To Teach or Not to Teach: Is it Worth the Money?

The voice comes from the center of your chest. “You should become a teacher.” As it settles in, warm and satisfying, a counter-voice calls from the surface of your brain: “Are you sure you want that as a career? I mean, is it worth it?”

For you, this question, with its conflicting answers, hovers, a haunting phantom of past, present and future. To teach or not to teach?

Perhaps most of all, what you are truly asking yourself is, “Will I earn enough money to make teaching worth it?”

No. You won’t.

There is not enough money to make it worth it.

There is not enough money to make it worth it to question a call to report a child’s crisis, not knowing if, when you click to hang up, the trip from CPS will just whip another fist to the kid for opening her mouth at school.

There is not enough money to make it worth taking that accusatory finger to the chest—the media, the parents, the politicians, the writers, the thinkers, the movers, the shakers—wanting better, faster, better, faster. To know the crushing feeling of society shoving you to your knees without a hand to lift you up. A raised bar without a raised budget. Because everyone has had a terrible teacher—a teacher bad enough to shroud the millions of micro-moments that dozens of great ones gave to us from the time we stepped into the classroom.

There is not enough money to make it worth seeing the wolf of a false prophet called “accountability” feasting on profits from texts and tests—weeks of real learning lost in preparation for more weeks of Scantron bubbling just to create bell curves to serve up on news feeds—every school, every child, ranked and filed in homage to King Data.

There is not enough money to make it worth the sideways scoffs about “teacher luxuries,” eternally assuming that those sweet summers are paid, that salaried work is measured in days, not hours, that all jobs are the same. “Because my unrelated job is treated thusly, yours should be too.”

There is not enough money to make it worth spending unmeasurable hours designing a flawless lesson only to see it fail because one student is in no mood, or technology crashed, or it’s Monday, or it’s Friday, or “my parents never had to do this,” or a fight just broke out, or you’ve been told to announce that a classmate has just died—or the other thousands of moments on which every lesson’s success hinges.

There’s not enough money to make it worth feeling like there’s always something that could have been better, that every day you will make countless mistakes, that every class has at least one student who wants you to fail because he hates you just because you are a teacher.

There is not enough money to make teaching worth it.

You may sit on college loan debt, fighting for a livable salary in a society that slashes educational funding. You will question your decision yearly to stay in the fray.

But I hope you teach. I hope you stay. I hope you choose to make the sacrifices daily because teaching is worth something more than money—greater than salaries and steps and raises and 401ks.

Read the rest via WeAreTeachers: To Teach or Not to Teach?

Where Life Lessons Reside

The Lesson of Every Conversation: Encouraging Teens to Have Meaningful Interactions

Nothing is worse than not having a driver’s license as a teen. Other than having to wait around for your mom to pick you up. Which is my life right now. Waiting. Watching every other jerk get picked up from driver’s training. They’ve all been scooped up by their timely parents. All except me. And, John, some other kid I barely know. Maybe I can talk to him to kill time.

* * * *

The desks are lined up in three columns facing forward – each column with two desks, side-by-side. The lights are dropped low. The music is mellow and somber.

Students are floating in. They look at me in that typical, quizzical “What-weirdness-do-we-have-today?” Their biggest concern is where they are supposed to sit – “Wherever we want!? Please!?”

It doesn’t matter where they start. In a couple minutes I will mix them up – pair them with someone they do not know well. Today’s lesson is all about conversation – principles of creating good, even life-changing, conversations with anyone.

* * * *

John is the character left out in books and movies and history. He is not an athlete – nor a musician – nor any image of the “high profile” teen. If anything, he contributes to the homeostasis of high school : a target of more than a few aggressors. He doesn’t fit a mold. He doesn’t “look like us.” And, here I am with John with nothing but barren hallways and time.

* * * *

Projected, sober and thick, on the wall is a quotation.

Men often hate each other because they fear each other; they fear each other because they don’t know each other; they don’t know each other because they cannot communicate; they cannot communicate because they are separated.

Martin Luther King, Jr.

Students look for a personal meaning in the quotation. Whereas MLK Jr. was speaking of literal separations through segregations, we create our own walls called “assumed difference,” seeds of silence that grow into forests of fear and hate.

Now, it’s time for the task.

For the next hour, you have one goal: Understand the person next to you using conversation.” Students are waiting for the “academic” objective. They will find none.

(Read the rest via

A group of my students taking to the cold streets to serve smiles to others.

