a year in the life of a teacher in 1,452 words

**I hate reading long blogs. Once I see an insanely long entry I usually tune out. This is one of my most important pieces of writing so if you can make it to the end I will love you forever. Also, check me out on Twitter @FJM718.
Thanks! -FM

Today I completed my third year as a New York City Public School Teacher, a title that I have been and always will be proud to carry. From 2008-2010 I was working in a highly rated middle school with amazingly gifted students who were routinely accepted into the top high schools in the city. I worked with active parents who supported their children both fiscally and academically and with each day that passed in my first two years, I considered myself lucky to be there. I was well received by the administration, my colleagues and most importantly, my students. I can definitely say that as my second year in the system came to a close I was on cruise control, not in the sense that I wasn't working hard but that as a classroom teacher I was pretty comfortable; I was just about to finish my second year and while I knew I had a ton to learn as a teacher I was in a place that made that growth easier.

Then I got kicked to the curb.

With exactly two weeks left in the year, after two years of satisfactory ratings and strong teaching I was told that I was no longer welcome by my principal. The details are something that still sting to this day and I will probably carry with me for a very long time. I won't share them on the blog but come get a beer with me and I'll fill you in.

After going through hell (again beers will get you details) I was lucky enough to find a principal who believed in me at a high school in the Bronx. It was at this point that I realized I would have to put up or shut up. You see, coming out of Fordham (both undergrad and graduate) I was taught and came to believe in urban education. I truly believe that working in an urban school is an honorable undertaking that, while being very challenging, can also be very rewarding. Although I was thrilled to be at my former school and while I loved the students and faculty to death (and I still do), a part of me realized that I wasn't really following through on my beliefs in urban education. When people asked where I worked, I would tell them that I was in the city but it was as close to the suburbs as a city school can get; now it was going to be different. I was going to be in THE BRONX on Gun Hill Road no less (doesn't it just sound menacing?) I was going from passing by manicured lawns to get to my classroom to passing through metal detectors. The question was, "Can I do it?"

I started in September and I truly didn't know what was going to happen. I was teaching 3 sections of 9th graders Government/US History and 1 section English, another new experience that didn't make things any easier. The kids were tough, I was working in a co-teaching partnership for the first time with a total stranger and the wounds of June 2010 were still pretty fresh. I quickly learned that these weren't the same kids I taught in Queens. In many cases one or both parents were absent, many were years behind academically and it was clear that almost none of them had been challenged academically before entering my classroom. During the second week of school one of my students locked himself in a locker and soon after I was told to "go fuck myself" for the first (but not the last) time. I worked with my students, was able to reach some of them but things were still tough. I was lucky because I was one of a number of new teachers at the school who soon became a support group while each of us took turns venting about the latest adventures with our wonderful freshman.

I made it through Christmas (the first major benchmark of the year for a teacher) and was beginning to do better work. I came back in January and before I knew it winter break in February was upon us. The year was flying by and I was positive I could make it.

I was wrong.

It was almost 8 weeks before the next break, the equivalent of three lifetimes when working with teenagers 24 periods a week. Things got tougher, my students continued to test me and I for the first time I questioned whether I could actually teach at my school. It was during this time that another freshman teacher (who was hired at the same time as me) quit, leaving a gaping hole in an already buckling 9th grade team. Staff morale was low and June 28th felt like it was years away. I had my weekly meeting with my department chair and came clean that I was losing it. He steered me in the right direction, letting me know that he had many of the same thoughts during his first year and that it would pass.

He was right.

I came back from spring break renewed. Not only because there were only 6 weeks left in the year but because I realized that I could do this. I mentioned in an earlier blog that working in The Bronx is tough. My students are challenging (the greatest euphemism I have ever used) and at many times all that myself and many of my colleagues could do was sit back and vent (another euphemism) about how impossible our situation was. Make no mistake about it, the students we work with can make you crazy and make you want to run out of the building as if it was on fire however, I soon realized that I was wrong: it's not impossible. It was then that I realized I could either be part of the problem or part of the solution. I chose the latter. I became part of the hiring committee, tried my best to not go crazy with my students and worked with 3 amazing colleagues to create and implement a two day celebration of learning for our Freshman that allowed them to reflect on their work and more importantly share what they learned with their fellow students and the school community. Over the last two months of the year, I realized that I have the ability to help my school, a school that people who I admire and respect have put a tremendous amount of time and energy to build and get where it is today. It's not perfect, but it's also not finished. I know I can help finish the job.

I didn't come to this realization on my own. I had a principal who supported me, not only when I was teaching for him, but last summer, before he ever knew me and I was just a second year teacher with a spotty past. I had a department chair who became my mentor and friend who consistently pushed me to be better personally, to make my class more challenging for my students and to be a better teacher. I had amazing colleagues who helped me through the tough times and with whom I celebrated the good, as rare as they sometimes seemed to be. And I had my wife who was always there to listen to me complain, support me and believe in me.

I made it through the year.

There were times when I didn't think it would happen but amazingly enough it did. I've never been as proud professionally as I am in this moment. It turns out that as a teacher, the events of last June were the best thing that could happen to me. I truly believe that I would not have grown as a teacher as much as I did this year if I had stayed where I was (don't get me wrong it doesn't make up for the heartache of June 2010). With all of that being said, there's a thought bouncing around my head that no teacher should have on the last day of school: I'm looking forward to September. While I am going to enjoy this summer more than any other before, I'm already looking forward to the challenge that will be the 2011-2012 school year. It's not going to be easy but I know that I'm prepared to handle it.....at least until I'm told to go fuck myself.

Happy summer.