The irony of teaching school does not escape me. While I loved learning, I truly hated school. I loved the idea of school but hated the reality. In my public-school career, I only had two teachers even bother to talk to me in a positive way. The majority of my adult interactions were always disparaging, condescending, and outright mean spirited. Adults in the school system were not to be trusted. No one had a kind word, and not one single teacher ever took me to the side and asked me if I was okay. Not one. Furthermore, when I was in school, dyslexia was not even a name. All I knew was that I learned differently from others, that I had to hear the instructions. Even to this day, I can eerily recall conversations word-for-word. (It drives my family crazy.) I remember my grandmother teaching me to read, and I realized that I memorized words because of the shape I saw connected to the pronunciation. It’s a bit weird to explain. But even now, if I see the word misspelled, I am doomed. I literally have to close my eyes, say the word, and see the image if I stumble on the spelling. My students laugh at me, because when I type something, I never look at the monitor or the keyboard. If I look, I will more than likely misspell something. Again, it’s difficult to explain, and we won’t even talk about algebra. We didn’t have a TV growing up, and fortunately for me, that was a boon; because, the only entertainment to be had was either music or reading. So, I enmeshed myself and became an avid reader and music lover.
My mother had died, and I had been out of high school for 10 years before I went to college. I always wanted to go to college, but the one and only time I had ever talked to a high school counselor she said, “People like you don’t go to college.”
I had no idea how poor people got to college, so instead I just went to work. I was fortunate in my job choices, and eventually went to college and kept climbing the corporate ladder. However, in the end, it wasn’t who I needed to be. My uncle (a war veteran and teacher) laughed at me when I told him I wanted to teach. I’ve regretted the hit to my pocket book. I’ve regretted the lack of respect and voice teachers have. I have never, not once regretted serving students. Not once.
The one most important aspect to teaching is connecting with your students. I have had an extraordinary life, and that life has allowed me to reach some of the most reluctant students. It has allowed me to set aside judgement and take students for who they are—human beings who want what we all want—love, acceptance, understanding, and safety. And that is what I offer them.
However, I am also an extremely private person and letting people (adults) into my inner thoughts is not my strong point. But my goal with this blog is to do just that. I will offer you the same I offer all my students: no judgement, just acceptance—and I would ask the same of you.
I love discussion. I truly believe that conflict is the only thing that moves us forward. Therefore, while I encourage differences of opinions, remember, it’s not what you say, but how you say it. Be kind in your disagreements. Be firm but be kind.
I have always started my school years with a symbolism project. So, in this blog, I am opening to the public the stories I have shared with my students. The “why” I am a teacher. The “why” of my three most powerful symbols, and the “why” it is important.
As teachers, parents, and regular citizens, the way we treat our youth matters.
Lucinda Handshoe 