I entered the teaching profession so excited, so enthusiastic, so determined to change lives like my senior English teacher had changed mine when I was a student. In my first philosophy of education class in college I wrote about how I wanted to convince students that they could do anything they wanted — just like Mr. Alessio had convinced me. I wanted to look for that spark and fan it into a flame — a passion for learning that would let kids fulfill their dreams.
Then, in a blink of an eye, the reality of a real classroom hit me. I couldn’t believe the audacity of students not caring about each verb conjugation that I had carefully, thoughtfully and creatively prepared for them to memorize, practice and regurgitate. How dare they talk while I was trying to help them? How could they be so disrespectful and unappreciative?
It got worse. Mid way through my first year at my second school, the principal entered my classroom after school one afternoon and sat down. I will never forget his words. He said, “I like you, Skip, and I know you are really trying, but I am getting complaints. If you don’t get a handle on classroom management, I’m afraid I won’t have any choice. I will not be able to renew your contract.”
I was devastated. I was a third-year teacher. I mean, this was my dream job. This was the job that I had discovered was perfect for me after years of searching. My closest confidants had affirmed that I was born to teach. How could this be?
Well, I decided it must be the school’s fault, so I showed them: I left and went to another school. It was a brand new school and a progressive experiment in education that would try standards-based grading, heterogeneous grouping, a strong advisor-advisee group, performance-based pay — a place that valued and encouraged teacher voice. Surely this place would be perfect.
It was a great place, and it still is. The problem was that neither I nor the students had changed. I still expected students to love what I taught as much as I did. I expected them to demonstrate how much they appreciated all my passion, hard work and dedication by paying attention, studying and learning Spanish. Isn’t that what was supposed to happen? My response to their lack of appreciation was further frustration.
In 2003 I went through the national board process, and my worst fears were confirmed: I stunk as a teacher. I failed eight of the nine indicators. The only standard I passed was professionalism: my commitment to the profession.
I hung on another two years but finally came to a horrible conclusion: I either had to change professions or change me. Steve Jobs passed away when he was 56. At age 50 he said the following:
“When I was 17, I read a quote that went something like: ‘If you live each day as if it was your last, someday you’ll most certainly be right.’ It made an impression on me, and since then, for the past 33 years, I have looked in the mirror every morning and asked myself: ‘If today were the last day of my life, would I want to do what I am about to do today?’ And whenever the answer has been ‘No’ for too many days in a row, I know I need to change something.”
I either had to figure out how to be more effective as a teacher, so my students could be more successful as well, or I had to walk away.
Gabe’s story
To explain what happened next, I would like to tell you my son Gabe’s story. From as early as we can remember, Gabe has had four loves: dance, books, music and baseball. The problem is that he was not born an athlete. He had everything else: the passion, attitude, character, spirit.
It was the hitting and catching piece that gave him trouble. He played six years of farm team, and then, when he was 11 ½, he was finally ready to move up to majors level with the rest of his friends. It was a dismal day in March when the rec director and coach told him he just wasn’t good enough to move up.
You see, last year parents were frustrated that the majors team had lost too many games, so they were only moving the best of the best up to majors. Gabe was crushed.
He was so sure he was good. He was angry. It was from that moment on that Gabe made the decision that he would show them. He would do whatever it took to be successful at baseball. And he did. With the help of his mom, he attended every clinic he could find. He worked with the coaches at Bates College, spent hours throwing, catching, running, and in the gym lifting.
As a freshman, Gabe swung varsity, and had a batting average of .369, an on-base percentage of .444 and 30 runs batted in. He made a travel team. He talks today, four years later, about how being told that he was not good enough was the best thing that could have happened to him as a baseball player.
Real comprehension
It took Gabe’s dad much longer in life to learn the powerful lesson of using setbacks and failures to fuel motivation. In 2005, however, I had something to prove just like Gabe did! The mentors who had helped me decide that I was born to be a teacher could not be wrong. That principal’s words motivated me to prove him wrong. I could do this. I wanted to do this.
