I must not suck as a teacher...

My conferences were good. The only parents I saw were the honors student parents who were stressing because their kids got Bs or Cs instead of As. None of them were out for blame, either, which just made my night (did I mention that we have evening conferences? I was here until 8 pm).

I spent my off time completing an essay on my personal experiences with the language I teach and why I chose to teach a language. Why an essay? Because one of my students nominated me for an Excellence in Teaching award over the summer. So, I must not suck. Here it is, such as it is.

Language Lessons

“Ah, bé, cé, dé” dutifully recited all my fellow students in seventh-grade French class. This was the year we began learning French. We spelled our names, counted beans in a jar, and learned what we had in our pencil cases. In eighth-grade, we learned how to describe ourselves, who was in our family, and what we were eating for dinner. Ninth grade brought the intricacies of the passé composé and futur proche. I made the acquaintance of Dr. and Mrs. Van Der Tramp, who have since become good friends. I loved French class. It was fun and exciting – every day brought something new. In tenth grade, though, it all fell apart.

I had been a good student in French class, earning high grades and feeling very confident about my ability. In tenth grade, I met Monsieur Doublevé, with whom I did not see eye-to-eye. Monsieur Doublevé was dry. Not dry like a good champagne, but dry like a parched riverbed after a 10-year drought. He displayed little sense of humor and precious little personality. His teaching was clinical, almost mathematical, in nature: if this condition exists, then that is what you must say. Everything was memorized by rote and regurgitated on paper. Every day was a different worksheet or exercise written out of the book. There was no interaction and no speaking in class beyond the one or two word answers to Monsieur Doublevé’s very specific questions. My grades began to fall as I grew more and more bored and frustrated. I knew that I loved French and wanted to speak it more than anything. I just wasn’t getting that chance in class.

My father saw my grades drop and took me to task over it. Why wasn’t I participating in class? Wasn’t I doing my homework? What was so confusing? I complained about Monsieur Doublevé – yes, I really did complain about my teacher. My father, unconvinced, told me to stick it out and try harder.

I redoubled my efforts, trying harder and harder to keep up with the memorization. I made flashcards, wrote lists, did every homework assignment possible, and still didn’t make the grades I wanted because I could not concentrate in class. The class was dull. More than that, it was depressing. My complaints had reached such a volume that my father couldn’t stand it anymore and threatened me with calling the Head of the Department to complain. Well, guess what? Monsieur Doublevé was the Head of the Department. He didn’t make that phone call after all, and I was left to my own devices.

Miraculously, it seemed, Monsieur Doublevé had to accompany the senior class trip to France – it always occurred during the school year, and took about 15 seniors away for three weeks. During those three weeks, we had a substitute teacher, Madame Em. Madame Em was everything that Monsieur Doublevé was not. She was witty, engaging, creative, and hands-on. When she taught, she expected us to do more than just listen and repeat. We had to volunteer our opinion! In French! And not necessarily in complete sentences, either, because what unnatural person goes around speaking in complete sentences all the time?! Instead of doing worksheets and book lessons, we created skits and posters, using the same knowledge. Madame Em was not afraid of creativity – it seemed like she reveled in it. I learned more in those three weeks with Madame Em than I did in the whole three trimesters I spent with Monsieur Doublevé.

The return of Monsieur Doublevé made me think about that difference. I began to see that what a huge impact a teacher’s style had on my learning. I began to apply that knowledge in class and ask myself “How would Madame Em have done this differently?” Soon, instead of asking how Madame Em would have done it, I began asking “How would I have done this differently?” That experience opened my eyes to the possibility that I, someday, might want to be a teacher.

In my Freshman year of college, I took a break from French and studied Italian for a year instead. My teacher, Signora Sé, was just like Madame Em – fun, enthusiastic, and personable. We had conversations, wrote paragraphs, and gave presentations. I remember preparing for my presentation with great anticipation. I was explaining a recipe and fretting over explaining the unfamiliar vocabulary. In the back of my mind, I thought it would be fun to approach this like I was the teacher, so I assembled some art supplies and created pictures of the ingredients with the Italian names on them – i calamari, il sugo, il pomodoro, il aglio, le cipolle. I made a handout for note-taking, brought props that I thoughtfully labeled in Italian, and rehearsed my presentation to get the timing down. When my turn came to present, I was confident and ready to share my knowledge. I modeled the vocabulary with the pictures I’d made, used the props as I explained the recipe, and asked my classmates for their recipe preferences: Lei piace il aglio? Do you like garlic? It went wonderfully well and I received many compliments on it, from both Signora Sé and my classmates. It became clear to me that this is what I wanted to do with my life. I wanted to teach a language. I could make it fun and interesting. I could show my class that languages were exciting and fresh. It didn’t have to be Italian that I taught, which was truly the language of my heart, but it could be French, which was mysterious and alluring and ever-so-much-more marketable. All that mattered is that I taught a language that I enjoyed speaking.

When I had finally crossed that last bridge in college and declared myself a French Education major, I made the vow that I would always remember the impact that teachers like Madame Em and Signora Sé had had on my learning, and I would strive to make learning personal and pertinent to my students as they did. I would ask myself each day if I had been challenging and engaging in my classroom. I would make learning fun yet still impart that work ethic necessary to succeed.