Still in Rm. 115, 5,000 classes later....

It is now seven years after that first day of teaching. I have now taught about 5,000+ classes to nearly 1,200 different students. I am back in the same classroom preparing for another year. The graffiti-sprayed desks have not been changed. The bars remain over the windows. The clock continues to tick loudly once a minute. The emergency switch, which I never used, has been replaced by a supposedly modern communication system. Little is changed in the appearance of my classroom.

But the panic is gone. I no longer worry about any question that students may throw my way. I’ve learned enough about the Crimean War to give somewhat intelligent answers if students manage to ask even an arcane question about it. And I don’t worry if I can’t answer a question- even a question that I should be able to answer. I know what I will be doing the next day and, to some extent, within the next week and month. Yet the butterflies of the first day of school remain. When I no longer have butterflies on the first day of school, it would be time to move on from teaching.

As I sit at my desk and envision the next group of 175 students with whom I’ll spend the year, I close my eyes and think about everything that’s happened inside this same classroom for the past several years. All the minor frustrations and difficulties seem to fade away for the moment. I think only about the wonderful things I have been lucky enough to experience in this classroom and in the school.

I think about when my only brother passed away towards the end of a school year. I returned to school a couple of days after the memorial service. Word had spread about my brother- to both the faculty and staff. As I came to school, dozens of teachers hugged me and gave their condolences. The Principal did the same and shared the simplest and perhaps most meaningful words, “there are no words for this.”

I wasn’t sure what to expect from my students. While I usually avoid getting my students involved in my personal life, I felt that a few words were necessary- as I had been unexpectedly away for a week. Word had apparently gotten around about my brother’s death, but I still felt that something more was needed- particularly with a student population which has suffered so many losses in gang-related violence.

I prepared a few thoughts to share with each class- focusing on realizing the precariousness of life, our mortality, living for the moment, and spending time with friends and relatives. Nothing terribly profound- but a message that was heard loud and clear by students who have been through too much in just 15 or 16 years. For the first time in my teaching career, there was absolute, complete, attentive, and sustained silence- with each student quietly reflecting on my comments.

The depth of the students’ understanding and compassion would become clear during my first class- my AP World History class. After I briefly had shared my thoughts, a petite Southeast Asian girl, said, “Mr. Stryer. There is something we would like to give you.” And she brought out a large, hand-made condolence card with something written by everyone in the class. I began to read some of the comments as the class worked on a project.

“Hola, Mr. Stryer. I know you’re probably going through tough times right now, but I wanted to take the time to let you know how much I appreciate you as a teacher. Thank you so much for keeping me in this class, though at times I lacked determination, you kept me at it and as of now I’m glad that I’ve succeeded without having a nervous breakdown. I’m extremely sorry to hear about your loss, but you are a strong person and I know that you’ll get through it. Just like you helped me get through this class.” - Ebony

“I’m very sorry to hear about your recent loss. I wish your family the very best. I know you’ll continue to be a wonderful teacher, as you have been this year. Your attitude toward teaching is well-appreciated and has brought us to the AP test with a great deal of knowledge. Thank you for your wisdom and I hope you feel better soon.” - Blanca

I’m really sorry to hear about your brother. I hope you and your family recovers from this terrible loss soon. It’s a very difficult thing to do, I know. But I know that you will do just fine and come back to us with your usual professional, yet quite energetic, attitude.” -Liliana

When I finished reading a few of the wishes, I was speechless. I stepped outside into the hallway to avoid flooding my desk with tears. As I read more, I realized a few things. Above all, a teacher has the potential to make an enormous impact on students. The impact will almost never be expressed quite as directly as on the condolence card. My brother’s death strangely provided a unique window on my impact as a teacher on my students. The Hollywood ending rarely, if ever, occurs- when a student comes up to a teacher on the last day of school and says, “You don’t know what a difference you’ve made. Thanks to you, I stayed away from gangs, didn’t become pregnant, learned to love history, and will be entering college in the fall. I couldn’t have done it without you.” It just doesn’t happen that way.

Sometimes, a teacher’s impact on students will be expressed in subtle, almost unrecognizable ways. Improved attendance. More eye contact. A student volunteering to write something on the board. Or letting you know that they heard about a recently-studied concept on the news.

Occasionally, it will be expressed many years later when a student comes back for a visit. But usually, it will never be expressed or even be visible. Students will come in your class in September and leave in June and you won’t have the slightest clue whether they have retained anything or have been changed by their time in your classroom. For teachers who say that they “want to make a difference,” the caveat had better be that “I need to be prepared for the fact that I may never know if I’ve actually made a difference with almost all of my students.”

From my reading the condolence card in the hallway, I fast-forward two years. The three sophomores who wrote the card are now seniors- awaiting admission news from colleges. One morning, Ebony walks by my room with a big smile. Ebony had struggled in my AP World History class two years before. At the start of the year, her writing was very weak. She had trouble with abstract concepts. She was used to simply memorizing facts in previous history classes. She was enormously frustrated that she was receiving a “C” even though she worked 1-2 hours per night on the material in my class. On about ten occasions, she approached me after class and begged to be transferred into a regular history class. On each occasion, I encouraged her to stay, to continue to improve, and to challenge herself. After a while, her pleas became more of a way of asking me whether I still believed in her. By the middle of the year, she stopped asking. Now, two years later, she beams, holding an acceptance letter from UCLA. I have no doubt that we will soon see Ebony in some type of prominent leadership role.

On the same day, I heard from Liliana and Blanca. They, too, had struggled in my class. They, together with two other students, had formed a AP World History study group that met for hours on the weekends and, often, during the week. Their preparation was excellent and brought them from decent AP students to outstanding ones. The study group continued through their remaining high school years. It helped carry Liliana and Blanca into UC Berkeley- making both of them the first of their families to attend college.

As I prepare for the next school year, I walk around the room and think about the other things I’ve been fortunate enough to experience as a teacher. Most gratifying, perhaps, is thinking about my truly “at-risk” students who somehow managed to graduate from high school. Overcoming obstacles that many of us cannot fully comprehend- sexual abuse, other forms of child abuse, broken homes, drug addictions of family members, unknown mothers and fathers, excessively crowded living conditions (with ten people living in a one bedroom apartment), the need to care for younger siblings, extreme poverty, gang involvement, and the list goes on and on. Not that these issues should provide a “get-out-of-school pass” for at-risk students. But they certainly make the voyage towards graduating from high school a whole lot harder.

As I walk around the room, I am suddenly marching with cap and gown a few months earlier in our graduation ceremony. Pomp and Circumstance plays, as many of my students file onto the football field with a look of complete fulfillment that I never saw in the classroom. As the Principal calls the names, I think of the journey of some of my students. I also think of the 55% of the original Freshman class that is not on stage- having given up on themselves (or by others) years ago. But today is for those who did not give up.