand and Deliver, taught for longer, about 18 years, although perhaps not as heroically as in the movie. Friends who had his class at Hiram Johnson all said he was nothing special -- in fact, they used to sneak out after attendance, and he apparently never noticed.
Mr. Holland's Opus depicts the good he did for his students at the expense of his relationship with his family.
Every once in a while, someone shares a meme about how much teachers actually work.
This is the one I saw most recently. And I think it's kind of ridiculous. Like, do most teachers really spend 4 weeks (20 8-hour days) on campus in the summer before school starts? Because I sure as hell don't. I mean, I might spend several hours here and there lesson-planning, communicating with colleagues, making copies, refining my syllabus, organizing my room, etc., but like... maybe 4-5 hours at a stretch, you know? Not full-time. Do I go to trainings? Yeah, but for 3-4 days. And the rest of the time, I'm taking my kid to the zoo.
And 3-5 hours every night of meetings, phone calls, grading, planning, etc.? Uh... no. More like 40 minutes of it at school, then at most, an hour at home. There are variations on a theme -- if I have a lot of essays, I might spend 90 minutes at home on them for a whole week straight. Then the next week, I might not do a damned thing but read the book I've assigned my kids.
Now some of my extra work comes in other places -- I work through lunch a lot of the time, for example.
Maybe the above graphic is true for some teachers, though. I sure as hell hope they're single, or childless or empty-nesters or something. Because I have a LIFE. Twelve to fourteen hours a day, as this chart suggests, is INSANE. That would mean going to work at 7:30 and stopping working at 7:30 pm to, I don't know, eat? Do these crazy fuckers eat? Do they sleep? Do they go to the gym? When do they shop for groceries? How do they keep up with the Kardashians?
You may already know that 40-50% of new teachers don't make it to 5 years. 15.7 percent of teachers quit every year, and 40% who pursue teaching degrees never enter the classroom.* There are almost 3 million results on Google for "teacher burnout."
What would happen if I gave this job my all? My 110%? What would happen to my home, my kid, my marriage? Could I save these students? Could I drag them out of poverty and illiteracy and abusive homes and drug- and gang- infested neighborhoods and show them the light and change their whole lives?
Right now, I do my best to teach the kids how to write well, how to communicate, how to understand what they read, how to be persuasive, how to recognize bias, how to tell what sources are worth using, how to synthesize information and respond to different points of view. All the English stuff. And then at the end of the year, when my seniors are heading off into the world, I sneak in some lessons that aren't in my purview. I teach them about payday loans and interest rates, and I teach them about pyramid schemes and why not to work for Cutco or Herbalife, and I teach them about consent and the variety of people they'll run into in the world, and I teach them what to do if they get pulled over when driving, and I tell them what jury duty is like, and I encourage them to join all the clubs and take advantage of the movies and the lectures, and I teach them how to dress for an interview, how to shake hands, how to maintain eye contact, and to turn their phones off before they even get in the lobby.
I think I could sacrifice my personal happiness, my family life, and my sanity, and perhaps I could be a savior for a certain number of students. Let's go with a high number of 25 per year. I could probably swing that for as much as five years before needing to quit and do something easier. That's 125 students. Or I could help all my kids, about 115 per year, learn how to get jobs and not sell Herbalife. And I can do that for about three decades. That's 3500 students at no personal cost to me.
When I weigh those options with the greater good in mind, I always end up with me teaching for 30 years. Maybe I'm nobody's savior. Maybe I'm nobody's miracle cure. But I'm a good teacher, I'm a good mom, and I'm a good wife. And I'm on track to be at this for a couple thousand students longer.
So no, I'm not taking this kid in. I'm going to do exactly what I've been doing: trying to show him how to take personal responsibility. Giving him make-up work when he gets himself suspended. Working gently with his emotional issues so that he knows he's safe with me and welcome in my classroom. Smiling and saying hi in the hall even when he's been an absolute butthead earlier in the day. Correcting his work so that he's doing his personal best, but not setting the bar so high that he's frustrated and gives up. Teaching him how to read, write, communicate. And hopefully keeping him out of the Herbalife business. And out of jail.
Today, I'm not making phone calls. I'm not answering emails. I have to do some grading later, after Z goes to bed, but right now, I'm playing Monster High with her, and I'm having fun doing it. Except for that this wig is so itchy! (We get very into character.)
*http://www.theatlantic.com/education/archive/2013/10/why-do-teachers-quit/280699/