Anita Sagar

Everyone tells you about "Aha!" moments. You know, the ones where you are up there teaching and suddenly a student who may have been struggling with the content finally gets it? Teachers use exit slips, bell ringers, and whiteboards just to get students to show they understand; that they get it! What people forget to tell you is that you will "get it" when you least expect it.

"Rough" was an understatement to describe my first year of teaching. I was in a school in Washington, DC with exactly six weeks of teaching experience through an alternative teaching certification program. Ready to recreate the movie, "Freedom Writers," I walked into my resource classroom, on day one, with my field book and every motivational poster I could find; thinking, "how intense could my assigned course, Intensive Reading Intervention, really be?" Unlike the movie, I got eight students ranging from kindergarten to fourth grade reading levels, sitting on desks and wondering where their old teacher was. It was here that I met Tai. She towered over me by at least five inches and had attitude to boot. She had, what seemed to be, very little interest in me wasting her time teaching her how to read and felt the need to express it during every class. Within the first two months I was cursed at, had a desk flipped, broke up two fights, tore up seven pairs of hose, and tore through eight bottles of wine.

As fate would have it, I started a glorious Monday morning with another pair of torn hosiery and Tai in top form. She had gotten into a fight with her boyfriend and chose to replay it word for word throughout class as I tried to teach, for the 3rd time that week, digraphs. Have you ever heard of consonant digraphs? We use them all the time. Consonant digraphs are two (or three) letters that come together to make one sound; Words that have -sh, -tch, -sh, -wh, -th, -ch are all digraphs.

Since I was teaching from a prescribed reading intervention program, we had a script and explicit directions for the students to learn the various techniques. In this case, after I introduced a word, the students would write it down on their paper, and then underline the digraph. So, the word "PUSH" would be written, "PUSH." I had spent class upon class on this one concept and was in the midst of losing my patience because Tai refused to take part or show that she "got it." On days one, two, and three she stared at the board or doodled on her paper. Today, on day four, she decided to give a theatrical rendition of her lover's spat.

On the verge of a breakdown, I asked Tai to step out and wait for me at the door so I could "deal with her later" (mistake number 1). As she stepped out in the hall, by the door, I turned my back (mistake number 2) and finished my lesson and got my other students to begin independent work. When I walked out, Tai was sitting on the floor, arms crossed, and a look of pure satisfaction was on her face. Teacher instinct, or what little I had after a few months on the job, kicked in and I looked around to see what was amiss. As I looked up, I saw that all 32 (yes, I counted) lockers from the hallway door to my classroom had been sharpied with the word BITCH. Every. Single. One. As I simultaneously contemplated what I would do without a job, when I obviously got fired and tried to come up with disciplinary words for Tai, all I could muster was, "do you want to explain this to me?!" In the calmest voice I had heard all year, Tai said, "you said for us to write a word that had a digraph, right?" as she calmly underlined the "ch" in BITCH.

Moral of the story? Formative assessments are everywhere. Also, invest in pants.

Brianna Phillips2

Ever since I was young, I have always struggled in school. I never enjoyed reading, writing (especially spelling), science, or even recess. At the beginning of second grade I was diagnosed with dyslexia. It became clear to my parents why I detested school so much and why I was always going to the nurse complaining that I was sick. I was neither excelling at nor enjoying school, and like many children who have unresolved learning disabilities, instead of dealing with the problem I decided to avoid it all together. I have struggled with this disability my entire life. In doing so it has prompted me to study and become an excellent special education teacher.

Looking back at my educational history, I realized that if my difficulty had been addressed and if I had received the proper guidance, I would not have struggled through elementary, middle, or part of high school, as much as I did. If someone truly attended to me and was there for my social and psychological needs as well as my dyslexia, I could have had much more success, not only in school but also in life.

