Every New Year, I resolve to lose 10 pounds, stop swearing and drive the speed limit. My resolve usually lasts until approximately Jan. 2 or the first time I smash a finger or toe, whichever comes first.
This year, however, I’ve decided to accept the 10 pounds, make sure I drive the speed limit in school zones or in front of police officers and limit my swearing to only words with four letters. This frees me up to focus on some new resolutions.
This year I will be a better teacher.
I will dominate the Common Core Curriculum. Every student will respond to every subject in writing, even math problems. Especially math problems.
Under my guidance, parents will see the light and come to embrace this new math because, after all, who doesn’t love spending hours at the kitchen table doing homework with their children? Think of it as spending quality time building memories together.
I will buy a brand new set of markers, the scented ones, and I will use them to make color-coordinated posters immediately after each lesson, choosing colors based on what brain research shows about retaining information. My classroom will be a veritable museum of what we have learned. I will not lend out my scented poster-making markers to students, not even if they plead, “Please, teacher, just the one that smells like grape.” I can’t put my poster-making ability at risk like that.
I will take the time to understand and explain why dividing fractions is the same as multiplying by the reciprocal, and why Pluto is no longer considered a planet.
I will no longer answer questions with, “I’m not sure; can I look it up and get back to you?” or “Because I said so.”
I will come up with the perfect seating chart, the one in which every Spanish-speaker has an English-speaking partner, every struggling reader has a strong reader in the next seat, and every talker is surrounded by quiet people.
I’ll need some more strong readers, English-speakers and quiet people for this to work; perhaps I’ll ask the principal for them in my supply request.
My students will learn to walk in line quietly and correctly. Cows can walk in lines, ducks can swim in a line, fifth-graders should be able to walk in line also, right? Walking in line must be a necessary life skill because schools everywhere focus on it.
I will uphold high standards of appropriate classroom behavior. I will not laugh out loud when fifth-grade boys discover the fun they can have with Uranus jokes and I will keep the giggles out of my voice when correcting a student’s pronunciation of the word “beach” or “sheet.” I will wait until I get home, or at least to my car before laughing.
I will listen to my students more. I know that by the end of a day of me speaking, all they hear is “Muah muah muah muah,” the sound made by Charlie Brown’s teacher on the old TV specials.
No matter how much I dance and sing and bounce around the room, I’m just not that interesting. I will let them talk, let them make discoveries, let them share what they know.
I will let go of the dream of a quiet classroom. I will let them teach me about themselves and the things they know, even life lessons learned from Minecraft.
I will maintain better contact with parents. I will not roll my eyes when they text me at 10 p.m. asking how to add fractions with unlike denominators or why Junior got in a fight a recess or whether tomorrow is a free dress day.
I will cheerfully answer texts and, yes, even phone calls, because parents apparently like the sound of my voice better than their children do. I will smile as I respond because I have worked hard to get them on my team and I don’t want to jeopardize that.
I will remember every day that I am creating my future neighbors. I will think about the type of neighbors I want and I will strive to help my students become those people: motivated, hard-working, kind, diligent, confident and optimistic.
I will laugh with them, be patient with them, push them forward and, hopefully, see the results not only in June but in the years to come.
Come to think of it, it might be easier to just lose 10 pounds.
