A Story of Inches and Opportunity in Teaching and Learning

As a teacher educator, I consistently find myself pulling from my experiences as a kid growing-up in inner-city Cleveland.  For instance, I tell my students (many of whom come from suburban/middle-class households) how obscure and abstract getting a college education was for me in high school.  Sure, I heard people on television and teachers talking about the importance of going to college but they might as well have been talking about the importance of buying a BMW.  No one on my street or in my house had ever gone to college, in fact, most people never even graduated from high school.  I knew no one outside of school with a college degree, and almost everyone I hung out with couldn't dream of punishing themselves with two yet along four more years of school after high school.  Yet, these same people (without the B.S., M.A., Ed., PhD, etc.) were some of the brightest and most passionate people I've known.  You learn by what’s closest to you, and a college education was right next to winning the lottery for me and for far too many U.S. youth.  

Interestingly enough, I did graduate with a college education and I have spent most of my career advocating for the importance of education. However, in retrospect, I was inches away on many different occasions from falling prey to dropping out of high school- like so many friends and family members.  I frequently tell my students a story of one of those instances when I was saved by an unlikely hero- a local university student doing his student teaching at our urban high school.  I tell my university students (who are all preparing to become teachers) this story before they head out in local schools to work with middle and high school students.  My goal in telling my university students this story is for them to understand that what they do and don’t do when placed in area schools matters.  I want my students to actively seek out opportunities, however small, to make a difference in the lives of children. Since my university students are themselves still in school, and most are in their early twenties, there’s a unique opportunity for them to build a rapport and relationship with their students. It should be noted that my university students bring with them a fresh set of eyes, helpful hands, and naive optimism that may give middle/high school students the extra-opportunities, supports, and inches they need to be successful.

My Story: An Inch Away

I was a naive freshman experiencing the first week of classes at a brand new high school.  In many regards, I was not an ideal student.  As I entered high school, I was one of those middle school students that just managed to get by in my classes.  I learned quickly in the first week of class how important it was to make friends and “fit-in”- after all, high school is one big popularity contest.  After my second period class, a few students I went to middle school with came over and asked if I wanted to skip school with them.  Not having too many friends and knowing how important it was to fit-in, I agreed.  We plotted our escape past the school’s security guards, and low and behold the next thing I knew I’m running out of the school’s backdoor and towards the parking lot.  Once outside of the school, we agreed to walk one street over to go hide behind a small convenient store.  Ironically enough, once we got back there, and all breathed a sigh of relief, a gang of teens immediately walked over and pulled a knife on us, demanding we hand over our wallets.  Fight or flight kicked-in and I immediately dashed away from the thugs and back towards my high school. 

I remember I ran to the back entrance of the school that we initially dashed out of in hopes that I could sneak back-in during the shuffle between class periods. However, this wasn't possible, as a school security officer was standing right in the door way! I was done for and started to think of other places I could go (i.e. the park, hide in the basement, hang out by the football field, etc.).  I wish I had never agreed to skip class, and I truly wanted to go back inside of school, but I didn't want to get caught by the school’s security guard- which would have certainly led to a suspension and getting yelled at by my parents.  Knowing that I couldn't get back into the school, I walked a few inches away from the school’s backdoor, and then it happened.

Actual Backdoor of My Old High School

A student teacher from a local university was entering through the back entrance of the school to complete hours for his student teaching experience.  As I walked away, this young man yelled over, “hey, kid, where are you going?”  Since he seemed cool and close to my age, I told him the predicament that I was in… that I really wanted to go back to class and that this whole thing was a mistake… I told him that I messed-up but that it was too late and now I have nowhere to go.   In a single act of courage, and in words that I’ll never forget, the young college student said, “follow me.”  He grabbed my arm, walked me passed the attentive security guard, and finally into my fifth period class.  As soon as we walked in, this name-less college student yelled over to my fifth period teacher, “he was with me.”  I ran to my seat with a whole new outlook on school.   This university student- who wanted to become a teacher- gave me a second a chance. 

In the end, all of these inches add-up to yards, miles, diplomas, Phds, books, and blogs.  For all those teachers and student teachers fighting to give our youth those extra-inches and opportunities, Thank You.

Teachers Matter: From a Forever Grateful Student

I want to start this post by saying something teachers don’t hear enough of, that teachers  matter.  This message of hope is clouded in the realities of standardization, high stakes assessments, program disinvestment and teacher accountability.  How do I know that teachers matter? I know because they showed me so. 
 

