Looking Back.

The year is over, and I've been able to take some time to unwind and think about the last 180 school days. It was a ridiculous roller coaster of emotions, it destroyed every bit of confidence I came to Baltimore with, and there were many times when my belief in the reason I came to teach was rocked to the core. Before the end of the year, TFA had us write letters about our experience to donors. Here is what I wrote:

The year is almost over. I am caught in the strange position where I need to keep my focus forward on the next month, but cannot help but keep looking backwards at all that has happened over the last nine. At least, they tell me it was nine months. I cannot decide if it felt like nine years or nine days.  

I wonder if I would recognize myself from the beginning of the year. It might be difficult – there would be no bags under the eyes, no messy facial hair, and the weight would be made up much more of muscle than whatever this is around my stomach now. I might laugh at my past self. You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into, I would think.  

When I signed up for Teach for America, it was because I had spent four years at UCLA working with and watching the kids of Los Angeles at their best. They were fun, they were bright, they were full of potential – they were kids. It hurt me so much to see kids that I cared so much about tell me about how they knew they were getting the short end of the stick with their education. I decided that I would dedicate two years of my life help close the achievement gap for these kids and others like them.  

I came into the year hoping that I would be a successful teacher. There was, of course, the quantitative goal that TFA drills into our head from day one – significant gains. For my students, and me, this meant 80% mastery of all learning goals for this year, and 100% of students scoring either proficient or advanced on the end-of-year state assessment. Without a doubt, I knew that I needed to push my students to leave my class ready for anything that would come their way the next year.

In my mind, though, being a successful teacher meant so much more. It meant they would leave as proud members of The LXS – The Legion of Extraordinary Scholars. As I told them, the LXS is a super-secret international organization of incredible learners. This group of students always does their best, never gives up, believes in themselves and others, does not fear failure, and loves to learn because they always ask “Why?” about the world around them. I believed then, and still do, that creating great students meant instilling this curious mindset in each child.

When I look at my class of 26 rambunctious, often-frustrating students, I realize that we have truly come a long way since the beginning of the year. Sure, we are on track to just make 80% mastery as a class. In a couple of months I’ll find out how the students did on the MSA. Still, in the torrent of numbers, percentages, and frustration, I see that this year is going to be defined by the stories of success that I’ve had the joy of witnessing. It will be defined by stories like…

… hearing a chorus of voices sing the multiplication pop songs that I rewrote, and having Trey remind me, “Mr. Lyu, you really, really don’t have a good voice.”   

… taking Ian to the public library after school, and seeing his smile after we sign up for his first library card ever. 

... giving a small bag of Skittles to Dajah, and hearing (without asking), “Mr. Lyu! 5/12 of these are red!” 

… walking through the halls with Cory, a student who has a learning disability, celebrating that he just scored his third 100% in a row on a weekly quiz, softly singing and dancing to the “Genius Song” that he made up for himself.  

…  watching Charlotte act out the subtraction story as she regroups numbers using dolls and unit cubes.   

… internally laughing when during a particularly difficult class period, Dean yells out, “Why can’t you all be quiet and listen? I want to learn something!”  

... these and countless other little moments of happiness. 

Around the classroom, I hear “please” and “thank you.” When people bump into each other, they apologize first and ask if the other is all right. They help each other, teach each other, and encourage each other. They clamor for math time. They remind me when it’s time to work on science projects. Maybe I’m delusional, but I keep telling myself that they are talkative all the time because they’re actually excited and awake during class.  

They always say that you won’t know the impact you made on a child that year, the next year, or ever. I look back on this year and there are times when all I can think about are the countless late nights, anxiety, constant self-doubt, and thoughts of quitting. I think about driving students home after school, teaching them over the phone because they were out sick, and going into their homes to review a lesson that they missed – and sometimes I wonder whether it was all worth it.  

There is no doubt in my mind that I was not a perfect teacher. I don’t even know if I would qualify as a good teacher. What I do know, though, is that I gave every ounce of myself to these students this year, and I was the best teacher I could possibly be. I am proud that we will all leave this year as members of the inaugural class of The Legion of Extraordinary Scholars.

I will be writing more about the past year later. I need to take a nap for now.