You're Doing a Good Job

It's always good to get positive feedback. Some times you need it more than others. Sometimes you don't even realize how much you need it.

There's a scene in the very underrated movie Half Nelson where middle school teacher and crack addict Ryan Gosling is somewhat drunk and explaining to a friend how making a positive impact on just one student makes all of the difficulties of teaching worthwhile. If he can reach just one, he will be satisfied. Later, Gosling is very drunk at a bar and rambling to random people. A man recognizes him as his daughter's former teacher. This man's daughter is now going to college. She is studying history because she grew to love the subject in Gosling's class. He wanted Gosling to know that he made a huge impact on her life, but Gosling is so far gone he has no idea what the guy is saying. The guy eventually gives up, shakes his head and walks away.

It's a great scene that captures a phenomenon that I can relate to (no, not the crack thing). Gosling was clearly abusing drugs to fill a hole or overcome depression or avoid responsibility. He's at a point where he's doubting himself and his worth. He's overwhelmed by life. He can't see the long-term positive effects of his actions as a teacher, so he turns to the bottle and the pipe, which makes him feel like more of a failure, which leads him to actually become a failure (when you buy crack from your own student, you have failed as a teacher and as a human). When evidence of the impact he is making through his work is presented to him, he's too far into his vices and his own head and self doubt to recognize it.

I think about this scene a lot because it speaks to how I feel about teaching. It really is about reaching one person (hopefully a few more, but honestly just one). Although I haven't been in the grips of serious drug addiction, I certainly have moments of self doubt and feelings of not doing well enough. My fear is that I will become too lost in the daily grind and often excruciatingly slow progression to see the long-term value, and eventually, lose the passion to teach.

It hasn't happened yet, but I'd be lying if I said I haven't come close.

This semester has been tough for a number of reasons, most of them out of my control. My two classes have the lowest number of students enrolled in my entire time at Tunxis. Each class has been cancelled at least once due to weather. Plus, the country is currently being ruled by an egomaniacal madman and the state is in a serious budget crisis, so there's a general sense of malaise and doom that hovers above all our heads constantly. Or maybe that's just me.

There's also the typical issues to deal with, such as the few students in my class not showing up. There's an average attendance rate of about 70%. On the one hand, this is great when it comes to correcting papers: less work for me! On the other hand, it's not very encouraging as a teacher, or as a student for that matter. Students notice when other students stop coming, and it can affect their own attitude towards the class. When attendance drops from 16 to 12 to 9 people, it interferes with the class chemistry. I generally plan my classes with the number of students in mind. If I plan for 16 students to show up and only 9 do, I have to change things. It's not that big a deal, but on top of everything else it is frustrating. It doesn't exactly lend itself to lively class discussions. It's also incredibly discouraging when I take the time to correct a paper of a student who never shows up again. That is draining. It makes me wonder what's the point of correcting any of them?

The point is that one student. I was reminded of that the other day. As class ended, one of my students, a nice older Asian lady, approached me. She always sits in the front row and her text book is completely marked with highlighter and words in the margins. She is very eager to improve her English, which, quite frankly, isn't all that bad.

At this point in the semester, on top of the general feeling of disgust at the world, I was feeling a little disappointed in my own performance as a teacher.

I appreciate my job as an adjunct instructor and I truly believe that teaching is the most important profession in the world and we're making the world a better place and blah blah blah, but sometimes the nobility of the profession gets lost in the day-to-day labor. The work can be overwhelming at times, and progress is always slow and often minimal, so there's not often immediate positive feedback, as a teacher or student.

Not often, but sometimes. This was one of those times. And I really needed it, much more than I knew.

She expressed to me how happy she was being in my class with an opportunity to learn. She wanted to thank me for the work I was doing. In my mind, I was simply doing what I have for the past 8 years (8?!?! Holy shit!) and not even that well.

But my perception of my own performance didn't mean a thing to her. I was influencing her in a positive way. She thought I was doing a great job. She actually took the time, at 9:25pm on a Thursday, after 3 hours of class, to offer her gratitude.

"You're an excellent teacher. It's obvious that you care. You take the time to make sure people understand what you're saying. I almost quit because you were so intense the first day, but I'm so glad I stayed."

Her excitement at learning and her sincere appreciation for my help was palpable. I couldn't help but be infected with her positivity. All I thought the entire time she was talking was, "You have no idea how much this means to me right now."

It's barely halfway through the semester and I was feeling like it was finals week. I do my best to offer encouragement to my students as much as possible because I know they need it constantly to make it through a long semester. Well this time, the teacher...had become...the student.

Yeeeaaaaaahhhhhhhhh!

The truth is, we all need a boost every now and then. Even the strongest among us need support sometimes.

