Advice to New Teachers

This is actually an ancient-of-days thing I wrote many many moons ago for a friend of mine who was beginning his teaching career. But even seven years later I think I have the same general opinion, so I’m offering it up mostly unedited.

Also, I want to try out multi-screen posting. 🙂

-=-BhpG

This is in response to a question from TJ, who asked me, “Do you have any advice for a new high school teacher? Classes start in less than 3 weeks. I have to admit I’m a bit nervous.” I figure that, after doing this for three years (now ten!), I’m a veteran if not a pro :). And having really enjoyed doing it for most of that time, I think a little introspection is in order. So, herewith, my advice to TJ, to other new teachers, and to myself, lest I forget:

Show the students respect. They want that. At the high school level, they crave it. I don’t mean accept or approve everything they do. They’ll do a lot of silly, mean, adolescent things. But remember: they are adolescents. They aren’t complete human beings yet, despite what they (or their parents) believe. That’s what makes teaching at this level so exciting. And making them into real people is, in part, your job. So don’t expect erudition and empathy – but be ready to be astounded at the depth they display. If your students are like my students, they will be complex and deep – but only along certain dimensions. Treasure their maturity. Cherish their remaining childlikeness.

It’s easy to say that you respect them. You have to show it. That means: Answer all questions. If someone’s trying to bait you, accept that … and answer the question anyway. Listen to them. If they complain, let them. Let them know you can see their point of view. Despite your own best knowledge, trust them. Assign to their actions the best possible motives you can. It’s OK to let them know that you know that your charity is misplaced – show it anyway. Let them know that you are choosing to risk appearing like a fool, if the only other option is to mistrust and denigrate them. Be mindful that they have their own priorities, and that in their lives, those priorities outweigh your priorities for them – and recognize that, in their lives, their own priorities should outweigh yours.

Talk to them. Don’t talk at them, don’t talk about them, and certainly don’t talk down to them. Recognize that you and they are at different points in life, and that nonetheless you can connect. But it won’t happen unless you talk to them.

At the same time, demand respect from them. Do not allow inappropriate language or inappropriate humor in your classroom. Don’t worry that you’ll look like some old fogie. Don’t expect you’ll actually cure them of their language or their prejudices. You probably won’t – you probably can’t – and it might be argued that you probably shouldn’t. A civilized person must choose to be that way. All you can do is point the way, to offer an example. So offer an example. Don’t swear, treat everyone with respect, follow your own rules.

Perhaps the last deserves elaboration. To a great extent, when the door closes and your class begins, you become God. You set the rules, you enforce the rules, you mete out punishments. By your grading scheme, you establish the very universe of discourse for them. Be consistent, be reasonable, be fair … perhaps even be merciful. Be the sort of God you hope and pray exists for the Universe as a whole, because for some large part of their day, you’re His representative.

The following is something I do, though few other teachers do and you might want to pass on it. But I never address my students by anything but their last names, at least not until March or later. And I will never, ever, respond to anything other than “Mr. Gilroy”. This causes some confusion at the start of the year, and quite a few students will try to insist that you call them by first name, or by nickname. For myself, I resist. School is not home, and using formal address helps establish a different atmosphere. But, as I say, that appears to be my own quirk.

Let me elaborate on that, too. School is not home. It’s a simple statement, but it has its profound aspects. The students know – though they sometimes pretend to forget – that school is a special space. Support that. I had a sociology professor who claimed that education, in the US, is effective in large part because it is ritualized … it allows the students to be a part of a vast, society-wide project. Build on that. Perhaps institute your own rituals. You won’t have time to found traditions, but you can mimic the process.

In a related point, insist on professionalism in their work. With computers, there is no longer any excuse for typos in submitted work. Never accept slang or colloquialism in any formal paper – not under any circumstance. Let them know that the world has different social spheres, and fluency in one sphere need not translate to another. A lesson high school students hate is that appearances can matter, and that to some extent, you can judge a book (or a report) by its cover. Personally, I require that any lengthy project – a paper or lab – be typed and proofread.

Try to be precise in your own language. Students are not – and they cannot, truly, understand what it even means to be precise. Words are still slippery tools for them. They are caught off guard by someone with the coherence and the vocabulary to say what he means and mean what he says. Use that to your advantage. Drag them up to your level.

Provide structure. Even the rebellious students, the ones trying to be James Dean, want structure. The shy need it to mitigate the social experience. The neglected need it to feel safe. The achievers need it for vindication. Even the rebels need it, if only to react against it. Nothing frustrates a teenager more than pushing against a wall and feeling it give. Perhaps the most damaging way to show a teen that you don’t value him/her at all, is to go along with everything they say. They already know that in “the real world”, different people’s ideas can lead to stress and conflict. If you yield on everything in the classroom, it can only be because nothing in the classroom matters to you … but they are in the classroom.