Growing up my dad, mother, and three siblings lived in the upstairs of my grandma’s house on West 117^th and Lorain in Cleveland. My mom was unable to work, and my dad fought everyday to keep what we had.  For middle school, I attended Cleveland’s Carl F. Shuler and later Wilbur Wright Middle School.  At both schools, I was frequently absent and really didn't "like" school.  Of course, this reflected poorly and I didn’t do well academically.  No one in my family ever graduated from college, and both my older brother and younger sister would latter drop out of school all together (even though I couldn't be prouder of them and both would latter go back for their GED).  Where I lived, I knew no one with a college degree as very few people even graduated from high school.  

 

With the odds stacked against millions of youth in low-income households, again, I want to reiterate teachers matter. As a high school student at John Marshall High School, I was put on the “let’s hope and pray this kid graduates track”, as I still struggled with attendance.   Marshall required students to take at least one year of foreign language.  I remembered my older brother saying something about a “cool” tattooed French teacher he had, and I decided to take French over the alternative Spanish course.   On the first day of French class, I walked in and behold it wasn’t the “cool” teacher my brother had described.  This teacher had no tattoos and was very organized.  Mrs. Rae (the instructor) had placed name tags on the desk for every student. Mind you, there were over thirty kids in this one class. In fact, throughout the entire first day of class she actually called us by our first name.  This was quite an accomplishment as most of my classes were large (think kids sitting on tables and heating fixtures large), and you could tell that most teachers were just trying to survive on the first day.   But Mrs. Rae seemed uncannily calm, collected, and reassuring.  While it was clear the course was going to be tough, she kept reiterating how she was going to be there with us every step of the way. 
 

In all honestly, I wasn’t a spectacular student in her class. She sat me in the front near her desk, and I frequently found myself dazing out. It was almost as if she was speaking a foreign language at times.  I remember her calling on me during one class, and trying so hard not to mess up the pronunciation of “Comment tally vous”.  But of course, I butchered the phrase and everyone laughed.  Later that night, I received one of the most surprising yet important phone calls of my life.  I remember the phone ringing and my mom saying, “Ohh really. Wow, thank you for telling me and this is good news.  Do you want to talk to Brad?”  My mom passed me the phone, and as to my surprise it was Mrs. Rae.  “Brad, I just wanted to call to let you and your mom know that you’re doing a wonderful job in class. I’ll see you tomorrow.”  My breath had been taken away and I was stunned. Why didn’t she talk about my frequent absences, her having to move my seat next to her desk, or my poor performance in class?

 

Later on in life, I would learn it was because Mrs. Rae knew I had been told my whole life what I wouldn’t or couldn’t do but she wanted to let me and my family to know what I could do.  To her, that phone call was an investment.  It was an opportunity for her to say, “hey Brad, you matter and can do anything you put your mind to”.   After that phone call I tried- I tried like hell to do better in her class. But, the subject just didn’t come easy for me and I was definitely outshined by others in the class. My attendance was a little bit better, and I found myself going the extra-mile to meet with Mrs. Rae before and after class to get help on assignments.  She knew I was struggling in class, and throughout our conversations she learned more about me, my family, and the challenges we faced. 
 

I know that teachers matter and they can open the world to their students.  On May 19th, 1998, during the homeroom announcements, the school’s principal announced the names of school-wide award recipients.  These awards were given to the really smart kids for highest GPA, most likely to succeed, student of the year, and in other areas.  Needless to say, during this announcement I zoned out and paid little attention.  However, I’ll never forget when the school’s principal read “French student of the year, Brad Maguth”. What? No Way?  I was shocked, my friends were shocked, and yes, so was my homeroom teacher. I knew that this had to be a mistake or some sort of cruel prank.   After homeroom, I went to Mrs. Rae’s class to see what was going on.

Mrs. Rae congratulated me, and said that I was most deserving of the award. She said that I had demonstrated the most progress throughout the year, and that she was so proud of me. She also wanted me to know that the award came with a $100 reward.  She handed me a check for $100 dollars.  This check had her name, personal address, and signature on it.  I would later use this check for my university housing deposit.
 

 

I never asked Mrs. Rae why me, as I didn’t want her to say it was out of sympathy for me or my family’s struggle.  I’ve thought about this question “why me?” for a while now and it’s traveled with me throughout my entire professional career (to NYC, London, and Beijing).   I’m still unclear as to the answer, but I do know that Mrs. Rae changed my life.  Even though I wasn’t the most academically qualified or talented, she believed in me. While there were students with better grades and who performed better in class, she knew this little award could be my big break.  Thank you, Mrs. Rae for investing in me- at a time when no one, not even I, saw potential. 

Despite my poor academic track record and my inconsistent classroom performance, this teacher invested her time, per patience, her money, and her sense of promise within me.  This teacher mattered, and I’ve carried and will carry that investment with me forever.