When it comes to your profession, it's important to hold yourself to a high standard, but that can also lead to being your own worst critic. There needs to be a limit on how hard you can be on yourself. Sometimes, simply showing up and doing the work makes a huge difference, especially in a profession like teaching. As a teacher, I'm motivated to be the best I can be and I try to make classes interesting. But sometimes it doesn't happen. Sometimes lessons or entire classes can be lackluster. That doesn't mean they're not necessary or not making an impact. 

This lady, like the father in Half Nelson, let me know that I was doing a great job. Thankfully, I was able to recognize and appreciate the meaning of her words. I reached one student. I was successful. More than anything, though, her words encouraged me to do even better. If she thought I was a good teacher now, just wait until the rest of the semester.

Maybe you're thinking, "this whole post was just a way for him to brag that someone called him a great teacher."

My response to that is, ".....Yeah? And?"

I Love You All..Class Dismissed. 

My Summer Jobs: Finding Tadpoles, Dead Babies, and the Motivation to Succeed in School

I've already discussed my first job and the life lessons it taught me. That post was so popular it warranted a sequel!

My second job was at Mobil in West Hartford during the summer after I graduated high school. I didn't pump gas or do anything with cars, I just worked the register and took inventory of the small store. I also had to close and lock up by myself, so it was beneficial in the sense that I learned to handle a lot of responsibility. Other than that, it was exactly as unremarkable as you'd expect. Two memories stand out: another employee, a woman in her 20's from Washington, D.C., told me about go-go music, a genre I had never heard of at the time; and one night I took a cigar from the glass case behind the register and smoked it in the garage next to the store. I got about 8 puffs in and gave up.

That fall I went to Storrs. I worked for UConn's dining services off and on for the four years I attended. It sucked and I gained no skills whatsoever (I was the best grilled cheese chef in the world long before working there, word to Emeka Okafor). However, I often ate for free, so I guess I got something out of it.

The summer after my freshman year I worked for the West Hartford Public Works department. I mostly sat in the passenger seat while an old racist white man drove around town looking for potholes to fill in with the tar we had in the bed of our big yellow truck. We didn't look very hard, mind you. Oftentimes, he'd park in front of his house and go inside while I waited in the truck. I never knew what he was doing, but I'm pretty sure there were no potholes in there.

After a couple of weeks, I was given a truck and one responsibility: mark all the storm drains in the city. Me and another young part-timer drove around town and spray painted orange marks in the middle of roads. These marks indicated the location of storm drains, which let plows know where the drains were during the winter. It was extremely monotonous. It was always hot. We worked from 6am-2pm, so we were always tired. Before summer ended, we had to do every single road. Fun fact: there is never a good time to spray paint a main road.

Once we got into a groove and figured out what we were doing, my slacker training kicked in. For the first couple of hours each day, we'd find a secluded parking spot, turn on the air conditioning, crank up Howard Stern, and rest. When I saw another truck from our department doing the same thing in our "secret" parking lot one day, I knew we had nothing to worry about. It amazed me how many other town and state vehicles we saw there. More than anything else, this job taught me that slacking is acceptable and often expected, especially at a town job.

The next summer, there were no openings in that department so I worked with Leisure Services. Most of the employees I worked with were part-timers the same age as me. Our headquarters was at Buena Vista golf course, but mostly we took care of the public pools in West Hartford. Each part-timer was assigned one pool, and I got Beachland. We had to test the pH levels and clean the locker rooms every day, and we had to vacuum the pools every other day. I always did everything I was supposed to do. At first, I took my time, and I would get back to Buena Vista around 10am. Then I got faster and faster at everything, but instead of going back to Buena Vista at 10, I would just hang out at Beachland for a while, sitting in my car listening to Howard Stern.

Basically, for about 4 summers, I was a paid Howard Stern fan.

We shared a special bond...

Before the pools were filled for the summer, we had to clean them out, and there were plenty of dead squirrels and various trash in the empty pools. Once, we found a dead squirrel underneath a fridge in the lifeguard's room. We had been working there for about a week when we finally found where the vile, stomach-turning odor was coming from.

Some of the pools needed to be painted before they opened. That was a job we all hated because it was inevitably hot and bright, and we were in these giant concrete holes that kept getting brighter and hotter as we applied layer after layer of white paint. It was very disorienting and we had to make sure to occasionally walk out of the pool to regain our senses.

It kinda felt like this at times...

Anyone who works with public pools knows there is inevitably going to be some poop. I found poop only once in the pool, because I was usually gone by the time people got there and lifeguards were on poop patrol during the day. More often, I had to deal with the poop, and discarded poop-filled underoos, in the locker room's stalls. I figure that balanced out all the Howard Stern.

After the pools were taken care of, everyone went back to Buena Vista, where we had a lot of random duties (as opposed to the random doodies at the pools ha!). Mostly we mowed grass. We also had to clean the headquarters where we stored our equipment. Sometimes we'd go with our boss to other golf courses or parks around town to fix or clean something. On the good days, when the boss wasn't around much, we would soup up the maintenance golf carts and drive around the course recklessly. We beat the hell out of those carts. I'm seriously shocked they didn't just fall apart. One time, when I was driving myself around and trimming the grass around the golf tees for the 5th time in a week, I zoomed down a hill and took a sharp turn at the bottom. Of course, I tipped over into a small ditch. I couldn't pull it out myself but a couple golfers walked by and helped me get it back on all fours before my boss found out. I took it a little easier around corners that day.