Three Questions Worth Asking

The following is adapted from a 2014 National Honor Society induction speech I was asked to give to the students of Plainwell High School. Read on ’til the end for a personal challenge.  


There’s a saying in education: “There’s no such thing as a stupid question.”  Have you heard this before?  I think the intention is to encourage students to ask questions or something, but that saying is a lie.  There IS such a thing as a stupid question.  My spanish teacher can speak to this well.

Enter: Señora S.  Señora had to put up with me for a full year of Spanish . . . well actually a full-ish year since I spent most of it in the office.  Something you should know about Señora S. is that she wore a fanny-pack. Every day.  And, it became my life’s mission as a punk kid to find out what was in that fanny-pack, no matter what she I was supposed to be learning.  Every day, I would ask her, “Señora, is today the day we find out what’s in the pack?”  It turns Señora and I didn’t see ojo al ojo on the quality of that question.  And, it also turns out that the answer was most often, “Get out of my room. NOW!”

Want further proof that some questions are stupid? Ask my 8th grade girlfriend Chandra. I asked Chandra a stupid question once.  Here’s the scene:  It’s a romantic middle school date — which means  we’re at a movie in a group of like 12 pubescing, pimply, smelly middle schoolers. Our parents are probably up in the rows above watching us.  We boys are loudly shoving and jockeying to sit by our respective lady-friends. Tonight was the night I would become Rico Suave and make my move. As the lights dim and the cheesy 90’s romantic comedy hits its pace, I turn to Chandra and look her deeply in the eyes.  My heart is pounding.  My mind is racing.  And in that moment, I ask her the question I think will be a relationship game changer. “So . . . do you want to make out or something?”

If you were wondering, the answer was, “No…”  If you’re further wondering, that relationship didn’t last much longer.

My past has proven that some questions are stupid.  But, thankfully, some questions are brilliant.  And, the measure of your life — the true benchmark — is the quality of question you ask and how you answer each.  Better yet, there are really just three critical questions worth asking.

Tonight is all about these three questions.

One of the most important questions to ask is, “Who do you live for?”

Before answering that, answer this:  Why did you join National Honor Society?  Really though . . . why?  The resume line?  The “boost” to get into college?  Or, did you join to be with people of calibre, to ask more of yourself, to make a difference alongside the greatest scholars and leaders in our school?

The answer ultimately reduces down to two options: You are either living for yourself or living for others.  Many people live for themselves — for their own wealth, their own achievement, their own needs.  We ask people what they got on their test just so we can confidently boast what we got.  We pick our majors based on what is easiest for us the rather than what will put our talents to work in bettering society.  We can’t even take a picture of a beautiful sunset or skyline without inserting ourselves as the focal point.  In short, too many in our society are developing a “selfie-syndrome,” an obsession with ourselves as the center of the universe.

So who do you live for?  Answer that question by living for others.  Live for others by always being available with a patient ear when they feel they have no one else.  Live for them by donating your time, your income, your meal, your hope.  Even just a sliver of these things to you is a wealth to many others.

Take it a step further and ask, “What do you live for?”

Do you live to get rewarded?  Do you live for your grades, obsessing over every little percent  just so you can get some letter to verify your self-worth?  Do you live for the promise of money, basing college and life decisions on what will give you the most income?

Now, I know grades are important — clearly you can’t even apply to National Honor Society without a high-level of academic achievement. But, do you live for your grades, or do you live beyond your grades.  What is ultimately more honorable: Having a 4.0? Or, being kind and helpful to others.  Is honor cramming for tests last minute and seeking shortcuts to get A’s?  Or, is it thirsting to understand the depth of everything because genuine knowledge can change humanity — learning not just to look good but because you never know when true knowledge can help someone in need.?

Here’s a good question: Ask any adult if they remember the g.p.a.s of their classmates from high school.  Then, ask them if they remember who was a good person.  Ask them who was passionate about their pursuits.  Ask them who they could rely on when life kicked them to the ground.  Listen to their answers.

To live for others, you must live for a passion that you can use to help others.  Live to use every ounce of your talent not just for a career but for a calling, a personal mission to do great things for a greater future for others.

Now, we know you are born into a system that emphasizes grades and rewards.  But, it is no excuse to blame the systems that encourage us to live for rewards and trophies and cookies.  You are better than blame and justification.  You are the solution.  You are the future leaders and scholars who can put meaning first and let the grades and accolades track in your tailwinds.  The system will be broken when men and women of high calibre stand against it and say they live for something beyond rewards and money and self-interest.

Lastly, ask “When do you live?”