This doesn’t mean you should ossify on the first day of class. It’s OK to modify the applications of your principles, especially when things don’t seem to be working – but you have to have the principles. Kids will respect you if you accept that something has failed to come across. If you need to make new class rules, or drop the old ones, talk it through with them. Make them see that you have reasons, and that you are, in fact, remaining true to what’s important. If they feel something is unfair, listen to them and, if they have a point, change it. Reward them for behaving rationally, by modifying the situation. If they are inflexible, punish that by being inflexible yourself.

Never yell. Of course you can raise your voice: sometimes you’ll have to, because classrooms – even perfectly functioning ones – are noisy places. But make it rare and make it serious. My first year, I spent too much time being loud. Like a drug, it loses its potency, and you end up being miserable. If no one’s listening, just step back and say nothing. But make it clear that they’re still responsible for whatever you’re not covering at the moment. I was pleasantly surprised, at the end of my second year, how effective it proved to simply point out to the students that (a) I’d been pretty loose on discipline so far, so they had a lot to lose; (b) I held all the cards in the class; and (c) I was way more evil than they could be. Believe it or not, they can identify with the naked display of power … especially if they know, in their heart-of-hearts, that they deserve reprimanding.

I have been informed that “Sarcasm has no place in the classroom”. I have also been advised “Never let them see you smile until Thanksgiving”. I am almost always wisecracking, and I usually smile before the end of the first day. It’s not because the people advising me were idiots. It’s because I’m a wisecracker and I tend to be cheerful. The most important thing is to avoid adopting a persona, because a school year is long and carrying a mask that whole time would be exhausting. Let them get accustomed to you, whomever you happen to be, so that you cannot be accused of metamorphosing midway through the year. On hearing that first bit of advice, which I have from time to time, I always respond “If sarcasm has no place in the classroom, then neither do I.” Nonetheless, I’m sure I belong in a classroom.

Strut your intelligence and your learning. I don’t mean be obnoxious about it, but don’t be coy, either. You are an intelligent person who loves learning and who is good at it. Let that show. Draw connections between everything you teach and everything you know. Find Descartes in Star Trek. Find Tolkein in the Bible. Find “The Yellow Rose of Texas” in Emily Dickinson. (It’s rumored that you can sing any Dickinson poem to the tune of “The Yellow Rose of Texas”…)

Use words that are beyond your students’ vocabulary. You are college-trained – provide some proof of that. Of course there will be things that they don’t understand. But isn’t that what you’re there for? Again, do this precisely to the extent that it suits your character. Don’t put on airs, but don’t be afraid of setting yourself on a different intellectual plane. News flash: You are on a different intellectual plane, and you should be. Otherwise they could hire a high school student to teach your class. Let the students know that you’re at a higher level, and be emphatic that you will not descend to theirs. Challenge them to ascend to yours.

Apologize when you’re wrong. (You will be, quite a lot during the first year.) If you make a mistake, admit it. If you lose a paper, admit it. If you said material wouldn’t be on a test, and then put it on, admit it and drop the offending material. (Been there, done that.) But take nothing at face value – don’t believe them if they say you said you’d drop it. Look for collaborating evidence.

You cannot be their friend. Deal with it. Make them deal with it. This proved to be the hardest lesson of my first year. I can’t understand why, but my students want to be buddies with me. It cannot happen – it would undermine our professional relationship. Kids don’t recognize the concept of a professional relationship. In their lives, all relationships are kith or kin, even the adversarial ones. That makes it doubly important that you demarcate the bounds clearly. (This is part of the respect thing, actually.) Show them that, between reasonable adults, it is possible to have a positive relationship without it being a close friendship.

You will have students you like. You will have students you dislike – sad, but true. You must not have students you hate, nor ones you love – at least not until near June. It simply takes too much energy to love or hate someone. You won’t have it to spare. Also, it gets in the way of your objectivity, and your objectivity is one of your most prized traits.

Love your subject. I cannot emphasize that enough. Love your subject. If you are excited, you have a chance of exciting the students. If you can’t work up enthusiasm for the material, it’s pretty unreasonable – and even unfair – to expect your students to. In almost any curriculum, you can find topics that engage your intellect, that connect, that fire your soul. Focus on them. Play them up, dwell on them in class. If you can’t find such topics, then consider whether you should be teaching that class. If you can’t find such topics in any class, seriously reconsider whether you should be teaching at all. The most wonderful gift you can impart to your students is a love of learning, in your subject and in general. Everything should be bent towards that goal.

