By Amber N. Johnson, 6/12/2024
(Reflective, murky pond waters, June 2024)
It's a big day. In the ever-shifting cityscape of Nueva York, I find myself on the precipice of departure.
It's hard to fully comprehend how I found myself here. I never expected this city and I to cross paths, much less for it to become my home for this past year. As I've reached several milestones in the past weeks: visiting friends & relatives (VFR) tourism, my last week of teaching my own freshman class one year through consecutively, proctoring final exams, adventures with co-workers. I find myself again struck by my desire for continuity, full circle revelations and answers as I gain age and, we hope, wisdom. As my time in this city winds down, I am finding myself struck simultaneously by panic and deep revelation. In this turn, I pursue the second. I was asked by a student today to define the word 'consecutive.' Days or years in a row, I share. He's asking about a biology exam question related to orcharding and various treatments of crops, as well as the fruits produced based on different methods of deterring insects and decay. But I'm caught by this sense of continuity, lessons bearing fruit over time. Another student asks me, what is this word? Abundance. To have a lot of something, to have much, I reply. I think of all the gifts and challenges of this year. Again I recognize how much co-learning has occurred on a daily basis in this work.
While I am winding down in terms of responsibilities but have finally peeled back the layers of insights to peer at, I find myself within educational spaces fixed in a state of duality. I am at once parental stand-in, adult figure, harborer of wisdom. That also presents me as the bringer of discipline, correction. Alternately, I am myself. With my own needs, desires, values, and goals. It often feels as if I have to withhold or de-prioritize the latter and most authentic identity when in the context of educator of the youth. The children demand that I think of them first, in practice and in theory. And it is living within this duality of being and presence that has compelled 2023-2024 to be such a whirlwind year.
(Amber braving the wilderness of education, June 2024)
In 2022-2023, I was a teacher assistant for first graders. While I was viewed as youthful and fun by my students, I was also seen as the giver of instruction and knowledge, and it was most often seen in an authoritative way. I had the answers, certainly, in the eyes of my student charges. All wild 60 of them. This year I stepped into the role of main teacher, for my high schoolers. And while I taught freshmen in a various of settings: job skills course, Theology, and as a campus minister assistant, I also served extensively (dare I say more than in my own classes) as a substitute for grades 9-12. These kids, the high schoolers, were more complex. They both acknowledge authority in me and seek self-expression and belief. In other words, they love contradicting and testing me to the nth degree. They feign maturity, acting the full part of children but also demanding my attention, respect, and guidance as if they were my peers. It is a challenging space to adult in. I want to meet them where they are, and as myself, but I'm also forced to exert authority. It's full of contradictions to even my own desired forms of self-expression. While I choose to foster curiosity, honesty, self-determination, and openness as a teacher, I also understand better the powerful role of modeling that adults provide children. To see the changes in my freshmen throughout the year, to acknowledge their absolute trust, their eager struggle with knowledge which quickly sped to questioning and then to judgment, frustration, and apathy. Finally, toward the resolve to be done and move forward. This was monumental for me. It takes me back to when I was in school. What were my goals? How did I feel about learning? How was I educated? What space did I have to be creative, intuitive, seeking? How was I guided in my own exploration of self? While I fostered a strong interest within the context of school and enjoyed exploring paths of learning, many of my students do not start from that foundation. And I have had to play witness to that this year. Not giving up on them, not allowing them to succumb to low standards, encouraging them, believing in them. These were a part of my mission.
While my students have given up on school as summer approaches, I still accept their progress. I see what they do not. That they have cultivated perseverance, a word we have defined in different spaces for them throughout the year. To hold fast to something. To keep to one's values and goals despite interference or difficulty. To try.
(Those goals we set for the future that feel like a long way off, June 2024)
TRY. That was the stone I pulled from my stone reflection activity for my students and I two weeks ago. What does that mean? Do we put forth effort for anything and everything? Do we seek out what does not align with us, regardless of our desires, to prove something? Because of what others say, what society says? Can we give way to a new path, when an old one has had us reeling yet again and proves unworthy of our time, care, and passion? It's hard to say. But I keep seeing that stone. And I redefine it for myself each time.
Today, in exams, I brought this value forward for the freshmen. They had me pulling teeth as I tried to be the adult. To present patience, concern, fairness. To put up with their childishness and poor behavior. To fight against their apathy and to inspire them to keep going, to try. To write, to read, to interpret graphs to the best of their abilities. What if my best isn't good enough? One ornery student asked this, jokingly, but it still struck a chord. That's true, oftentimes what we put forth isn't enough. To win the prize, to pass the class, to bring about broadly defined success. But our best isn't about what others do, about what could be pass or fail. It's about trying even when we know we might fail. It's pushing ourselves to the test, with gentleness about the outcome but resolve within the struggle. If we don't try, we'll never know what we're capable of. We'll never understand what we can improve on. We'll never see ourselves clearly.
An addition:
It's the next day, and I'm rushing in from my 1.5-hour commute to ensure I can bring my laptop up to my assigned proctoring classroom. I hear my name called out. Miss Johnson! I peek my head back out, doing a double take. Was that a hello or a question? I test the waters, attempting to identify who called out. Whether it was the same student who moments later came to speak to me in my office or not, I can't tell you. But what I did experience was genuine inquiry. Which is something I always care to respond to. This student had informed me that her textbook was returned to my office. Then, she had further questions. I just don't understand. After all this year, why do we have to do so much, and they do so little? Again, I'm hit with the 'why is our class different than their class' argument. It's tired, it's old, it's unhelpful. But this was an instance where I could tell that Priscilla was open to a real answer. I know it doesn't always make sense. I know the old arguments of mine: "It's going to be like that, different classes and teachers will result in different experiences." Instead, I question if she'll transfer or take more Theology classes next year. Even if she doesn't take those subjects, I remind her: But remember, a lot of the skills you've built this year will actually help you. Next year, you'll be ready for Miss M's class or another teacher's. You'll feel challenged but ready, not floundering. I had a hard freshman year too, but sophomore and junior year I felt prepared and ready to face challenges. I know you've worked very hard this year. You'll see some of that next year. Or maybe not. But it'll help you. I appreciate that she held space for that. She may not understand it all, but I sense that she trusts me. That despite it all, she understands I may have an inkling of the future. Of what challenges lie ahead. Of how best to face them. Or to better equip oneself. And that was a gift for me today. A student I know is aware of the possibility that I may have just gifted her through this academically challenging class, with tools for the future.
(The surprise of meeting those goals despite the hardships & embracing those potential long-term impacts you may never see, June 2024)
[These are a couple of lessons I've been ruminating on, this summery June day as I try to savor what I have, struggle through the difficulties, and look with hope and love to what's next.]
~Amber N. Johnson
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