It's Heavy

It's heavy. Whether it's the bag of crafting supplies for an enrichment activity for a 2nd grade classroom, a box of things for a middle school science teacher to attempt to make the subject matter come alive, or two Frankenstein cakes, clear cups with the monster's face drawn on them and a jug of green milk... it's heavy. And it's a long walk with it from the house to the car and the car to the classroom. And back.

I think that might be the part that people overlook when they talk about the easy life of teachers, summers off and tenure and all. The work of teaching? It's heavy.

Not the art of it... not the days I spend in my classroom just reveling in the beauty of great literature and the profound discussions that sometimes result in it. Not the craft of it... not the time spent coming up with the perfect activity or lesson plan, the one that you know will drive the standard or objective home. But the WORK of it. That's what's so heavy.

Because see, the thing of it is... teachers don't have to work at teaching to remain teachers, in fact to be known as good teachers. They can rely on the art and the craft and those two things will get them great evaluations and top-notch test scores.

But the work is what determines which classrooms kids are excited to get to, which teachers make learning a magical experience. Work is why my now 5th grader told me tonight that she will never have another teacher like Ms. Ethel Cooper, no matter how long she stays in school. Ms. Cooper, who made loaves of homemade bread the days she taught certain skills and who used Hershey bars to illustrate fractions. Do you think Ms. Cooper had a PO to buy the ingredients for that bread or those Hershey bars? Do you think she got paid overtime during the hours she kneaded the dough and waited on the bread to rise? Surely she at least had an assistant who came to her car the morning she lugged in all of her supplies, right? Not quite. And it was heavy.

Work is why my 1st grade teacher, Mrs. Sarah Wagner, will always be one of my very favorite memories. In fact, her work is very likely why I have this blog. She taught me that writing is the most valuable form of self-expression, that your voice in writing is the best tool you have, that there are no highs like those of sharing a piece of yourself through writing. She didn't teach me those things through brilliant lessons (though she had those) or magical classroom moments (though there were also those). She taught me those things through the time she took and work she put in to cut my illustrated stories into leafs and sew them into the binding of a cardboard cover, held together with a strip of electrical tape. She got the cardboard (frame shop matting) donated and carried loads of it into our little classroom. And it was heavy.

Work is why my cousin Melissa Adams, a business teacher at CHS, spends multiple afternoons a week making trips to Walmart to buy merchandise for our Raider Trader, the in-house store her class runs. Those kids run that store like it's a true business, which it is. They take ownership in the organization of the store, the cleanliness. One of them, during his week as manager, bought pizzas for his staff to celebrate their hard work. Do you think those kids aren't getting what business is really about? Melissa carries box after box of chips and candy and cokes into the school from her car three or more days a week to keep this venture going. And it's heavy.

Work is why Jeannie Cuervo takes kids in the cold and rain, sometimes on her own time, to conduct research in Mouse Creek. Work is why Julie Phillips and Patty Puckett drag food and drink into the school once a week for their students to enjoy during discussion. Work is why Mindy Kiser and Connie Stobert arrange for special speakers and programs for their students. Work is why Jim Burton and Alex Denton and Andi Wendorf took a massive trip to New York for their band and guard students to perform in a national-level competition. Work is why Melissa Barnette seeks out service opportunities for her cheerleaders. Work is why Sarah Smartt and Heather Ringstaff were out in the rainy cold this morning in front of Books a Million, trying to earn money for SGA. Work is why Cheri Carroll-Morgan collaborates with local emergency agencies to conduct mass casualty simulations. Work is why Kellye Huff and Mary Ann Millard get LifeForce to land at the school for their classes to learn from professionals. Work is why Steve Stephenson drove to Knoxville for years to pick up an elderly Holocaust survivor in order for her to speak to Cleveland students. Work is why our administration gets pep buses to football games and sells cheap tickets to the students. Work is why these and so very many other of my coworkers do so much more than what is necessary for high standardized test scores and top evaluations. And it's so, so very heavy sometimes.

You may hear a lot of times lately about teachers being beaten down, burned out, giving up, overwhelmed. You are probably hearing a lot of demonization of Common Core, talk about evaluations and student surveys, and general disgust in viral videos of teachers who have had it.

Don't worry.

The Ms. Cooper's are still baking bread, the Mrs. Wagner's are still binding books, and the Melissa Adams's are still carrying merchandise. Kids are crawling around in Mouse Creek testing levels of this and that, discussing the end of colonialism while sipping tea, watching Supercross bikers talk about character, being rewarded for perseverance and hard work, serving their community, learning from professionals, and experiencing first-hand accounts of history. They sat in the stands Friday night and cheered for their team, then rode home together in a euphoric cloud.

But we are tired. Because this work? It's just very heavy. And really and truly, all we want is to know that it's worth it. Most days, we don't even need that. But there are those other days when we wonder if any of this junk we are dragging around with us is even making a difference in a single life. And we are kind of, just a little bit, exhausted.

We don't want you to tell us we are trying to do too much. We don't need you to point out that we care too much. We don't even desire newspaper articles about test scores or pats on the back about evaluations. But maybe if you wanted to grab a bag when you see us coming from our car loaded down, or to hold a door open when we have a box of junk, or say a thank you when we buy donuts, or share with us how much a field trip meant to your child, or drop a note to say you remember your time in our classrooms... That's really all it takes to push us through, rejuvenate us, and remind us that, while it may be heavy, it is so noble of a calling.