The little sparkly gift bag with the turquoise tissue paper fountaining out the top sat on the dining room table. Something told me there was Dove chocolate inside. Dove chocolate! My chocolate radar had picked it up the minute I walked in the door.
“Fight the urge,” I told myself of the temptation to stealthily fish around for a chocolate or two. “That’s a teacher present.”
My daughter finished up third grade this week. Another school year done. How could that be? Another classroom in the rear view mirror. Another grade under her belt. Another teacher goodbye.
A great teacher. We’ve been lucky — they all have been great at Ketterlinus Elementary in downtown St. Augustine. Inspiring. Thoughtful. Caring. Smart. Passionate. You can’t teach a teacher to be those things. It’s something they just have. It’s a love for what they do.
There’s a lot of talk about how to measure education — from standardized tests to performance evaluations. But get a great teacher and you don’t need data points or metrics. You see the results in your child every day they come home. They love to learn. They love to read. They love to go to school.
My dad has spent most of his life teaching community college students in Tampa. As a kid, I never understood his job — what it meant to teach and what he did everyday. What stuck with me were stories he told of throwing chalk at a guy who fell asleep in the back of his class. I loved it. That was teaching!
Ironically, we spend large portions of our lives under the tutelage of teachers, and yet we understand so little about how it’s done. And how much work it is.
I got my “awakening” several years back when I taught my first college class. It was on opinion writing, a subject I thought I knew. Or at least until I had to get up and tell people how to do it.
Hello!
Only then did I appreciate what my dad was up against every day. And each of my daughter’s wonderful teachers. And every teacher I have ever had contact with.
Teaching, I found, can be exceedingly easy. It’s true. Just don’t care if anyone learns, and it’s a breeze. But what my own experiences have taught me is if you want it to matter, it’s hard work. It takes effort. It takes preparation. Sweat. Patience. Creativity. Nerves of steel. Stagecraft. A soft touch balanced with an eye for discipline.
And you have to care.
“Fight the urge,” I told myself as the Dove chocolate sat there in the gift bag teasing me. Too good a teacher. Loved what she did. Cared. I saw that every day my daughter came home and picked up a book. The only measurement I need.