Once every summer we had to scrape the algae out of the pond at Buena Vista. About 4 or 5 guys held the ends of a long thick rope. We'd walk on opposite sides of the pond along the edges, with the rope taut above the pond. When we got to the middle, we'd slowly lower the rope until it touched the surface. Then we'd walk together towards one end of the pond, dragging the rope as algae slowly piled up behind it. Once we got to the end, we'd use rakes and pitchforks to drag the giant algae clumps out of the water. We did that a few times until we could finally see the water in the pond again. There had to be 3 tons of algae. It was slick and gooey with a foul odor. It was also full of insects, and best of all, tadpoles of every evolutionary stage. There were big, fat, green slimy balls with no features; there were green blobs with a fish tail and semi-developed eyes; and there were even green orbs with long frog legs. Some were still living and trying to swim or jump or...something.

Stare into your soul?

We'd toss the few living ones back into the pond. The dead ones we'd pick up and toss at each other, obviously.

Our boss was an interesting guy. He was meticulous, to say the least. His truck and his work area were impeccably clean. He was always on the go, always working. Basically, he was the complete opposite of the guys I worked with at Public Works. He was the antithesis of a town/state employee. Some of the other full-timers even made fun of him because he worked so hard (or worked at all). But he did instill in me attention to detail when cleaning. I still don't enjoy cleaning (who does?) and when it comes to my own place I can still be messy, but when it comes to my workstation, I've noticed I'm definitely more diligent than most. When I first started working there, sweeping the corners was a big joke to kids who had worked with him before. They all had the experience of sweeping for hours only to have Jimmy come and tell them they missed the corners, which they absolutely had. I still notice the dirt in the corners of any room I enter.

He also had catchphrases. "God Bless America!" was his go-to response to everything. A guy cut him off in traffic? "God bless America!" A kid showed up late for work? "God Bless America!" He got an extra McNugget with his lunch? "God bless America!"

Another catchphrase was, "Good to go, guy!" That meant he was ready to move on to the next activity. And yes, he called everyone guy. That still annoys me.

I worked for him and Leisure Services for 3 summers, including after I graduated college. That year I stayed on into the fall, as I learned that a Bachelor's in English isn't the most practical degree.

Although the pools were closed and the golf courses were winding down, my boss found plenty to do. He went all over town, providing his maintenance expertise to every building that needed it. And, apparently, they ALL needed it.

One place we often went was the cemetery. As a kid, I played in the cemetery a lot. It sounds morbid now, but at the time it was just a wooded area where we could ride bikes and explore in peace. So it wasn't too abnormal for me to spend time there. Not like I had a choice in the matter.

My boss had to (chose to? I really don't know if this was part of his actual job or more of a hobby) measure different burial plots for new caskets. Each plot needed a certain amount of space around it. Whenever they wanted to put a fresh dead body underground, they had to make sure they weren't going to accidentally dig someone else up. There was a map of the cemetery that showed where every casket was supposed to be, but the ground isn't always 100% stable and the records were very old. If one measurement was off, everything was off. Since x-ray technology was unavailable, my boss used an old fashioned method. He took a thin metal rod, about 6 feet long, and shoved it into the ground. If there was no resistance, there was no casket. To measure a new plot, he poked the ground in several spots until he found the surrounding caskets. That let him know how much space was available for a new one. 

This was considerably creepier than my childhood bike rides through the cemetery, but I figured the chances that he would start a zombie apocalypse by crashing through an ancient casket were slim, so I was mostly okay with it.

One day, it became not okay. Not okay at all. The opposite of okay. Okay wasn't even visible in the distance. We were no longer in the vicinity of okay.

This guy was nowhere to be found.

My boss had to measure an area for a new plot right next to a small headstone. The headstone had birth and death dates very close to each other, meaning this was a baby's final resting place. Already it was becoming a little more uncomfortable than usual, but my boss treated every job the same. Out came the rod.

He dropped to his knees and started shoving the rod down as hard as he could. On the 3rd or 4th thrust, we heard a giant "crack!" My boss said, "Oops! I think I found it!"

Then, with a grin on his face, he uttered the most disturbing thing I've ever heard (outside of a Donald Trump speech):

"I probably went right through his skull!"

Did he need to add that? No. Did he enjoy the look on my face as he said it? Probably. Did I start looking for a new job when I got home that day? Definitely.

Ultimately, I'm grateful for the work experience I gained during these years. It motivated me to finish school, get my Master's, and never work a blue-collar job again.

Also, when the zombie apocalypse eventually starts, I know exactly who to blame.


I Love You All...Class Dismissed.