Taylor Mali
WHAT TEACHERS MAKE (OR, IF THINGS DON’T WORK OUT YOU CAN ALWAYS GO TO LAW SCHOOL)
He says the problem with teachers is
What’s a kid going to learn
from someone who decided his best option in life
was to become a teacher?
He reminds the other dinner guests that it’s true
what they say about teachers:
Those who can, do; those who can’t, teach.
I decide to bite my tongue instead of his
and resist the temptation to remind the dinner guests
that it’s also true what they say about lawyers.
Because we’re eating, after all, and this is polite company.
I mean, you’re a teacher, Taylor.
Be honest. What do you make?
And I wish he hadn’t done that
(asked me to be honest)
because, you see, I have a policy in my classroom
about honesty and ass-kicking:
if you ask for it, then I have to let you have it.
You want to know what I make?
I make kids work harder than they ever thought they could.
I can make a C+ feel like a Congressional Medal of Honor
and an A- feel like a slap in the face.
How dare you waste my time
with anything less than your very best.
I make kids sit through 40 minutes of study hall
in absolute silence. No, you may not work in groups.
No, you may not ask a question, so put your hand down.
Why won’t I let you go to the bathroom?
Because you’re bored.
And you don’t really have to go to the bathroom, do you?
I make parents tremble in fear when I call home:
Hi. This is Mr. Mali. I hope I haven’t called at a bad time,
I just wanted to talk to you about something your son said today.
To the biggest bully in the class, he said,
“Leave the kid alone. I still cry sometimes, don’t you?”
And it was the noblest act of courage I have ever seen.
I make parents see their children for who they are
and what they can be.
You want to know what I make?
I make kids wonder,
I make them question,
I make them criticize.
I make them apologize and mean it.
I make them write, write, write.
And then I make them read.
I make them spell definitely beautiful, definitely beautiful, definitely beautiful
over and over again until they will never misspell
either one of those words again.
I make them show all their work in math
and hide it on their final drafts in English.
I make them understand if you’ve got this [brains],
then you follow this [heart],
and if someone ever tries to judge you
by what you make, you give them this [the finger].
Here, let me break it down for you, so you know what I say is true:
Teachers make a goddamn difference! Now what about you?
–from Rattle #27, Summer 2007
Tribute to Slam Poetry
Tribute to Slam Poetry
Now, I don't agree with every sentiment that Mr. Mali shared in this slam, but I appreciate the overall theme. If I had to say what I make as a teacher, I would say relationships. I would say that I make children know that I care about them. I make them know that I will meet them where they are and that together we will get wherever they are going. I make sure every possible door is open for my students when they leave my care. I also make my students wonder and ask questions. I make them think and analyze. I make opportunities for them to create. I make them express themselves with compassion. I make them listen carefully and observe critically. These are the things I work hard to make every day, and more. I hope I make a difference. That's why I went into this work in the first place. Someone once said that teachers plant seeds and carefully tend to the growth of their charges. Being a gardener, I like that analogy. I just have to have the patience to see the final outcome and see just what a difference I may have made. Luckily, I live in a community where I will have the gift of watching these children grown into adults--I will get the joy of seeing the bit of difference I made in their lives.
Sometimes, in this political climate and at other times, too, it's difficult to remember what I make each day. At these times it's good for me to remember how to count what I make. Teaching in a K-8 school I count what I make by the kind words I hear the middle schoolers express to the first and second graders. I count what I make by watching the older students care for the younger students when they fall and cut their knee on the playground. I count what I make by the little pictures and cut out hearts I find on my desk at the end of the day. I count what I make by the little smile I see when my students leave at the end of the day and say goodnight. I count what I make by the good morning I am greeted with when my students walk in door in the morning and the high fives we share to celebrate their individual victories. I count what I make in the joy that I experience when my students get it for the first time, when their eyes light up and a smile spreads across their faces from the excitement of learning something new. When I count what I make in these ways, I realize I'm showered with blessings every day, and I have a difficult time imagining another job as blessed and important as this one.
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