Middle school teacher poem

David Puckett teaches social studies and French at L. T. Johnson Traditional Middle School in Louisville, Kentucky and was selected Jefferson County Teacher of the Year in 1995. His book of poems about teaching in the middle grades was published by the National Middle Schools Association. Find out how to order copies of this inspirational book!

Poems by David Puckett

(Presented with permission of the author)

17 Years in the Seventh Grade and I Still Haven't Learned

Four years of undergraduate work.
Two Master's Degrees.
Seventeen years in the classroom.

I know concrete from abstract.
I can leap the tallest Bloom's Taxonomy in a single bound.
I actually do worry about Higher Order Thinking Skills.

I have mastered
content guidelines. . .
portfolio production. . .
writing process. . .
alternative assessment. . .
creating quality work!

And then comes Nick.
Perfect manners,
Well groomed,
The ideal student.

He's almost at my desk. . .
He probably has an insightful question. . .
He may have discovered an editing error in the new text.
He's such a good student.

What?
Let me see. . .

Nick stretches forth his hand. . .
And reminds me of what I all too often forget!

While I was focused on teaching ultimate truth,
Nick was pulling his last baby tooth.

When will I ever learn that I teach a "Who" not a "What"!

Adolescents

I
do
see
them:
lively,
young,
growing
by leaps
and bounds;
bursting out
of poorly sewn,
mass-produced jeans,
to become individuals;
secure in their uniqueness;
no longer dependent on parents
or the uniformity of their own nonconformity:

castings dissatisfied with the contraints of the mold.

A Remarkable Encounter

As an underpaid teacher
I have learned through experience,
That some of the most valuable
Fringe benefits
Provided by a second job
Are those chance encounters
With the past.

It happened again
One night last week.
My supervisor greeted me with,
"Dave ... I'm going to have the new guy sit with you...
Teach him right!"
He sat.
I worked.
I slowed my pace to let the new guy get the feel
Of the process.
I explained procedure.
I stayed focused on my task.
I did not turn around.

For two hours
We sat.
I worked...
He watched.

Then it came........
Those hesitant, questioning words...
"Dave? You're not Dave.... you're Mr. Puckett!"

I looked around
For the first time,
Having been tied to my computer...
And saw Delfon!
Delfon....

Not a "new guy"...
Delfon.
1985-1986.
First row.
Second seat.
Room 205.
7th Grade Social Studies.

Delfon.
The unremarkable child...
Neither
Outstandingly brilliant,
Nor
Outrageously bad.

Delfon.
The average.
The well-behaved.
The quiet.
The unremarkable.
Delfon.

Delfon...
Eleven years taller...
Eleven years more mature....
24 years old now.
College senior.
Soon-to-be history teacher.
How remarkable!

We were forced to stop working....
And look intently into each other's eyes
In search of the long gone
39 year old teacher
and
13 year old student
from eleven years past.

We talked.
We laughed.
We compared memories.
We spanned the years in minutes.

Next night,
He brought his 7th grade report card to work,
Proudly showing our
co-workers
The, now faded,
Hastily written
Soon forgotten line which said....
D. Puckett.....Social Studies.....A

Both men, now.
Both working the same part-time job.
Me teaching history...
Delfon, soon-to-be.

Each day since,
We begin our shift....
Me at my computer....
Del at his....
Right beside me.
We prepare our work.
We log on.
We take a call....
Sometimes two.

Then Del leans back in his chair,
Glances over and quietly asks,
"What did we learn in class today, Mr. P?"

How remarkable.

He'll always be Del.
I'll always be Mr. P.

(NOTE: The final poem is available only on MiddleWeb. Feel free to print this page and share some of David Puckett's work with colleagues and friends. And order a copy of David's book.