I had heard about Blaine Ray and his revolutionary new method for teaching second languages. I had tried for a few years to learn about a method called teaching with “comprehensible input” by reading about it and visiting classes that were using it, but I just could not really understand what it was all about or how to do it.
So, on a Thursday morning in Kingfield, Maine, Blaine began by telling us that languages are acquired. They are not learned. Second language acquisition, he insisted, happens by repetitive, comprehensible input. Students hear language they understand, that is highly personalized and of great interest, over and over and over, until they acquire it.
For the first time I really understood how languages were acquired. For years I had insisted that my students memorize endings and grammar rules, while all the time what they really needed was to hear comprehensible, compelling messages over and over.
After Blaine had spent a couple of hours demonstrating the method in German he gave us a reading about the story that we had just done written in German. I could read every word perfectly! I couldn’t believe it. In that instant it was like I was born again. I had a vision for how students could acquire a language and how I could help them.
And there were dozens of people ready to help me. I read every word I could get my hands on, attended every conference I could, including the National Conferences in Missouri, Las Vegas, Dallas and Denver. Slowly but surely I gained skill in delivering comprehensible input to my classes and took on the challenge given by our national organizations to have 90 percent of all instruction time consist of CI.
The same people who helped me learn how to teach with CI also helped me understand effective classroom management. They taught me how to personalize my class and make my kids the center of my curriculum. They taught me about the “love bank” and how crucial it is to make 12 positive deposits before making even one negative withdrawal.
They helped me communicate to my students in powerful ways that I deeply cared about them and that, once my students were convinced of that, they could “learn” anything I wanted to teach them.
In the years that followed, the number of students earning no credit in world language each year went from 30 to 40 to fewer than 5 or 6. Our upper level classes now have 30 to 40 students in them, and we have no feeder program. Students start in ninth grade.
Giving back
Two years ago Gabe wanted to give back. Gabe asked the Poland recreation director if he could work with the tee ball kids. He has now been working with the same kiddos for three years.
I have to say that, though it has been wonderful to see my students become more successful in their journey to speak a second language, it has been the giving back that has been most gratifying.
You see, very soon after discovering CI, I became driven to help other teachers learn about the method and the hope it offers. In 2005 I invited Blaine Ray to Maine again. Since then I have invited people from all over the U.S. to Maine each year to help teachers in this state, New England and beyond improve their skills and teaching.
The conference has grown from 30 teachers to more than 140 last year. In addition I started a peer coaching group in which teachers from all over Maine meet three to four times a year to practice in front of other teachers they trust for constructive input and feedback.
In addition, I have been able to have 10 to 12 teachers a year come and observe my classroom and chat about what I do in my classroom and how students learn. The next step of my growth journey is national board certification. I am all signed up and ready.
I’ll close by asking why teachers often hesitate to ask for help. Why did I wait so long before asking for the help I needed? Why are we so reluctant to be transparent and vulnerable? Why have I been so reluctant to share this story? Why is it that we teachers are so guarded in letting others see our classrooms and often feel the need to make excuses for why they cannot be seen?
If we are to not merely survive but grow and excel as teachers — and as a profession — and become the very best that we can possibly be for our students, we will need the non-judgemental, positive input, nurturing support and encouragement of each other. We must embrace a “growth mindset” and change the nature of the questions we ask. Instead of asking what we are doing wrong we must constantly be asking what we are learning in our current situation and what risks we have to take — just as we encourage our students to do.
We must view our teaching journey as evolution rather than revolution, welcome roadblocks and setbacks as motivation to improve and grow. As Brené Brown says in her work on vulnerability, we must lean into our vulnerability and embrace the strength and change that comes with it.
It happened to me. I hope that it has happened to others. Our profession needs it. Our students deserve it.
Skip Crosby, a Spanish teacher at Poland Regional High School, is the 2014 Androscoggin County Teacher of the Year and the 2015 Maine Foreign Language Teacher of the Year. This piece is based off a speech he gave at the Elevating and Celebrating Effective Teaching and Teachers (ECET2) summit at Colby College in Waterville this summer.