by CSTP blogger KIM:

Everything I needed to know about teaching, I learned as a parent.

Okay, not really. It was a reciprocal deal. Being a parent helped me become a good teacher, but being a good teacher helped me become a better parent. Mine was a mid-life career change (“early” mid-life, hopefully). My first year of teaching (9th-grade English) was the year my daughter was a 9th grader. I remember the first time I told a student, “That might work with your other teachers, but it won’t work with me. I’ve got one of you at home, and I know that trick!” She and the rest of the class laughed with me.

I wish I could tell you that I’m one of those amazing people who knew early on what I wanted to be when I grew up. On the contrary, teaching was something I fell into quite accidentally. Here’s a quick chronology of my career, much of which stemmed from my love affair with language: English major—to Russian linguist with Army Intelligence—to freelance translator/tech writer/editor—to ESL teacher for our local Russian community—to ESL para-educator/interpreter—to certified English teacher.

The most important lesson I learned during my student teaching was that a sense of humor is the most important tool I can bring into the classroom. The ability to laugh at ourselves can get us through what might otherwise turn into unbearably embarrassing moments. My master teacher (who was younger than I) stood in the back of the classroom and laughed as I gave a college-level lecture on the sociology of African tribes to a group of polite, overwhelmed seventh graders, who diligently copied down the notes I gave them, not understanding half of the concepts that I was trying to explain.

Some people have been affronted when I tell them this story. How could my role model – my mentor – laugh at me when she should have been gently guiding me into the teaching profession! It was the best thing she could have done for me.

She pointed out the positive – this group of usually squirrelly adolescents was trying hard to live up to my expectations. Then she asked, “You DO realize that these kids are only twelve years old, don’t you?” When I reacted with disappointment, she gave me this important advice: “You’re going to make a lot of mistakes in the classroom, and there are two ways to react. You can either feel bad about it, and dwell on it, or you can laugh and learn from it.”

I would like to think that humor has kept that central role in my classroom. I admit I laugh at the class clown more often than I probably should, but maybe that’s why he does his work for me. If I can convince kids that high school English can be fun, then the learning falls easily into place from there.