Courage
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I don't feel courageous as I enter my classroom. I feel tired. Tired from spending hours rehearsing my class for the spring festival. Tired from trying to make the performance work when only half the students show up. Tired from hurrying home to write my students' progress reports.
I don't feel courageous as I dial the telephone. I feel sad. Sad that I need to tell a parent that her child is being teased by other children. Sad that when I ask how I can help, the mother calls me names and tells me that it's all my fault that her child smells bad, steals from other children, and can't write a good sentence.
I don't feel courageous as I listen to a student struggle to read. I feel discouraged. Discouraged because I've done everything that I know how to teach him to read. Discouraged that no one at his home reads to him, helps him with his homework, or even listens to him talk about his day at school.
I don't feel courageous as I sit in the teachers' meeting. I feel uncomfortable. Uncomfortable because my colleagues argue over committee assignments. Uncomfortable because no one collaborates. Uncomfortable because it seems that we've forgotten why we're here.
Tired. Sad. Discouraged. Uncomfortable. And still I teach. I teach for that moment when a student believes in himself. I teach for the teachers' meeting when we discover how much we have in common. I teach for the chance to speak honestly and to listen openly while others do the same. I teach to become vulnerable, to be questioned and to question, to feel the sense of danger that comes with molding futures.
I teach because teaching is the job that demands the most courage. I have the courage to teach.