Do you live with a constant obsession of what’s next?  Do you live in a land of later?  I’ll learn this later.  I’ll help them later.  I’ll overcome this later.  But, what if there is no later? Or, a better question: What if today were your last day?  Would you be happy with what you have given to others?

So often, we live under this optimistic impression that we have endless lives — as though we are a giant game of Candy Crush that just needs a little time or money to replenish when we expire.  Life has no guarantee.

It is a sobering and honest reality to realize that any moment could be our last.  And, in recognizing that fact, we can either turn mopey and dispirited, bemoaning how unfair and cruel life is.  Or, we can catalyze our energy, treating each moment as though it has value and significance — pushing ourselves more deeply, more strongly, more passionately into the things that will not fix or accomplish themselves.

Live to help others, to pursue your passions now.

Three questions will decide the value of your life:

When do you live?

For what do you live?

For whom do you live?

All of these questions hinge upon what is, in my view, the most important pillar of National Honor Society: Service.  There is no greater purpose to life than to be of service to a better humanity — whether that be one person in one moment, or the billions of people housed on our planet.  I do not see service as a pillar — I see it as the roof — and every other pillar supports it.  For, what good is scholarship if it is just to boost our own ego?  What good is leadership if not to empower others for a greater good?  What good is character if not to strengthen our resolve and optimism to make possible the impossible in fixing the worlds ills?

Service is the measure of your character and when you use it.  It is the measure of your scholarship and how you use it.  It is the measure of your leadership and for whom you use it.

There is a great woman named Mama T (or Mother Teresa as you may know her) who said this in even greater simplicity and elegance.

“At the end of life we will not be judged by how many diplomas we have received, how much money we have made, how many great things we have done.

We will be judged by ‘I was hungry, and you gave me something to eat, I was naked and you clothed me. I was homeless, and you took me in.’”

Service need not be an elaborate plan involving months of dedication and fundraising.  Service is standing up against the aggressor who is verbally abusing others in the hallways.  It is seeking a friendship with the person labelled “weird.”  It is complimenting a stranger without needing a response.  Service is a daily habit of doing good for others every chance we can — and not doing it to make ourselves look good or with the expectation of reward.

There is no group in a greater position to be of service to humanity then you all right now.  You are here because you have proven that you are capable of greatness.  But potential without action is failure by inertia.    So what will you do with your potential?

The quality of your life hinges on the quality of questions you ask and the answers you embody.  Ask the right questions.  Seek the right answers.  And, no matter what you do, do NOT ask someone to make out with you because that is a stupid question with an embarrassing answer.

Live for someone or something beyond yourself.

Live for a passion that is a service to others.

And live your service now because tomorrow may never come.


A personal challenge for the reader: Re-read this with a focus on your circumstances. 

How would you answer these if “live” were changed to “learn”?  

For whom do you learn?

For what do you learn?

When do you learn?

How would you answer these questions if “live” were changed to “teach”?

For whom do you teach?

- For what do you teach?

-When do you teach?



Courage quotation

With Trepid Hearts We Step: Overcoming the Thorn of Change

In troves of tromping feet, students and educators begin yet another school year this month.  With the advent of another academic year, there will be loud cries from citizens, educators, researchers, and politicians about all the changes that need to be made in education.  Students need to change.  Teachers especially need to change.  Administrators? Please change.

We bemoan the “failing” state of our students, of our teachers, of our education system, pointing to every possible psuedo-study as a panacea.  But, through all the different participants of our educational system — the students, the teachers, the parents, the citizens — we are all united by a single thorn that prevents our best step forward: Fear.

What delays us most in creating the best version of ourselves is our own fear.  For students, it collapses from every corner: Fear of social failure, of academic failure, of familial failure. of personal failure.  From cracked voices to friendship faux pas to feeling like crap because after three-days of being held hostage completing a multiple-choice scantron, you find you don’t “rank in the top quartile.”

For teachers, it stalwarts our greatest decisions: Fear of career failure, of personal disappointment, of fulfilling the worst of teacher stereotypes.  From pushing students too far, to not pushing them far enough, to feeling like a failure because someone is forced to quantify your entire worth as an educator after spending 90 divided minutes in your year-long marathon — only to find that you are “minimally effective,” with no constructive ideas to help.

