Dancing

I recently had the opportunity to spend a few minutes in our third-fourth grade class, where one of our division leaders teaches humanities at The Sage School.  This man is brilliant and could have been as successful at a major university as he is in a room full of 8 and 9 year olds, kids that look at him with obvious love because he so patiently, respectfully, and thoroughly explains the world to them.  Why does he make this life choice in a world that values materialism and titles, a world that often does not respect teachers? 

Our school is full of people like this, a woman teaching math with two PhDs, an Ivy League epidemiologist teaching sixth graders to write, an internationally recognized artist coaxing kids who pretend they only want to do math into amazing expressions of creativity and more; our faculty is just loaded. 

There are many reasons for our choices, but each reason can be traced to a single motivator, the kids and our relationships with them; there are not many professions where the emotional compensation is as abundant or where the immersion with the people you serve is so complete.  Teaching presents constant opportunities for personal growth.  For example, I learn something new from the kids every day.  Maybe it is some interesting fact, or maybe it is just the ability to see a problem or interpretation of literature in a new way.  Teaching is like dancing with a partner where each person has a chance to lead once in awhile; this reciprocity is the heart of a meaningful relationship.  As in any dynamic partnership, sometimes the students can be challenging, and the adults in the community either absorb energy from the kids or are drained by them.  Teachers must be confident even when a third grader may know more than the teacher on a particular subject, conveying to that child a sense of safety in the world, allowing children to be children with the knowledge that adults will responsibly be the adults.  For really smart kids, this is not always the case.  Sometimes the adults in their lives are either so enamored of the child’s abilities that they interact with the child as if he or she were an adult, or the adult is intimidated and hostile to the child because of that child’s intelligence.  At other times, students are not always wiz kids and struggle, requiring a teacher's patience and the willingness to look into a child’s eyes and to convey that no matter what, you love her or him and the sincerity to really do so.  That’s what makes it work, and that is why we are here.