Do I feel “called” to teach? On some level, I want to say yes, absolutely. This is the work in the world that some higher order intended me for. I get better as I do this work, and most of the time, I really think, the world gets better too.
But at the same time I hear “teaching is the hardest job in the world”. I hear “statistically, schools are second only to hospitals for the stress level of employees.” And if you’ll pardon me, the idea that these statements are inherent to the work is bullshit, for lack of a more precise descriptor. It is an insult to children to say that spending my day with them can only be stressful. It is no more stressful than any other interpersonal work–it demands of my intellect, of my body, and of my spirit. As any other art, as any other love story.
What is stressful is trying to honor the unlimited capacity of children within the limiting capacity of bureaucracy. When I say that my job is stressful I rarely mean that I am overwhelmed by mixing paint colors, holding hands, having the hard conversations about friendship that are central to being four. More often I mean that the institution has done an inadequate job of providing resources and information. Often I mean, I’m frustrated that I haven’t been given the right platform to talk to parents about the social and intellectual skills that children are learning when they build with blocks. I mean that I don’t feel respected by the other adults in the building. I mean there’s a child who needs something that I don’t have the access or authority to give her.
So the notion that one must be “called” to teach embraces the idea that teaching is inherently too hard. The only reason a person would do it is that they felt an other-worldly pressure, a sense that this was their necessary place in a greater plan. But say it with me–teaching does not have to be this hard. I’m not even asking for a particularly radical reinvention of school. But better connection between adults, a renewed commitment to seeing children as capable and complex. When we wallow in the notion that this is miserable work that is our calling, we effectively co-sign the bureaucracy that is preventing us from having the sustaining moments of human to human connection –between adults and children, between adults and adults, between children and children–that are the reason we choose this work.
So forget about my calling. I choose this work. Every morning I wake up and I choose the children. And I can see a better version of things, where I feel connected and powerful and I can use my position to lift up the voices of children, but for now I choose the children. In spite of the bureaucracy. In spite of disrespect. In spite of the daily need to find better, louder, more articulate ways to say that children are people.
preschoolradical 