Teachers: The Real American Idols

This morning I participated in Baldwin’s own version of “American Idol.” It was a way to relax and let loose after a treacherous week of benchmark testing. I was the host and discovered my apparent love for a microphone in my hand. I started out feeling like I was going to pass out, but by the end I wanted to burst into a rocking party anthem song. It was fun to get the kids laughing, clapping and having a good time. This 2^nd grader came up to me after the show and said, “That Baldwin Idol was so AWESOME.” My heart melted and I immediately thought, “Watch out Ryan Seacrest, there’s a new emcee in town!”

I introduce today’s festivities to demonstrate how my view of the education profession has changed since working here. I helped one of the 3^rd grade teachers, a good friend of mine, make a Sloppy Joe costume yesterday after school. I also watched her become a jar of olives for the Produce Parade a few months ago. As I tucked brown paper between two hula hoops, it hit me: These women are hardcore. She was going to make a two-minute appearance as a Manwich and she went through all of this extra trouble. I would have grabbed a brown sweatshirt and written, “Sloppy Joe” on it to tell you the truth. But that’s why I wasn’t meant to be a teacher. Watching all these ladies, costumed and made up to make their kids smile, really says a lot about who they are as people and how they view their role as educators.

I don’t know the ins and outs of the outside pressures that are put on teachers, but I have been a witness to quite a few. In all honesty, it’s a wonder they swim to the top of their paperwork with enough energy left to become a giant food item. They are judged by how their kids fill in bubblesheets rather than the preparation and delivery of their message; cookie-cutter seminars enthusiastically tell them how they should be doing things without any insight into the type of students within their classrooms. These teachers aren’t pulling in at 8 and marching out at 3. They are cutting out things while you are eating with your family and they are practicing their dance for the talent show when they could be taking a much-needed nap. They are making costumes for the play, setting up for the art show. And what do we often do for them in return? We call them. And we question them. And we wonder why our kid can’t skip every homework assignment and still come out with a perfect score. We watch them run around playing dodgeball with our kids and in the same minute imply that every move they make must be documented and filed.

I’m not saying that there aren’t teachers who are in the wrong profession, but what I am saying is that we are quickly burning out people who are in the spot they were designed for. They’ve got burdens on them greater than a giant Sloppy Joe costume and are expected to raise their own children and America’s too. We give them a 50-pound bundle of heartache and expect instant results. It takes a lot of patience, love and true compassion to get the kind of results we as a society want printed and presented immediately.

I know a simple blog entry doesn’t provide the monetary compensation and recognition they deserve. But I wanted to, in my own way, honor these special teachers—who should be put up on a pedestal as the real American Idols.