The Good Noise

Tag: teachers

  • We Were All Young Once

    When I first stepped into the classroom, I had no idea how much I didn’t know. Those first few years were rough. I was figuring out lesson plans on the fly, wrestling with classroom management, and trying to project confidence I didn’t always feel. But somewhere along the way—after a lot of trial, error, and reflection—I realized I had lucked into the work I was meant to do.

    Next to being a dad, teaching is the most rewarding thing I’ve ever done. Over the years I’ve been fortunate enough to teach several different subjects, and each change has added something new to my skill set. Every stage has taught me lessons that have shaped the teacher I am today.

    When I taught English, my favorite novel that I taught was The Count of Monte Cristo. Edmond Dantès meets the Abbé Faria in the darkness of prison, expecting perhaps a rescuer or a savior. What he finds instead is something far more valuable — a mentor who does not hand him answers, but sharpens his mind and spirit until he can discover them himself. I’ve come to see my role with students in much the same way. My job isn’t to script their futures or dictate their choices. It’s to challenge them, open doors of possibility, and give them the tools to think, adapt, and persevere. Like Faria with Dantès, I try to plant the seeds and trust my students to decide what they will grow.

    Now, I split my time between CBI (Career Based Intervention) and Culinary Arts. My CBI students are impossible to pin down as a group—they’re individuals first. They’re with me for different reasons, but most share one thing in common: hopes, dreams, and needs that school hasn’t fully helped them reach. My job is to get them to graduation with the understanding that lifelong learning—the kind valued in the “real world”—isn’t the same thing as school learning.

    My Culinary Arts students signed up for an elective that might look like an easy A or B. But I want more for them than a grade. I want them to learn how to plan, shop for, and prepare meals for themselves. I want them to see that they can feed themselves without relying on empty-calorie fast food and late-night DoorDash runs. And I hope they’ll leave my class having tried new flavors, new recipes, and discovered they’re capable of making good, nutritious, affordable meals.

    Inevitably, when people hear I teach high school, they start in with the “kids today” speeches—how they’re lazy, entitled, addicted to their phones. I smile and think about being a kid myself. I was a huge Beatles fan, and I used to watch those grainy black-and-white scenes of teenagers screaming and fainting in the 1960s while their parents and grandparents shook their heads in disbelief.

    I even remember my own grandfather—decades after the Beatles’ Ed Sullivan debut—telling me their success wasn’t about the music. He insisted it was the hair.

    Here’s the truth: kids today are no different than kids have ever been.

    They’ve got new tools, new distractions, and yes, new challenges. But the core hasn’t changed. They’re just as smart, energetic, curious, rebellious, independent, idealistic, impulsive, resilient, social, and emotional as ever. Technology may shape their world, but it doesn’t change their hearts.

    As a teacher, I’ve been lucky to work with great kids year after year. Some come and go. Others make a more lasting impact. I remember one who emailed me after a semester at Ohio State. He had gone to major in one of the sciences, but quickly realized that it was not for him. He asked me if he should change to English. I told him that I could not be sure, but that if he kept looking and stayed open to new experiences, he would find his way. Today, he is an incredibly successful entrepreneur and businessman.

    My students keep me learning, they keep me laughing, and they keep me coming back for more. And with a new school year starting, I’m reminded of something simple: the more things change, the more teenagers stay exactly the same—and that’s exactly why I love this job.

  • The Long Game

    Twenty-five years.

    As another school year draws to a close, I find myself putting the final touches on 25 years in education.

    Andy Dufresne was only in Shawshank for 19.

    When I taught senior English, Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption was a staple of my curriculum. It paired perfectly with The Count of Monte Cristo—a connection I’m sure Stephen King was fully aware of. My students often struggled with the texts but loved the movies. And that’s okay.

    Both are stories of friendship.

    One of my favorite characters in all of literature is the Priest in The Count of Monte Cristo. He’s not just learned—he’s wise. He knows that if he wants Edmond to cooperate, he can’t coerce him. He has to offer him something of value. A deal. Escape. Hope.

    But as they dig their way out, the Priest gives Edmond so much more. He gives him an education. He plants the seeds of forgiveness. And those seeds don’t bloom until the end, when Edmond finally understands what he’s learned.

    Living well is the best revenge.

    That story has always informed my work as a teacher. If the Priest had tried to lecture or bully Edmond, it would have failed. Instead, he waits. Patiently. He lets Edmond grow at his own pace.

    Teaching high school is no different. I can hand students every answer, but it won’t matter until they’re ready to accept it.

    There’s a poster behind my desk that sums it up.

    Frank Darabont’s film version of Shawshank flips the mentor dynamic on its head. We assume Red is teaching Andy—but in truth, Andy is teaching Red. About identity. About resilience. About building a sense of self that can’t be touched by the outside world. About hope.

    Teenagers get that. Stories of prison and escape aren’t hard sells. They often feel trapped themselves—by rules, by expectations, by the slow march of adolescence. When I tell them that Edmond Dantès was imprisoned for roughly the same amount of time they spend in school, they get it.

    We always spent a full class period discussing what Andy endured at the hands of the Sisters. King’s version is more graphic than the film—but also more necessary. It reinforces not only how awful prison is, but how strong Andy had to be to survive it.

    Andy was a survivor.

    You can be, too.

    “Life is never made unbearable by circumstances, but only by lack of meaning and purpose.”

    — Viktor Frankl

    When people find out I teach high school, they often say some version of, “Kids these days…”

    But the truth is, kids today aren’t much different than I was. Or than the teenagers who came before me. They’re social. They crave fairness. They value consistency. They can be unkind—and beautifully kind.

    They’re not ready to learn… until they are.

    I’ve been incredibly lucky to teach where I do. We have great kids. Even the ones labeled “bad” can be reached.

    I’ve been allowed to make mistakes—and I’ve made plenty. There are students I couldn’t reach, and I think about them sometimes. Teaching is a lot like parenting. You do your best. You live with your mistakes. And you keep trying.

    So, what have I learned from 25 years in education?

    I’ve learned that education is a lifelong process. When I keep learning and growing, the work becomes more fruitful, more reflective, more valuable. If I can communicate that to students, I have done my job.

    I’ve learned to never stop asking “Why not?” So much of what we do in schools is done because “that’s how we’ve always done it.” Sometimes that’s fine—but it never hurts to pause and ask if there’s a better way.

    I’ve learned that people—students and colleagues—move on. And that’s okay. It’s okay that they leave. It’s okay to miss them. Things go on, barely missing a beat..

    :”I guess I just miss my friend.”

    But most of all, I’ve learned this.

    Spending a life among people who are growing is a life well spent. It’s not always easy. It can be painful.

    But it can also be incredibly rewarding.

    “Get busy living, or get busy dying. That’s god damn right.”