For all those who find sanctuary in their classrooms

For the first time in almost 40 years, I will not return to a classroom this fall. This reality is, indeed, bittersweet. Many of the best moments of my life have been spent in classrooms across Nebraska, Wisconsin, and Iowa. Within their walls, I have found sanctuary.

I suppose I should just confront the elephant in the room before I proceed. There have been moments, days, regrettably even weeks, in which I would have been hard-pressed to regard my classroom as a sanctuary. In these times, my best efforts have been met with stone walls of silence, at best, and outright rejection, at worst.  In spite of advice from veteran teachers and mentors, I have had a laser focus for those few students who refuse to engage, often overlooking those that do. I have left my classrooms carrying those blank and angry faces. For these times, I have questioned myself, doubted myself, even retreated to my office or home to button up my hair shirt and scourge myself into a penance with which I thought could live. In short, my classrooms have not always been the sanctuaries I hoped to build.

Still. There have been moments, days,  weeks during which my students and I crafted our thoughts and words into something grand and, often, wholly unexpected. In the sanctuary of the classroom, this is the holy grail. Cliched as it may be, the words from Field of Dreams resonate authentically in these times: If you build it, they will come. Having built a framework for learning, I never tired of seeing my students give themselves to it. When they came, I always believed it would be most fitting for marching bands to appear, playing their strongest, their best John Philip Sousa. In the sanctuary of the classroom, there should be celebration with drums and brass instruments.

Still. These moments, days, and weeks do not magically appear; they are born from the teacher’s careful reading, clear thinking, and keen sense of audience. The best teachers know that power comes with responsibility, and they approach their classrooms with a reverence for learning and for those who will learn. Teaching is not for the faint of heart. Oh that those in teacher preparation programs would understand that loving children or loving a discipline do not always make for the best–or even adequate–teachers! No, becoming the best teacher has much more to do with losing oneself to the greater cause of real education. It has much more to do with learning to say I don’t know, but I will find out and I thought this was a good idea, but I see that we are lost. And then it becomes a matter of digging in and forging on into new places and ideas. The best teachers know that if they are not willing to take on the mantle of Lewis and Clark, they will never lose themselves to the greater cause. They will remain fat and sassy on the eastern banks of the Mississippi, looking westward but content to live out their days in mediocrity.

As I write, there are those who have just returned or are preparing to return to their classrooms. The best of these can barely contain their joy at a new semester of possibilities. And though some students in these classrooms will outwardly resist, retreat, text, and/or sleep, others will bring their best heads and notebooks with clean sheets that will hold their best thinking. For these students and for these opportunities, teachers will rejoice.

In the sanctuary of the classroom, it is never too late to begin anew. For those good teachers and students who are beginning again, I offer my sincere thanks and respect. May your classrooms be the sanctuaries you have imagined and have yet to imagine.