Going “Forward” to the Classroom
So, I’m returning to the classroom. I miss it. I miss being in the thick of where teaching and learning happen.
And, I’m terrified.
Before I say more about that, let’s go back in time…to 1999. I had recently graduated from the University of North Florida with a degree in elementary education. I had accepted a job teaching at West Jacksonville Elementary—a Title I neighborhood elementary school where the population was 100% African American and the free/reduced lunch rate was 99%. I spent 10 years teaching fourth and fifth grade at West Jacksonville and to this day they remain the most inspiring, challenging, engaging, and tiring days of my professional career. l learned so much and loved it.
From there I moved to Mandarin Oaks Elementary School, a suburban and much more affluent school, and taught fourth and fifth grade. While at Mandarin Oaks, I met some of the most amazing educators I’ve ever known, and they pushed my thinking and challenged me to get better at this craft. After three years there, I made a decision that would ultimately change everything.
I left the classroom.
I had been offered numerous opportunities to leave the classroom. I had been told for decades that I was “too good for the classroom.” I took such great offense to that statement and still do. If I was, in fact, great at teaching, why wouldn’t I stay in the classroom? Where else would we want our best educators?
But, I was provided an opportunity that I didn’t want to pass up. Basically, my colleague and friend, Dr. Robert Schoen, gave me the opportunity for six years to work with and learn from some of the most brilliant mathematics educators around at the Florida Center for Research in Science, Technology, Engineering, and Mathematics (FCR-STEM). The highlight of this work for me was interviewing hundreds of first and second-grade students across the State of Florida. Lots more about our work at FCR-STEM can be found here.
After my time at FCR-STEM, I found my way to an organization that I had been working with for years—the Jacksonville Public Education Fund (JPEF). As the Director of Teacher Leadership at JPEF I’ve had the opportunity to work with hundreds of incredible educators across the city of Jacksonville and learn from an incredible staff. This work allowed me to provide voice and teacher leadership opportunities to so many folks, and I’m immensely proud of what we accomplished.
Throughout these 20 years, I was also afforded many opportunities to work with teachers and students across the country in professional learning capacities. This work provided me a venue to share the things that I think I’ve learned about the best practices in teaching and learning mathematics for PreK-8 teachers and students. I’ve been provided a platform to share my ideas (both partially and fully formed), and some folks have listened. And for that, I’m eternally grateful.
But, that brings me back to the present day. I’m terrified.
This August, I’ll be standing in front of 20+ first and second-grade students, and I will have the chance to see if what I think I’ve figured out about the teaching and learning of mathematics holds for more than an hour, or day, or week. And that’s terrifying. What if I’m wrong? What if I can’t do this anymore? What happens then?
Well, that brings me here.
During my eight years out of the classroom, I always swore I would return. I promised myself that I’d get back to the action. To most folks, my desire to return was silly. I had a great job, that paid well, and I was able to make an impact on a larger scale with my work with teachers around the country. They openly wondered, “why would you want to go back to the classroom?” Again, I took offense to that statement. It seemed like these folks saw my desire to return as a step down—a demotion of sorts. That word “back” always hit me like a ton of bricks.
For me, this is a step “forward”—a promotion. The chance to intimately know and learn with students again. The chance to get authentically excited about ideas and opportunities with them. The chance to truly see if my ideas hold water. The chance to make a difference. The chance to fail. The chance to inspire students. The chance to be terrified and excited beyond belief.
The chance to teach.
Over this next year, I promise to share all of these things widely with our community. It may not be pretty. It may not be tidy. But, it will be real. And I can’t wait.