On the other hand, sometimes there is material you simply must cover, just to get to the good parts. Recognize this and accept it. At your discretion, share it with the kids. When I was teaching geometry, we would hit a section on the infamous Similar Triangle theorems. It’s the most abstruse, boring section – and I let them know it. My hope was that we could hunker down together, push through it, and come out the other side in as little time as possible. I’m still not decided on whether my experiment worked or not.

Don’t worry about looking “square” or “uncool”. It’s a given that you will, in fact, look square and uncool, no matter what you do.

Take an interest in what interest them. But don’t fake an interest. Adolescents are way more sensitive than adults; their skins haven’t been calloused by the roughness of the world. They’ll know if you’re faking, and they’ll (rightly) resent it. But if you do find their interests interesting, by all means let them know. They will appreciate that more than almost anything you could do. Although I have no interest in sports – and proclaim this loudly to one and all – I try to attend at least one home game of every team that has one of my students. I had one student who was a tremendous discipline problem (surly, late, arrogant), until I attended a basketball game. After that – precisely because he knew I didn’t care about basketball, and thus must have come to see the students – he became one of my best, most engaged students.

Attend all the plays, all the bake sales, everything you can get to. (Don’t sacrifice your own social life, but try to make time.) Applaud them. Keep an ear out for awards, scholarships, and other recognitions earned by them. Compliment them. Perhaps because I am blessed with no sense of decorum or art, I find the student productions to be more worthwhile than any professional play or musical.

Never, ever, let the students tell you their opinion of other teachers. This is a hard one – you certainly want to know what other teachers are doing and how they teach. But you must not allow students to make you a conduit of their grievances. It is crucial that you maintain solidarity with your colleagues, even the ones you suspect of being sub par. If a student bad-mouths a fellow teacher to you, there is absolutely no good that can come of it.

Remember that you are a highly trained professional. That encumbers you with a certain responsibility to act like a professional. It also entitles you to a lot of respect, and you must insist on it: from the students; from the parents; from your fellow teachers and administrators. And be sure to point out – diplomatically – when your colleagues are undermining the professionalism of the school.

The following depends on the policy of your school; I only stumbled onto it this past year at Hun. Here, the yearbooks are distributed during the final week of classes. I took an official period out for each class, to allow them to sign each other’s books. The forty minutes of material lost were vastly outweighed by the links and memories they were forging. And I asked each and every one of them to sign my yearbook. (I told them that I figure, one of them might become famous, in which case I had my retirement set.) It was exhilarating, and terrifying, and moving, to read what they think of me.

You have, in your possession, a mighty and terrible weapon, against which no teenager can prevail: You’re not a teenager. You have been where they are; they have never been where you have. You have an attention span longer than ten minutes. I have had days where I’ve dreaded the inevitable flare up, when I have to deny some request or put my foot down. Almost invariably, the student about whom I’ve worried has forgotten the matter or written it off. They might be as smart as you, but they are not as educated and they are not as experienced.

Some more practical details, like assignments and grading:

You will be tempted to assign lots of extra work over the holidays, especially at Christmas. Resist this temptation! By then, you’ll need a vacation pretty badly. Why would you assume your students need it less? I take a very straightforward tack: I assign the same amount of work regardless of the time off. Say I assign a paper every two weeks. If one were due on Dec 18, then the next would be due around Jan 11 – which is two school weeks. Sure, they’ve had more time off. I let them enjoy it. Some teachers worry that the students will forget the material unless some work is assigned. I don’t have such a worry – I know they’ll forget it. But if I assign work, they’ll forget it, then cram the day before the holiday ends, learning nothing anyway, but losing all benefit of the vacation. You might not believe it, but this has proven very effective.

Remember that every ounce of misery you assign becomes several pounds of work you have to grade.

Decide right now, before school starts, your attitude toward the dress code (if there is one) and toward late arrivals. If you choose to be rigorous on the dress code, you must be so from the beginning and you must be so throughout the year. (Although, in truth, by March or so, it’s safe to ease up a little.) If you are serious about lateness, send students to the dean (or whatever) from day two. And, if you do that, you have a tremendous moral obligation to be timely yourself.

When designing assignments and tests, keep in mind that most people have difficulty reading. I don’t mean that they’re illiterate. I mean, reading is a chore for them, a task on the level of mowing the lawn. Some precious students will love to read and will devour anything you throw at them, but most will not. Be mindful of that. Don’t dumb down your expectations, just be mindful. You are a very literate person, very comfortable at digesting text. Be aware your students will not have this skill. Take some time to develop it in them.

