ANN
BIANCHETTI
Diary #29
Being
Teacher of the Year
I was just selected as my county's teacher of the year, which also puts me in the running for the state teacher of the year. I am honored to receive this distinction, especially because I was nominated by my fellow teachers in my school.
The awards ceremony is at the end of this month. For the past couple of weeks I have been subjected to photographers coming in to catch images of me teaching for a slide show at the presentation as well as questionnaires that delve into my teaching. I have been asked why I became a teacher, to describe my teaching style and the accomplishments I've had since I began teaching in my district.
This has given me an opportunity to reflect on myself as a teacher. When I say that word, teacher, I feel so much pride. Despite the lack of status teachers experience in society, I still feel a sense of prestige when I tell someone that I am a teacher. What an awesome responsibility we have; we are educating the future. I know that is a cliché, but when it comes right down to it, it's true.
What we do in the classroom today most assuredly affects how our students will experience and process high school. It will foster in them either a love of learning or a despising of it. What we do in the classroom can rescue a child that no one else saw or paid attention to, or nourish a struggling ego under the burden of social pressures. What we do in the classroom, every day, five days a week, 180 days a year can spark a child's interest in science or math, literature or history, music or dance. What we do every day can either send a message that "You are important" or "You are not important." As I reflected in last week's diary, what we say and do as teachers, matters. It matters a lot.
My heart seizes with love for each of my students—even those that I jokingly say give me gray hairs—when I contemplate my role in their lives. Next to their parents we are the most significant adults in their lives. They crave our approval and attention.
Reflecting on my own practice
Winning this distinction has made me look critically at areas that I need to improve on. How can I better meet the needs of every student in my classes? How can I better present the curriculum? Have I covered everything they need to know in social studies by the end of eighth grade? Where have I used an unkind tone or word towards a student because I was having a bad day? Have I tried, in my words and gestures, to validate every student, to communicate to every student that they are important?
I think I
have made an effort to do those things. I have been far from perfect,
I am, after all, human, but I have made an effort. I see my effort reflected
in the climate in my classroom and my school (as the other teachers made
similar efforts). Here are some examples:
Great Adventure: My students recently participated in a choir competition at Great Adventure Amusement Park. After the competition, all the schools were allowed to use the park for the rest of the day. I paired up with another teacher and we took a group of about 18 kids. After each ride the kids would come excitedly running up to us: "Ms. B, Ms. Lily, you won't believe what Carl did on the ride! He screamed so loud!" and "Ms. B, Ms. Lily, please come on the ride with us!" They were so eager to share their day and their excitement with us. Sometimes they held our hands as we walked through the park, sometimes they put their heads on our shoulders when we rested, and they were all looking for physical affection from us. Yes, they are middle school kids; some as old as fourteen, but they are still children who need their teachers. I am proud, as teacher of the year, to have helped create that kind of trusting atmosphere among our students.I am not relating these moments to pat myself on the back or to crow about my achievements, but rather to illustrate that teachers everywhere have moments like these—we just need to remember to look for them, and capture them, and cherish them.
The Violin Protest: Last week our violin instructor switched her days at our school due to a school trip on her regular day. She came into my seventh grade social studies class to collect some students for their lesson. She asked if first or second chair violins wanted to go. The first chair players shouted, "take second," and the second chair players shouted, "take first." They did not want to miss my class, some said. "I love social studies, I don't want to miss anything!" The violin instructor agreed to let everyone stay and take the students the following period during gym. I will hold on to this moment when I am having bad days or when I feel like the worst teacher and not "the teacher of the year."
The "of course" moment: During my fifth grade class the district photographer came in to snap some photos of me teaching for the awards ceremony. The math teacher, whom I share a classroom with, was in there at the moment. She told the students why the photographer was there, "You know, Ms. B. was selected as teacher of the year!" One of the students said, "Of course she was, she is the best teacher. She's everyone's favorite." My heart warmed even as I felt embarrassed at this show of affection.
Being selected as teacher of the year has spurred me on to want to do better, rather than to sit back and rest on my laurels. This honor has made all the above moments resonate sweeter as I contemplate the lasting importance of our job and the noble calling of being a teacher.
