I am in a Biographic Situation

William Pinar said, “I want to try to understand the contribution of my formal academic studies make to my understanding of my life. I am taking as hypothesis that I am in a biographic situation, and while in certain ways I have chosen it (and hence must bear responsibility for it), in other ways I can see that it follows in somewhat causal ways from previous situations.” The Method of Currere (1975) BBBrrrinnnnggg, the school bell sounds and I’m sitting at my desk ready to welcome all of my new students. “Hello class,” I say proudly, confidently, even though this is my first time. I write my name on the chalkboard and I take roll. “George?” “Barbie?” “Terry Mala?” Present, present, and present; I mark them on my list. Some people would look at my class and see a monkey, a pretty girl, or a little baby – but when I look at them all I see is potential. I pass out the books the class will be reading. Each of them has been marked with my special stamp so they won’t be lost. I feel good. Just as I begin to explain to the students that it is important for us to learn to read and write, there is a knock at the door. It opens and a woman almost twice my size is standing there. She looks down at me with a smile and asks, “What are you doing?” “I’m teaching my class,” I respond. She looks puzzled as she gazes at my diverse classroom. “Oh, ok. I just wanted to tell you that dinner will be soon.” “Ok,” and get back to teaching. George has a question so I go over to help him. As soon as my back is turned I hear talking from the girls. Enough is enough, I think to myself, and I go to the board to assign the homework. I think I hear laughing in the hallway outside my room but I ignore it because I need to collect the books. I hear, “Soup’s On!” which is how my mother announces that dinner is ready. I tell my students to stay where they are, that we’ll pick up where we left off 2when I get back. I know they won’t cause trouble, because, after all, they’re only stuffed animals, and at ten years old, I know better than to be late for dinner. This was the beginning of my career as a teacher. I spent my years as a student taking mental notes about which teachers I wanted to emulate and which I wanted to counteract. I wanted Mrs. Eberly’s authenticity, Mrs. Horn’s high expectations, Mr. Rossman’s passion. I wanted to counteract Mrs. Kohler’s condescension, Mrs. White’s punitive punishments, and Mr. Wolfson’s apathy. When I got my first real, paid, teaching job I was twenty-three years old. I was teaching ninth and tenth grade English at George Washington High School, another Denver Public High School. During my first semester I traveled between two rooms. In room 107, the teacher I shared with gave me one half of the chalkboard in the back of the room. “I need the rest of the chalkboard space to write my vocabulary words for the week,” he said. In room 103, the teacher once swept all of the trash the students had left behind into a pile in the center of the room with a bold message on the chalkboard saying, “Look what you’ve done, you Pigs!” As a first year teacher, I struggled to find my way and I didn’t find a lot of support from my colleagues. The greatest lessons I learned during my first several years as a full time teacher, I learned from my students. Isaiah taught me that even if they’re high on weed they can still learn Romeo and Juliet. A.J. taught me that the most immature students grow up eventually, be patient with them. Dan Pearl taught me that the steadiness of school is essential when the rest of their lives are falling apart. Porshe taught me that the loud mouth girl who never shuts up, sometimes, has something important to say. The Buckley twins taught me that it’s okay to laugh, it doesn’t take away my authority. Shemika taught me that insecurity masks itself by acting out, and sarcasm only makes it worse. Patricia taught me that no matter how much we love them, we really can’t save them all. As I’m writing this, their names and faces are flooding into my memories. I want to tell the stories of Robert who went to “The Bellos”, Andrea and her sister Natalie, Dwight who everyone called Peanut, Audra and her Mother, Tameka, Marcus, Amber, Isaiah R., Reggie, Keii, William, Tiffany, Darnell, Joseph and the names go on and on and on. Because every student who sat with me in our classroom taught me how to be a teacher. They were long, hard lessons learned and I didn’t want other teachers to have to learn them the hard way, as I had. I made it a point to reach out to new teachers. I didn’t want others to have to struggle the same way that I had to. As I’ve grown, the importance of mentoring has become more evident. When I took a leave of absence from teaching to work with a teacher support organization that provided educational coaching for teachers and administrators. It was difficult to make the choice to leave the classroom for a period of time and focus my energies on educating teachers because I know that I don’t have it all figured out yet. I know that I still have lessons to learn, but If I can be helpful to two or three teachers, than I’m in essence, helping almost four hundred students at a time. That kind of exponential change has been a powerful motivator for me. It’s been a long time since I sat across the room from my stuffed animals, my mother laughing in the hallway. It’s been a long time since Mrs. White, Mr. Wolfson, and Mrs. Kohler. A long time since Dan Pearl, A.J. and the Buckley twins. But their lessons mark my development as a teacher, like the rings in a tree. And like the tree drops acorns or apples in hopes of helping another tree find roots and grow, I’m sharing what I’ve learned in hopes of helping other teachers find their roots, and grow.