Selling Out and Settling In: ideals undone by flying crayons

My main goal upon graduating from college and becoming a teacher was to remain true to my ideals. I would keep wearing my pig tails. I would not sell out. I would not conform.

That brings me to the story of the crayons:
For the first two years of my teaching, I avoided all activities involving crayons because I dreaded the inevitable moment when a majenta or burnt orange would wiz across the room at an innocent student's head. I would swear off crayons once again. My students are 12 years old. Of course they know better. What was going on?
       
My third year teaching, I tried an experiment. I made a crayon class rule.A crayon proclamation: "Please don't tear up or throw the crayons. It is scary to have a crayon thrown at your head, and it is disruptive. Use them to write with, and when you are finished with them, put them back in the box." I say that every time we use crayons.

It seems crazy, but, no one throws crayons in my class anymore. Problem solved.
       
Recently, a writer from my home town featured my class in a story in his new book Want to Make Me a Sandwich. Quist narrates his visit to read his story to my class. I was thrilled to be in a book (the first time I've been a character) but I was at first a little disappointed in my description. I was a fuddy duddy. In the story, I give looks to children when their questions get to personal. I have eyes that hush comments when hands aren't raised.  I'm not at all the carefree, cool, cutting-edge teacher I fancied myself. Not the Alfie Kohn constructivist I vowed to be in college. "I'm not cool?," I reflected.
         
I'm not cool. I have a rule about crayons. I'm pretty sure that means I have both conformed and sold out.I even have a what to do with your pencil shavings rule. A how to knock on the door if you come in late because I have locked you out rule. A nod your head at the teacher and look at her so she thinks you are listening and likes you rule.

Additionally, the number of days I wear pig tails is on the decline and along with, it seems, my convictions. I am conforming and forcing my students to conform.What happened to the class I dreamed of where we all sit where we please, probably on top of desks and discuss literature, create memoir, learn for the sake of learning? I remember my gag reflex each time a veteran teacher offered to loan me a copy of Harry Wong's The First Days of School . They explained how it changed their lives. To me, the book was everything that school shouldn't be. It was a step by step guide of what to say. It was old-school.

I was totally wrong. Harry Wong is on to something.  The chaos of my first year teaching was proof enough. I didn't want to compromise my values. Learning should be about inquiry. Teaching should be individualized. Classrooms should be about relationship. You can find books to back up all of those theories (because they are right) but what you don't find is someone to tell you when to sell out. Millions of teachers have to learn that on their own, and the lucky ones get the hang of it before they burn out. The most idealistic among us, I think, are the most at risk of being heartfelt, do-gooder, crappy teachers.
       
It is in this little bit of selling out that I have been able to settle in as a teacher and remain true to my mission: teaching. Structure allows kids to enjoy learning.  Now, kids read novels and news rather than throw crayons. Kid's learn to be successful in school: an environment often very different from their home life. I tell the kids upfront that some  rules are stupid, but we have to learn to adapt because that is life. There are too many of us in the classroom to run around or shout out. We all get to feel safe and comfy because of rules. That is teaching democracy. Those rules allow me to teach with inquiry, for my class to discuss, to write memoir. They allow me the time to individualize instruction.

I guess I've grown to be proud of adding a little fuddy-duddy to my teaching style. I guess I hope I continue to sell out, or as I see it now, remain willing to adapt, learn and grow.