My high school students are being rewarded for completing their essays early by getting to watch a movie in class. Some of my students picked the movie, Miracle. For those not in the know, I'll quote imdb.com:
The inspiring story of the team that transcended its sport and united a nation with a new feeling of hope. Based on the true story of one of the greatest moments in sports history, the tale captures a time and place where differences could be settled by games and a cold war could be put on ice. In 1980, the United States Ice Hockey team's coach, Herb Brooks, took a ragtag squad of college kids up against the legendary juggernaut from the Soviet Union at the Olympic Games. Despite the long odds, Team USA carried the pride of a nation yearning from a distraction from world events. With the world watching the team rose to the occasion, prompting broadcaster Al Michaels' now famous question, to the millions viewing at home: Do you believe in miracles? Yes!
My kids were rapt with round, unblinking eyes during the beginning scenes where this coach is essentially breaking the team down physically in order to build them back up physically and emotionally. My students murmured comments about the coach, their hero, reminding each other how amazing his coaching abilities were. "That guy could make anyone an Olympian!"
As per usual, I immediately was irritated by the comment. I saw these kids yearning to be yelled at and pushed to their physical limitations by a coach. They trusted completely that the coach would put them through an exhaustive, but eventually purifying, experience that would eventually make them better than their peers. The key is that they players weren't necessarily better than their peers to begin with, but they were willing to find a strong enough guide who would push them past their peers to make them more than competitive.
I then remembered being sworn at and yelled at by my coaches in my private, religious grade school. I remembered being embarrassed at sitting too close to the bench at various schools I've taught at; I would blush at the words that would come out of my peers' mouths. And it was all for the sake of some final score, some trophy, some bragging rights.
Then I also remembered countless emails I've gotten from parents about my strict deadlines (full credit the day it's due, half credit the next day, no credit after that). "They're just kids!" I mean, aren't teachers supposed to be nice? I'm supposed to have chosen my career because I have some special place in my heart for the youth of the nation.
I have news for you: I don't have that special place in my heart.
Mostly, I think kids are just like the rest of humanity. Some are incredible and awe-inspiring, some are the absolute dregs, and most of them are just average. Hence, the term average. I have a passion for education, for learning. I want to be an academic coach.
This does not mean that I want to swear at my kids, kick desks, and make vulgar analogies to motivate my kids. It doesn't mean that when the class average crests an 80%, I want a cooler of Gatorade dumped on me. What it means is that I want the respect and trust of my students and parents to allow me to push my little students. Sometimes, it's going to hurt and it's not going to be a sunny, rose-filled journey. At the end, however, these kids will be able to be proud not only of their effort and their progress, but of their ability to rise above the masses by pure passion and dedication.
Instead of shiny statues, I want my students to have engaging careers that make them happy, and also have the potential to improve this little old world we live in. At the very least, I want them to be able to choose among countless of options for their life because they have metaphorically paid for the privilege.
That's not really how the priorities of my students or parents work though. And, to be fair, not everyone wants to be the quarterback of the football team. But maybe, given enough years, kids will know that seeing my name on their schedules means that they're in for an intense, but edifying year. I just wish that was expected out of school as a whole.
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