Therefore, I believe my role in society is to be that person for children who are struggling from similar conditions. It does not always have to be a learning disability that contributes to a child's dislike of formal education. Psychosomatic, social, and/or physical traumas are all causes that may contribute to a student's discomfort in the classroom. Studying and understanding all of these problems helps teachers to see the child and not the disability. I believe that teachers must be able to identify and take action against all dilemmas that affect the lives of their students.

Education is in a postmodern era. The demographics of American society have changed dramatically, and many more children from single parent families are being raised by single working mothers. In the words of Robert Jay Lifton (1993), schools need to act as "protean culture." They need to change and be re-shaped to fit current trends. If there are problems at home and a parent is not there to help out, then the school should provide services for that individual as a replacement. If schools can provide a calm, secure, and educationally rich milieu for the child, then the student will be capable of applying him or herself effectively in the classroom. As a teacher, I want to provide stable and reliable support for students where they can come and feel safe to talk about their concerns, thoughts or feelings.

Lastly, teachers often times fail to have a sense of urgency when working with some of our neediest students. Like I did, these students struggle with a range of problems, such as a dislike of the curriculum and detachment as a result of their failure at school. Teachers need to assess all students and more importantly, pay special attention to those who are failing in order to prevent what is happening in today's schools. I want to be the kind of teacher who can stop a child from dropping out when there is still so much to learn.

I know that the task at hand is not easy. However, I do believe that I can make a difference in at least one child's life by building a rapport and providing that student with exposure to opportunities. Had there been teachers like this at critical parts of my life, I think I could have come out of my situation much more confident and prepared. I want to help all students to have high self-esteem, resilience and a commitment to excellence regardless of their circumstance. In doing so, I feel as though I can learn a lot about myself during the process, ultimately becoming a better person. This is why I want to become a great special education teacher and this is why I rise.

Nicole Carrington3

I was always taught that a quality education can turn a pipe dream into reality. Coming from a high-needs community I know first hand how my life has been shaped by dedication, properly timed opportunities and education. My own struggles have allowed me to empathize with every single student that I have come in contact with.

The start of this school year marked the beginning of my third year as a teacher. During my interview, my principal asked me what I'd heard about middle school students. I answered honestly, calling them insane and unpredictable, but also incredibly complex and interesting. We laughed at my response, but my experiences continue to be aligned with my perceptions. My days are filled with moments of impulsive actions and comments that only a group of adolescents could conjure, some hilarious and some incomprehensible. My children fascinate me. Their stories and reflections fuel my efforts when I feel as if my tank is running low.

I teach seventh and eighth grade English Language Arts in a self-contained classroom and each day brings fresh obstacles to overcome. Academically my greatest challenge is to impress upon my students that they have the capacity to apply the content that they are learning in their daily lives. After years of failure in school, many of them give up far too easily and I don't blame them for adopting this posture. However, I also don't allow my students to remain in this stance for long. The redeeming part is that each day they come to school, we have a new chance to succeed.

Aside from academic difficulties, some of my students are dealing with life events that would shake the core of a well-adjusted adult. There are days when my classroom is a reprieve from the outside world and there are other occasions when the world disrupts the educational process. I'm still learning how to roll with such setbacks. In my most difficult moments I wonder, "How will I do this?", but I never ask, "Why am I doing this?" That is because I teach today, knowing that if given the chance, we will get better as a family tomorrow. I rise each day to make sure that my students' current circumstances never eclipse their potential.

Dr. Angela Chambers

Experiences shape who we are, how we respond to the world around us and they help to define our character. Through my chosen profession as an educator and an administrator, my experiences have defined my identity as a white female ally and advocate for young Black males. There is an obligation I feel I have as a former teacher to ensure that our educational practices are equitable and mutually respectful. What I have outlined below includes anecdotes, influences and reflections about why I rise each day to work with Black males and students with exceptionalities.

