Type the words “teachers quit” into Google and see what comes up. If the world’s most-used search engine is at all consistent with its algorithms (and that’s a big “if”), you’ll find the first result shows the phrase “after five years” following closely behind.
To anyone involved in education, the fact that half the profession either commits or bails within half a decade is old news. As an undergraduate, I received that message from my father, but opted, somewhat haphazardly, to stay on track anyway. Now, six years in, with two run-of-the-mill degrees under my belt, I’ve been reflecting on what’s often described as an ominous, “you’re in or you’re out” decision. And if you’re currently wondering why a 29-year-old would choose to endure amid the current climate, allow me to explain myself.
I work at a boarding school. You don’t even have to tell me what you’re thinking, because I’ve heard the same reactions since my career began: Is it like Hogwarts? Are the kids snobs? What’s squash? I bet everyone’s rich.
The first two questions probably come from movies depicting this educational model, while the third gets asked when I bring up the only sport capable of satisfying a former Division III backup wide receiver’s need for healthy competition. But the final statement is one that always makes me pause.
Are the kids really all sons and daughters of CEOs, destined to become movie stars and powerful politicians? In some instances, that’s actually the case. For many other students, I’m sure it isn’t. Incivility aside, the haughty assumption about my students’ socioeconomic backgrounds sometimes implies an underlying belief that these kids simply have it made in terms of academic success, college matriculation, and future career prospects, regardless of how hard they try. You can rest assured that isn’t true. And this returns me to my explanation.
I chose to remain in education after the dreaded five-year mark because the talented spectrum of students I’ve worked with gives me hope. While the sample size is admittedly small, my experiences provide numerous examples that demand positivity in the face of these tired presumptions. As someone who’s written op-eds in slightly despairing tones, I’ve read all the research about how kids today can’t read, write, or reason as well as they used to, that they’re anxious, depressed, and addicted to their technology, and on and on. Do I ignore these problems? Absolutely not. They’re ubiquitous, and responsible educators at private and public schools alike need to take them seriously.
But I also can’t ignore the freshman girl who already writes with conviction, crafting fundamentally sound sentences filled with strong nouns and verbs. I can’t close my ears to the saxophone player running scales at 9:00 p.m. after a full day of classes and soccer practice. I can’t miss the cornerback who comes to practice, rain or shine, because he plays purely for the love of football, with all the bombastic political glamour of ESPN pushed out of mind. We rarely play under bright lights anyway.
So, if you find yourself, at the beginning of yet another academic year, brooding over the failing state of U.S. education or our nation’s youth in general, keep your chin up. Good, hard-working kids still exist. I work in an environment that lets me see them every day. Some are wealthy and some are not. But if they take advantage of the opportunities in front of them, I wonder if it should matter after all.
Michael O’Keefe is a boarding school English teacher and football coach. A native New Englander, he has worked in both northeast Ohio and the Mid-Atlantic region for the last five years.
