At one point during a professional
development workshop geared toward AP English Language teachers, my workshop
leader noted that the external exam is a “high stakes test”. For him, this
meant that the exam was designed so that most students would find it impossible to finish within the given
time requirements. The students who do finish – and who do so well – are truly “exceptional”
in their English skills. This in itself could be an entire blog, but instead I want
to focus on the idea of high stakes in general.
I could simply apply the term high stakes to
teaching because we are meant to accomplish so much within a short timeframe –
just like the kids taking the dreaded AP exam. Teachers also feel the
constriction of minutes per week x weeks, a formula that pushes against the
ever-expanding list of skills and knowledge our students must learn. By the end
of the year, I’m worn down from this pressure and from all the negative parts
of teaching: watching students plagiarize, listening to grade complaints,
organizing paperwork, chasing down lost books, policing the hallways, etc.
With such a stressful job, I sometimes lapse
into cynicism, bemoaning the fact that our work is pointless. My former
students still have issues in argumentation (our major focus), some continue to
make poor personal decisions, many seem to dislike learning in general. Why
work so many hours? Why put in so much effort?
And yet.*
We watched the class of 2014 graduate on
Saturday. Last year’s graduation had little effect on me; it was my first year
at the school and I only taught a handful of the students in yearbook. This
year, however, I knew many of the seniors because of AP English and yearbook
and other various interactions. Some students I knew very well, and respected
as individuals and thinkers. Watching them step across the threshold to
adulthood was such a cathartic moment. Woodstock seniors take part in this
strange tradition – the wailing wall – in which they stand in a line and say
goodbye to guests/teachers/each other. About 50 students in, I congratulated
myself for my dry eyes and fortitude.
Then I got to some of the students I know
best, and it destroyed me. I’m fairly sentimental, so it didn’t take much to
tip me over the edge. When I got to the end of the (literal) line, Chris
escorted me away from the wall as I hyperventilated and sobbed. Keep in mind: I
am not a pretty crier. I looked so distraught that a G11 student came over to
comfort me.
Anyhow, looking into the faces of so many
accomplished students reminded me just how high the stakes are in this
profession. No matter how small our impact on an individual student, we’re in
the business of people –people who do actually notice our teaching and our
efforts. This attention is both comforting and terrifying. While it’s nice to
be noticed, the constant attention also means I have to work doubly hard to bring
my best effort every day. So, yes, the stakes are high. Thankfully, unlike the
AP exam, the rewards are enormous too.
*I realized after I posted this that I had this rhythm of "And yet" in my head because one of our students published a piece with this phrase woven throughout it. Here's to you, Setse Bush - your writing is in my head!*
*I realized after I posted this that I had this rhythm of "And yet" in my head because one of our students published a piece with this phrase woven throughout it. Here's to you, Setse Bush - your writing is in my head!*