Throughout my career path, several individuals have served as mentors. These people have inspired me and have helped to shape the way in which I look at educational inequity. In 1999, as I prepared to embark on my first student teaching placement, I envisioned the type of internship that I might encounter. As a white, upper class, well educated female, my only education-based experience up to that point had occurred in the cloistered walls of the privileged. I had attended well-funded public schools, a private high school and a predominantly white university. My entire life was void of experiences that would force me to deal head on with the pains of social, economic and racial inequality. Instead of brick walls outlined in ivy that led to expansive playing fields, my new milieu housed an asphalt play area bordered by a chain-linked fence.

I felt ill prepared to deal with the racial and socio-economic disparities between my future students and myself. I did not have experiences to draw upon and felt as if my failure was imminent. During a tour of the school I met a principal who led by example. He was indeed a pillar of the community and a visionary in his own right. I remember trying to absorb his every word. He told a story from his childhood that went something like this: "You may notice that there are two elementary schools on this street. Before desegregation the two schools existed to serve two diff erent populations: one for Black students and one for white students. The school you are in, was for Black students. I went here and I vowed to see things change."

I was inspired by his dedication to the school and community that raised him. Being a part of his team meant I might be aff orded an opportunity to become an agent of change. He was an incredible leader; passionate, well spoken and respected. I remember thinking, as I learned under his tutelage, that I wanted his power to inspire others. To this day, I secretly want to embody the spirit of that tall, elegant and soulful man.

The second person who influenced my view of the role I played in education was my mentor teacher. I was ecstatic to learn from a twenty-year veteran about best practices, lesson planning and behavior management, but it was her commentary on the souls of our children that stuck with me over the years. She once shared, "It isn't about the color of your skin or theirs or where they come from versus where you come from. It is about your heart. Love them and they will love you right back." That year led to many self-discoveries, both inside and outside the classroom. Many of my courses during my final semester shared themes that pertained to challenging racial barriers. This was a well-timed coincidence with the experiences of my student teaching placement not being far behind me.

My third influential mentor was a professor whose presence has forever changed my worldviews. His class pushed racial boundaries through literary exploration, where I was forced to question and examine everything with a more discerning eye and find meaning where I never saw it before. Those lessons learned continue to resonate with me today. From that moment on, I no longer felt comfortable turning a blind eye to the injustices I faced as an educator.

Still very much influenced by my student teaching placement, I knew I wanted a challenging position, one that would allow me to utilize my newfound passion for social justice and equity in education. Soon, I accepted a job at a private facility for students with emotional disturbances. These environments house, nurture and equip some of the most challenging students our public education system has to offer. Just 3 percent of US students are served in separate facilities such as these. My students demonstrated aggressive and often times self-injurious behaviors, coupled with clinical diagnoses, which made it virtually impossible for them to be educated with their same-aged, general education peers. My students experienced failures on a daily basis, which led to changes in placement and sometimes lowered expectations. In most circumstances, these students and their parents or guardians were distrustful of school personnel. My challenge was not only to work with students that had historically been locked out of the mainstream, but to do so by simultaneously crossing through racial and socioeconomic barriers.

To my absolute joy I have developed a love for this population-the forgotten, the students that public school settings do not and cannot program for. When asked about my struggles of working in a diverse and sometimes prejudicial environment, it has been difficult. To say I am unaware of the racial and socioeconomic prejudices would be untruthful, but to say that it influences me in a negative way would be false as well. My contribution to education is also my commitment to ensuring that I do not perpetuate racial and socioeconomic disparity but instead work tirelessly to change the current system. I have found passion and triumph in working with students whose lives have not been crystal stairs. That passion to inspire children to see one another as simply children and not by race motivates me to come back day after day. These children are my heroes.

I also find daily joy in reaching across barriers to connect with people. I work to inspire my staff just as that principal did for me all those years ago. I find deep and purposeful fulfillment in repairing relationships and fostering connections with families and students, working diligently to represent hope in education where other administrators have represented failure. Communication is paramount in ensuring that families know I will work tirelessly for their children. Finding a common goal of success at school is born by showing students and families that you are willing to listen to them, advocate for them and support them, bar none.