Nathan King

Today in my area public schools are reopening. Kids are headed back into the classroom by the thousands. I’ve had so many conversations with educators and parents about what the next several months will look like. The truth is, no one really knows. Everyone has a big opinion, me included, but no one knows.

The prevailing sentiment in my conversations has been a bit of cautious optimism smothered in generous doses of uncertainty. Some are excited. Some are afraid. Some are clueless. And some are just ready for something normal.

I’m confident of this. It can still be an amazing school year. I would dare say this has the potential to be the most incredible year you’ve yet experienced. Why do I think this?

We’ve all experienced what the world looks like when it calls a collective timeout. You lived through it—although many around the world did not.

We’ve all faced what it feels like to be more or less stuck at home for a few months. It messes with your head.

Both are major issues. And you’ve beat them already. Wouldn’t it be a shame to waste the big opportunity this year presents?

I’m not a conventional educator. I don’t sit in a classroom all day everyday like the real teachers who are reading this. I teach for two universities. I am doing it all online this term. For a wide variety of reasons. But I am trying my best with what’s been handed me, to embrace the opportunity the best way I know how.

I have 74 students in my care. I am responsible for part of their eduction. It is a responsibility I take incredibly serious. This semester I decided to do something I have never done before. I gave them all my cell phone number.

It seemed like such a simple thing, but when I stopped to think about it—I could only remember one professor ever giving me their personal phone number. ONE. And until March of this year I had rarely done so either. But that’s all changed now. Why?

Because maybe teaching is about more than facts and quizzes. Perhaps learning is too. Maybe it’s about one human transferring a piece of something they’ve been given stewardship of to someone else who needs it. I’ve spent many semesters focused on the theories of dialogic communication, but maybe not enough focused on an actual dialogue—you know—real communication with these brilliant and beautiful young men and women entrusted to me.

They are still going to get their money’s worth, and then some, when it comes to Comms Theories and practicing the mechanics of good public speaking. But I decided to give them something more valuable this semester. My availability.

Guess what? It’s working. I’m four weeks back into my classroom (thanks Google Classroom) and everyday I get a handful of texts from students. I don’t see them as a distraction. I see them for what they are. Another opportunity to make this the best school year ever.

I have no idea what you teach. If you teach. Or where you teach. But I do know this. You’ve been given stewardship of something amazing. You have been entrusted with knowledge, experience, and the opportunity of a lifetime. You have a chance to make this year about more than standardized tests and all the other crap politicians like to brag about. You have the opportunity to do what only you can do in your classroom—you have the opportunity to make it the best school year ever.

Try it. Shift your mind. See the opportunity. Embrace it. Maybe you can’t high five everyone in the hall, but I bet you can out smile everyone. Maybe the setup is a little different. The masks make it seem weird and impersonal. Call the elephant in the room out for what it is.

You only get a short season of influence with your kids. Don’t lose it to complaining, pessimism, and a victim-mindset. Disagree with administrators and leaders about big decisions? Great. You are 100% entitled to disagree. But don’t let it affect the way you embrace the opportunity to help your kids.

The truth is. You won’t. I know that. If you are in education and you stuck around long enough to read this much of my rambling you’re not one of the ones we should be worried about. You’re a Rockstar teacher. So thanks for reading this far. Before you go I have two promises for you.

First, I think we both know this is likely going to be the hardest year in education you have ever faced.

Second, I just want to promise you that there is incredible value and worth on the other side of this hard thing you’re starting today. It’s going to be worth it. It’s going to be the best school year it can be. It’s sure to be hard. It will also be beautiful—as beautiful as hard can be.

Go get ‘em. Thank you for what you do. I can’t imagine where we’d all be without you.

We’re selfish. By nature. We don’t understand when others get things we don’t. We don't know why everything can't be fair. And in the classroom, sometimes, I hear a lot of complaining about that. But I am your teacher, and I wish you knew . . .

That student left class early because they are on the way to a meeting with their oncologist to discuss new treatment options.
I know who is cheating. I know how too. But I also know you will learn a valuable lesson on test day when you can’t cheat and you still have to be able to answer the question. Or, you won't learn that lesson at all and get what you deserve.
I accepted that student’s homework late because her child has been at Children’s for the last week and a half.
I ignored that student’s question because I know she missed what I said the last ten minutes of class because she was playing on her phone.
Your classmate gets to borrow my book because although she bought one she can no longer access it. Why? Because she had to flee an abusive relationship and left all her possessions in the process.
That student who seems to be understanding everything in class has spent three hours in my office this week.
That student wears long sleeves in class because he has had so much blood work this month he looks like an addict. And they still don’t know what is making him sick. Please don’t bother him about his clothing choice.
The reason your classmate cried when they got their paper back is it was their first time taking a test with new accommodations and they just made their first C (their highest grade) on a math test ever.
That student sleeps in class sometimes because he just finished working four twelve hour shifts.
I really don’t know where that student in your class went. They haven’t responded to any of my attempts to contact them and I am very worried.
I take my job seriously. I chose this job. Most week’s I cry more tears for you than my own children.
You’ll never know the sacrifices my family makes for me to be here.
You’ll never know what the person beside you is going through.

Maybe that’s a good thing? I want you to learn to be sympathetic to others without having to know how hard it is for them. I want you to get to spend your time here without the worries they have. I want you to know I understand you have bad days too. Because one day you are going to face the tough stuff. One day you will understand the struggles of #adulting aren’t wearing pants and paying for your own cell phone. #adulting is having a clear vision of the big picture (the good, the bad, the ugly) and still getting up and putting your pants on. It’s admitting you can’t do it on your own and submitting every day to the One Who Can. Oh and it’s praying. It’s a LOT of praying.

Teachers, It Can Still Be Amazing

What I Wish You Knew . . .