If we want growth — if we want true change on the personal, district, and national level — we need risk.  Growth cannot exist without risk beyond our comfort zone.  As babies, we came into the world being useless burdens to those around us — crying, bumbling, defecating blobs. But, we also came equipped with insatiable curiosity and resilient risk-taking.  We fell on our faces as we took our first steps. We threw things, smashed things, touched things, swallowed things — all in a fearless attempt to learn and grow.  And yet, as our lives progress and we become even mildly “useful,” we rest in our normalcy.  It’s safe.  It’s easy.  It’s the beginning of a slow decay.  We spend the first decade or two of our lives with risk-to-grow as our default, only to flip the switch to static-to-survive.

We need courage.   We need the courage to be ourselves, to speak our own truth without fear of being wrong.  We need the courage to take academic and professional risk and accept the potential of failure without fear of being ridiculed, being fired, being disappointed in ourselves or our peers.  Whether it be a teacher asking for help from a colleague, or a student following her heart into a career that “doesn’t pay very well,” or a parent going against the coddling culture and not giving into what the “cool parents” are letting their kids do, we need to muster up our guts and follow our hearts.   I see the fear of risk daily.  As a teacher, I see it with young adults who rest in their fear afraid of damaging their developing images.  As an instructional coach, I see it with teachers who lock themselves in their rooms in their fear of being “marked down” by their bosses or judged by their peers.  Courage is not aimless, impulsive action.  It is a calculated decision that is necessary to make true, positive change — a decision that is not guaranteed to succeed but guaranteed to yield learning.

We need to build cultures of trust in our classrooms and in our schools that promote positive risk by guaranteeing support, safety, and belonging when we fail –and support, safety, and belonging when we succeed.  Students need respectful, positive atmospheres in which effort is acknowledged and rapport is built with teachers and peers daily. We need to trust ourselves and our colleagues in taking full-hearted risks with new methodologies and approaches.  We need communities that support our schools in attempting change.  Too often we hear threats of removing children or tax dollars if the results don’t fulfill our instant need for gratification — forgetting that massive systems need time to implement true change.  We lock ourselves in a paradox of wanting growth but stifling change.  We demand better results which require risk, yet threaten punishment when the risk doesn’t work out.

A great thinker once told me that FEAR stands for “False Expectations Appearing Real” — a recognition that our survival instinct leads us to “disasterize” to such an extent sometimes that we don’t take calculated risks in order to grow.  So, consider what risks you need — or your students or children or teachers — in order to become the best possible version of yourself.

In our next post, we will be looking at the “how” of reducing this fear in students and teachers.

In the meantime, our personal challenge in overcoming the fear hurdle is to:

1.  Take a calculated risk and follow it full-heartedly.

2.  Don’t wait for the right moment — it may not exist.

3.  Acknowledge the potential of failure — and learn from it with humility.

4.  Patiently support teachers, students, staff, and communities in stepping beyond their comfort zone.

5.  Learn.

We cannot wait for some perfected, scientific approach to overcoming fear and taking calculated risk.  The beauty and bane of fear is that no man or woman will know what result will follow until he or she dives full force into the experience — accepting the potential of failure before, during, and following the leap.  Perhaps the risk will set us back farther than we started.  Perhaps it will hurt and burn in ways we’ve never felt.  And, perhaps this is what we may have needed — to be humbled.

But, perhaps the leap will create something in us we have never known.

(Photo Courtesy of WikiCommons)

Something Deeper: On Teaching with Heart and the Poetry of Teaching

Teaching is poetry.

It’s the creation of something deeper, something sleeping below a classroom structure.  Its meaning is buried underneath flash cards and Power Points, grade checks and rubrics.  The surface seems simple and direct — we see the quizzes and cold-calls as clearly as pure rhymes.  The bells ring and the lines break and we prepare for the next stanza to take a seat quietly and get to work.

But hanging underneath is something deeper, something unique, something pure to the individual.

Teaching breathes and stretches and transcends like poetry.  No two learners can interpret the verse of teaching the same, just as no two teachers can write the same verse.  No matter what the rhyme scheme or theme, it is the process of learning that makes education poetry.  It is the delicate and personal interaction between two humans sharing a space in mind and body and trying to transfer meaning to one another.

And, no matter how hard we try to break education down into replicating patterns and structure, it always breaks lose.  We know better.  We know that not every class can be a haiku, not every lesson fits in pentameter, and, damn it, we know that some kids are best off as slant rhymes. We know this because we  are artists.

We alliterate universal ideas, building in repetition until our students sing out life lessons. We labor and toil over the most minuscule decisions of lesson structure so that our students can focus on the content and not the form.  We put our hearts into words knowing that the interpretation matters more than the intention.

