THE BREASTSTROKE (A REFLECTION ON THE 2019-2020 SCHOOL YEAR)
The last time I went into a swimming pool, I did my usual routine. I’d put my full right foot in, slowly lean with my left foot, and draft full body into the water. I’d wait a few minutes before doing an accelerated vertical drop so as to wet my shoulders and head. I wasn’t afraid, but the thought of the few seconds of instantaneous chill running through my neck gave me pause. The second thought of not actually immersing myself in the water was worse, and so I dove.
That’s how my school year went.
I never once doubted I could swim, um, teach, but depending on the day, people confused me dipping before the eventual pull-up for me drowning. Oh, I’m gonna get an “ineffective” on planning lessons? Cool. I’m gonna get a developing on a few other dimensions? Cool. Oh, people are secretly trying to humble someone who’s already humble? Cool. People are mad because kids swear by my pedagogy in times when no one else is visible? OK. Got a follow-up observation the day after Christmas break when all the kids weren’t even back yet? Alright. I’m still not that professional even as I’m moving students to their classes in my free time, spending after-school hours with students, and supporting colleagues who otherwise don’t feel supported? Cool.
Lessons cycle back into my circumference. I already went through a teacher improvement plan and thought I’d be emancipated from that treachery. In moments of reflection during the snowy CONTINUE READING: The Breaststroke (A Reflection on the 2019-2020 School Year) | The Jose Vilson