Having suffered through several degree programs, you’re liable to forget this, but: A twenty-page paper is a huge assignment, for a high school student. If you have to assign one, expect to assign only one. Have a bunch of five and ten page ones, as warm-up. Be conscious that almost all high school students are still in the “book report” mode. If you want them to write insightful, clever commentaries, you’d better be prepared to show them how.

Try to find ways that students can fulfill requirements creatively. Reward creativity. Allow self-expression. Show them how one can be a free spirit and still fit within academia (if, in fact, that’s true 🙂 ). If you assign presentations, videotape them. Otherwise, someone will be particularly brilliant, or particularly hilarious, and you’ll regret not having captured it on tape.

The following is again my own practice, but it has served me well: Accept nothing outside of class. Don’t let them put it in your mailbox, or slip it under your door. You will have nothing but grief. Have a checklist of their names, and check them off as they hand in major assignments. Assess a significant, and well-known, penalty for late material, and be scrupulous in applying it. If you lend out a pencil or other material, assume that you will never see it again. You might be pleasantly surprised, but that’s not the way to bet.

Establish and publicize reasonable office hours. Be very jealous of your free time. Insist they set up appointments … high schoolers are bad at this, but they need to learn to be better. Under no circumstances meet with a student the day of a test… if you do, you are simply rewarding their procrastination. (I had a student my first year at Hun who consumed every prep period I had, on days of tests. Never, never again!)

Grade and return items in a timely manner. This sounds trite and obvious but it’s crucial. I try to have all tests graded and returned by the next class. (This is a lot of work and not always feasible.) Labs and AP problem sets I will let slide for a week or so. I don’t tend to have papers, so I don’t have a time scale to offer. But I want to stress this point. Tests, papers, labs, etc., are all meant to be teaching tools. (OK, they also create a paper trail for the grade you eventually choose to assign, but that’s secondary.) In the mind of a teenager, things that happened more than three days ago never happened at all. They will learn nothing from a paper returned three weeks after being turned in.

If practical, allow rewrites and revisions. This is a hard one to pull off, but if you can, do it. I have learned that no teenager believes in revisions. They don’t hand in a first draft; they hand in the only draft. They honestly see no merit in going back and redoing something they’ve already “finished”.

Try not to be overly clear in your grading scheme. For most educators, this is heresy, but I offer it in all seriousness. Your grading scheme can become a straitjacket, binding you into giving grades you feel are undeserved. Do not create incentives for students to argue over every last point. Build some subjectivity and leeway into your scheme. I sometimes joke that the best grading scheme is the one that requires a PhD in Physics to comprehend, because then everyone is simply relieved at not doing worse. 🙂

OK, this is my final and most important piece of advice: Have high standards, and hold to them tenaciously, as if the very future of the free world depended on it. It does. There will be many, many, many influences all pulling you toward relaxing your standards. Students naturally want the best grades they can wheedle out of you. Parents are even worse, especially if the student is bound for college some day. Administrators have to deal with parents and have to struggle for Blue Ribbons and newspaper mentions; they don’t have any compelling interest in high standards. Other teachers – sadly, often the older ones – don’t want to exert any energy in teaching and resent you setting the bar high, because they must either conform or look like slackers. And of course, within yourself, you hear voices arguing for clemency for the students, or simply for less work.

You absolutely must resist these influences. If you must err, err on the side of being too difficult, too challenging. I have discovered an amazing, unbelievable fact: Students, by and large, perform to your expectations of them. If you expect them to fail, they will. If you expect them to struggle, they will. And if you expect them to soar, astoundingly, they will. Example: In my first year, coming from grad school, I taught way over the heads of my Honors Physics students. I am embarrassed at the mismatch between my expectations and any reasonable estimate of their talents – and they let me know, loudly, all year, how hard it was. But by the end of the year, we had covered Special Relativity – a subject sometimes not handled even in college – and almost every student listed my class as one of the most rewarding in their experience. What’s more, I could see that they had learned to think and to reason.

I have been accosted by teachers, administrators, parents, and students, from time to time. A common lament is, “You always think we’re smarter than we are.” And I always respond, “Would you rather I think you were stupid?” It seems to carry the point across.

Perhaps not surprisingly, I believe that teaching is the most important profession in the world. Every statesman, every hero, every doctor, every saint – everyone has to learn. In the modern world, it’s even more important. As H.G. Wells said, “More and more, human history is a race between education and catastrophe”. You might not save the world yourself, but you can touch the lives of the people who will save the world, or lose it. Acquit yourself well here, and there is little more that anyone could ask. Be proud of your decision and your profession, and carry yourself so as to justify that pride.