Welcome to a small snippet of my time spent at Lesher Middle School in Fort Collins, CO, during my student teaching semester at Colorado State University. I'm writing this on my final day here, and I must say, it is feeling harder and harder to say goodbye. This experience has been so incredibly difficult, as an introvert experiencing this level of interaction for the first time, as a new teacher getting my bearings, as a son losing his father, this past semester has tried me in ways I simply could not have expected. And yet, there remained a certain calm to those small, low-to-the-ground moments which my time at Lesher provided me. These were moments like: looking up from my desk and viewing all of my students creatively engaging their hearts and minds, as they wrote and shared their stories with one another during our daily journal; witnessing the sheer force of what these kids can create, and just how little work I actually had to do to get out of the way and let it happen; small conversations in the office with my colleagues, while grabbing yet another cup of coffee; receiving the most accurate portraits of myself from my most loving students and, slowly, accumulating students works, notes of appreciation, art and more from my students on my small corner bulletin board. These are just a few small moments of the many which remain uncaptured by this portfolio.
It has been my realization that in being a teacher, one ends up being a collector of small moments. Small moments which keep you pushing, small moments which give you--and your teaching--life. Through this experience, I've really begun to learn the value of small moments, of smaller moments and smaller stories. This has been a personal and professional realization, as my research and work as a scholar has begun to attempt to pay attention to the small stories which surround us. One question I seek is: how do we pay attention to storytelling as a local, practically microscopic force which, as a kind of organism, goes on growing, networking, rooting and influencing the ecosystem (the culture; the literary imaginary) in hidden, yet uncovered ways? How does this happen to my heart? As I sit here, reading the notes my students have left me, slowly uncovering the small stories which each of these hold, and discovering the role I came to play--often unknowingly--in their story.
While my work is, for the time being, moving in a different direction and not directly into secondary teaching, I know I will value this experience and hold its echoes for years to come. Perhaps one day I will return to the secondary classroom, but until then, I will remain powerfully moved by the stories I've had the chance to share in, the support I've received, and the relationships I've forged here. I hope to always work towards cultivating that close attention which is practically required for a teacher's survival, and for the elevation of small, life-giving moments, which carry us forward.
It has been my realization that in being a teacher, one ends up being a collector of small moments. Small moments which keep you pushing, small moments which give you--and your teaching--life. Through this experience, I've really begun to learn the value of small moments, of smaller moments and smaller stories. This has been a personal and professional realization, as my research and work as a scholar has begun to attempt to pay attention to the small stories which surround us. One question I seek is: how do we pay attention to storytelling as a local, practically microscopic force which, as a kind of organism, goes on growing, networking, rooting and influencing the ecosystem (the culture; the literary imaginary) in hidden, yet uncovered ways? How does this happen to my heart? As I sit here, reading the notes my students have left me, slowly uncovering the small stories which each of these hold, and discovering the role I came to play--often unknowingly--in their story.
While my work is, for the time being, moving in a different direction and not directly into secondary teaching, I know I will value this experience and hold its echoes for years to come. Perhaps one day I will return to the secondary classroom, but until then, I will remain powerfully moved by the stories I've had the chance to share in, the support I've received, and the relationships I've forged here. I hope to always work towards cultivating that close attention which is practically required for a teacher's survival, and for the elevation of small, life-giving moments, which carry us forward.
