Happy Birthday

Today is my birthday. I am 39 years old. And I am not the Center of the World.

Ten years ago I was the Center of the Solar System. I should have been old enough to know better, but it was my first year of teaching and I had the impression that my classroom would be my kingdom and the students my subjects. I would make the rules, and they would follow them or risk banishment. Before I went into education I contemplated a career in the performing arts, but lacking talent or the ego to carry such a profession, teaching seemed like the perfect alternative. I would take center stage every day and have a captive audience.

That first year my students knew well in advance that my birthday (their reigning sovereign's birthday) was approaching. I brought in a cake for the celebration. They made cards. We took time to sing. My co-teacher (who was also a first year teacher) organized the children to make me a birthday hat. It seemed right that I should be the recipient of such reverence. I hadn't had such a big party since I was in grade school. It was great.

In truth the only thing my students had reverence for was sugar and the possibility of avoiding work. In the dark months of a northern Vermont winter what little light there had been in my classroom quickly faded. Some days it felt like I was defending myself against an inevitable coup. That year I gained a new appreciation for despotism as I struggled to control the will and actions of 22 sixth graders. By the end of the year my idealized dominion had dissolved into a state of near anarchy. The only reason I was not fired was because I was blessed to have the most incompetent principal in the state of Vermont who continued to believe that if I showed up to work every day I couldn't be that bad.

This year there was no cake, no cards, no singing. In my morning message to my students I told them they were forbidden to mention my birthday. I was just trying to use the vocabulary word, and had not been serious, but they honored my request and we spent a blissful day of ignoring the fact that I am one notch closer to 40, which is simply too mature (another vocabulary word) for comfort.

I still enjoy being the center of attention. There is a certain satisfaction that comes from making a whole carpet full of children laugh or clamber to offer their ideas or (less often) be silent. But ten years in I have come to understand that the annual cycle and progression is absolutely not about me.

The recent education movement has made a push to place teachers back as the essential coefficient of the equation. If you are a "good" teacher you will achieve results. The "bad" ones need to be exchanged, like broken parts, for newer models. If schools can just upgrade their staff, they will reach AYP (adequate yearly progress). While I appreciate the acknowledgement that teachers are pivotal in a child's educational experience, I know that the fate of each child is not in my hands alone. It is essential that my students understand this. I am just a guide, an assistant, a coach in their development, working with a large team of other professionals who are on the team. The kids are the ones in the center. The more I step to the side, the more they are able to shine.