Last year, the coaches and specialists used to talk about the teachers who hated being observed. There were the nervous ones who were always shaky. The coaches wondered what these teachers were hiding if they were so uncomfortable in their own skin. Then there were the ones who walked up and talked to the observers, making excuses and asking questions the whole time.
I always kept my mouth shut during those conversations, because I felt like they were describing me. These were the conversations I was afraid of, because they confirmed my suspicions as a teacher - that the Clipboard Crew, even the nicest members, were evaluating me. Don't get me wrong, they didn't have evaluative power, but in observing me, they were assessing me.
So, this year I have had four or five people come by to observe. They've been nice people, good people, folks who want to help teachers improve. But each time, I have grown nervous. I have felt edgy. I have been afraid; though I couldn't pinpoint exactly why.
I've had three requests today for teachers to come observe my classroom in order to pick up some pointers. They want to see rigor or critical thinking or thematic units or tech integration. They want to see something bold and powerful and different and . . . I'm still being interrupted by students. I'm still getting impatient. I'm still trying to figure out how to do projects with my group.
When that happens, I feel like my reputation has gotten bigger than the reality of my classroom. My response is typically, "It's nothing special," which is a lie, because education is special and powerful and a whole lot of things. What it's not is perfect. It's early September. We're still learning the dance moves.
What I want to say to them is, "If you knew the number of mistakes I made each day, you probably wouldn't want to see my classroom." It leaves me with this nagging feel of potentially being "found out" as a teacher who still doesn't have it together.
And that's the fear. That's the part I worry about. That's why I so often want to be left alone. I'm avoiding the fear that if they saw my imperfections, if they grasped my humanity, if they realized I wasn't as big as my reputation has become, they would be disappointed.
The crazy part is this: The only people I should be worried about are the ones who already know the real me, the human me, the one who messes up and has to apologize and bumbles my way around projects. In other words, the only opinion that matters is that of my students.
The humility and self-doubt is not so bad. Reading your daily reflections, I'm mindful that you persevere. A young girl asked me why I was calling the girls in the class "guys" which initiated a really authentic conversation between the students and me. The vice principal wandered in for a brief visit. It was initially awkward because it broke the rhythm of my class. I'm not keen on observers in my room. I like participants. Once I've dragged the observer into the class activity, I feel more comfortable. "Don't just watch me, feel my experience," perhaps.
ReplyDeleteI like that approach. I like the idea of saying, "Care to join us in what we're doing?" I used to have a principal who would do that in social studies.
DeleteThanks for sharing this so that we can see that we're not alone in all of this.
ReplyDeleteNo problem. Thanks for the kind words.
DeleteI wonder how many students fear being found put
ReplyDeleteWow. So true. Thanks for the reminder.
DeleteI must tell you that your blog seems back to "normal" now that you are back in the classroom. Your writing was different last year. It just seems more authentic and you this year instead lists of ideas of how to teach math or social studies. I like the real stuff you are sharing about struggling to be perfect. It has me wondering if there is more to the argument against the "professional speakers" who are no longer in the classroom. I personally never put too much stock into that criticism as long as those people are in someone's classroom somewhere. But maybe we all need those classroom relationships to keep us focused on how complicated teaching really is...as complicated as the unique people in front of us every year.
ReplyDeleteI'm glad it feels "back to normal." Hope it doesn't feel like I'm moping around.
DeleteThanks for your humility, John.
ReplyDeleteThanks for the kind words.
DeleteSituations like this always remind me of why keeping your cool and letting things just roll are important for being a drama teacher. At the same time, this same trait is what keeps me together with observers and visitors.
ReplyDeleteMy first 3 years I was terrified of visitors in my classroom, I was terrified of parents, I was terrified of being found out.
I think the difference now is that I know I am not perfect and I know that my boss isn't looking for perfect. We are both looking for better and better. I want to be the best teacher that I can and I am going to keep doing everything that I can to be better and to do better.
I know that you are always doing the same and I'm sure your bosses see it too.
Keep calm and carry on, right? ;)
DeleteI wish we taught at the same school. I have a hunch we'd be great teammates, Jeff.
Oh, John. You have hit on what I've been feeling since I entered the first grade classroom this year. I worry that if someone wandered in, he would quickly go to the administration and tell them to eject me immediately. Often I feel like I'm doing so much "wrong" especially when the impatience emerges as kids (6 year olds, remember) talk while I'm trying to work with them. In the past five weeks, I can see how we're working through it all, but I still feel like a fraud. And, like you mentioned, the principal is someone I knew "before" and knows who I am and what my story is. So he's probably not expecting perfection from a new "transitioning" teacher, right?
ReplyDeleteI so appreciate your blog. The thoughts and reflections help me get out of my own head and take a realistic look at what's happening. Thanks so much.
I'm glad to know that I'm not alone in this.
Delete