While the other mediums get the glory — the movies make millions, the dime novels turn pages without controversy, and the video games don’t stress about year-after-year of mandated regulation — we go on making poetry.  Even as critics sing out that “poetry is dead” we listen to their song knowing that they couldn’t have carried a tune without us.  We are poets because poetry is learning and learning is our calling.

The lesson lives so long as the lines resonate at the soul of the learner.  He or she may not remember every word, every sound but the feeling of the poem never ends.

We teach to touch minds.  We teach to touch hearts.  We are poets.


Recently, a colleague in education gave me the book Teaching with Heart, by Sam Intrator and Megan Scribner.  Of course I was curious since I love poetry, I love teaching, and I love reading, so my inner-nerd was ready to gorge on a knowledge buffet.  The insight from the book, though, went deeper than knowledge.  It went deeper than “Understanding” or “Analysis” or anything else that can be thrown on good ol’ Bloom’s chart.  Teaching with Heart reminded me why there is something deep about teaching that no data, no class, no observation can show.  Teaching is poetic and deserves a muted sense of awe just as soul-sparking as the poems contained within this collection.

Curious about the book? Here’s the Sparknotes overview:  Ninety teachers from all levels and locations share the poems that have (and continue to) change their lives in education.  Each poem accompanies a discussion of the influence on that educator.

However, Sparknotes without the actual reading is like a recipe without the actual cooking.  So it’s time to bust out the cutting board.

Here’s a taste:

“I keep on dying,
Because I love to live.”

from “The Lesson” by Maya Angelou

We could just let those two lines rest on a branch and allow you to ponder, question, climb, and harvest the ideas for days.  But, there’s something grand in seeing how other teachers work the fruit of great poetry.  Jovan Miles, the Atlanta-based educator who chose this poem, writes,

“Teaching became my life.  It consumed me, and I struggled . . . I chose my battles poorly and lost far more often than I won.  I hated how my struggles made me feel, but I endured knowing I could, and would, become a better teacher . . . In my first year, I died many times in front of my class.  the last lines explain why I keep on teaching: ‘I keep dying,/because I love to live.’ I love to live, and to teach.”

I wanted to book a flight to Atlanta just to high-five Jovan after I read those lines, thinking of my own past and continuing frustrations with the learning process that is teaching.  Maybe teaching is sadistic.  Or, maybe it’s an understanding that we wouldn’t toil through the challenge of teaching if there weren’t a larger purpose.  Maya’s poem, along with Jovan’s reflection, bring a familiar, pleasant, and distant warmth to the frigid feelings we find in struggling.

Then there’s this morsel:

If I can stop one Heart from breaking
I shall not live in vain
If I can ease one Life the Aching
Or cool one Pain
Or help one fainting Robin
Unto his Nest again
I shall not live in vain.

– Emily Dickinson

In reflecting upon the poem, Annette Breaux describes a specific moment when these lines inspired an assignment for students to “Do something nice for someone.”  She writes, “A beautiful poem led to a homework assignment, which led to a child’s good deed, which led to his mother’s hugs (desperately needed), which initiated the start of a healthier relationship between mother and child.  The poem still sits on my desk, but Thomas etched it on my heart.”

There is something deeper in the relationship among poet, poem, teacher, lesson, student and parent.  It’s as if all six are breathing and living together, influencing one another in subtle, exponential ways.  We will never see the true depth or influence of their interaction — just as we will never know Dickinson’s true intention — but we are left knowing that something meaningful is at the heart of their process of teaching and learning together.  Who was truly the teacher or the student?  Who was truly the poet or the reader?

With 88+ more poems, I’ll spare you my thoughts and let you form your own on the rest (Huzzah for summer reading!).   In the end, I am thankful for yet another resource that brought me both to earth and the clouds about the purpose of teaching and learning.  Teaching with Heart strummed a complex chord of teaching in a way that my usual stockpile of research and pedagogical reads can’t do.  It resonated with that hidden but present purpose of why teaching is worth every calorie of energy.

As the academic year draws to a close, we find ourselves in that reflective state of curiosity about what was the meaning behind all of it — the teaching, the lessons, the struggle, the joy.  So, rather than trying to analyze every line we’ve written and process every syllable of data, it may be worth sitting back, smiling at the poetry of teaching, and knowing that the meaning is deeper than we may ever know.  Because, the true meaning lies in the heart of the reader: the student.  Set down the pen.  Go for a walk.  And be happy knowing that this year’s poem has been written and that the meaning will forever be in process.