We sometimes talk about “human systems” – the architecture of people who live and work and journey together. We relate to one another through these systems. We function within the hierarchies we put in place. These structures orient where we stand and how we stand. These sociological systems keep our schools functioning. 

How does a student get out of class to go to Counseling? Fill out a pass. Have it signed and countersigned. System.

When does a teacher round up a student’s grade? Check the manual. System.

How do we get to the parking lot during a fire drill? System.

What are the onboarding procedures for our new faculty and staff? System.

Attendance procedures, grading scales, assignment turn-in policies, employee handbooks, you name it, schools have it. They prescribe how cell phones are to be used, where food can be consumed, and how people (students and faculty alike) can dress. Systems and structures abound in school settings. Even those schools that cast themselves as innovative and free, open, and would like to suggest they do not have systems do, in fact, have systems.

All of this is well and just.

However, we sometimes define ourselves and our schools by our systems. Because we normally do good work and our schools function within proven systems, it is hard to recognize when the time has come to shut them down. Because we typically trust the people with whom we have created said systems, we have trust in the systems themselves. Because we often venerate those who came before us in our institutions, we tend to venerate the systems they created right along with them.

We sometimes adhere to systems long after we should for fear of offending someone. We resist updating outmoded policies and procedures because Janney designed them in 2008 and we love Janey.

No one wants to make Janey feel bad.

But that’s not the point, is it? The point is, as our schools move through the years, the systems that looked so shiny, so snappy and so smart when we designed them inevitably show their wear-and-tear.

How many libraries in our schools kept the card catalogs for years longer than necessary? 

How many schools resisted moving to data-driven decision-making processes because the systems they had in place – largely anecdotal, often inaccurate – had worked just fine for years, thank you very much.

How many schools continue to prop up old systems instead of building new ones?

The system is not the person. Break up the system. 

Schools that are forward thinking, ready to adapt and change to meet the needs of today’s students, understand that systems must change even when the people behind them do not change. Schools that do this with facility build into their systems the understanding that they are temporary, that they will become obsolete. This is stated truth and lived fact.

It is often not the people who need to change, it is the system.

Separate the two.

Fight the system.

I have been a high school teacher and administrator for over three decades. Before I was an administrator and my responsibilities required me to work during the summers, I would always find a temporary position with the school to make a little extra money. Teaching summer school, helping build the next year’s academic schedule, managing the bookstore, whatever. Many of my colleagues, however, took jobs outside the school during the summer months.

I seem to remember many of them painting. 

My wife and I have developed a “punch list” of projects around our home that we would like to complete. Because I am who I am, I have taken that list and made it a spreadsheet. It is color-coded checklist, searchable and sortable. On it are small items like “clean under the bathroom vanity” and bigber ones such as “sand and re-stain the deck.” We have been making slow and steady progress through the items and I am well aware of the rush I get when I check things off our list.

Last week, I patched and painted a hallway. 

After the paint dried and I replaced the switch and outlet covers and I pulled off the blue tape (and touched up a few places I missed), I felt a very pleasant sense of accomplishment. I was gratified by doing the work.

I have noted on more than one occasion that the work of an educator rarely feels complete. Teachers move from unit-to-unit and lesson-to-lesson with a seemingly endless process of students. No sooner do you complete one class when four more are waiting. Each concluding assessment leads to a new one. One graduation follows quickly upon another.  

The work of an educator is wonderful, to be sure, but it can feel Sisyphean.

But painting a hallway? Painting a room? Painting a house?

Those particular boulders are not rolling back down the hill.

I think I know why so many of my colleagues enjoyed this kind of work, and why I do, too.

I have presented this poem many times, but the beginning of the school year cries out for its repetition.

I was born the first moment that a question leaped from the mouth of a child.  I have been many people in many places. I am Socrates exciting the youth of Athens to discover new ideas through the use of questions.  I am Anne Sullivan tapping out the secrets of the universe into the outstretched hand of Helen Keller. I am Aesop and Hans Christian Andersen revealing truth through countless stories.  I am Marva Collins fighting for every child’s right to an education. I am Mary McCleod Bethune building a great college for my people. And I am Bel Kaufman struggling to go Up the Down Staircase.

The names of those who have practiced my profession ring like a hall of fame for humanity – Clara Barton, Booker T. Washington, Buddha, Confucius, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Anne Sullivan, Moses, Saint Mother Teresa and Jesus.  I am also those whose names and faces have long been forgotten but whose lessons and character will always be remembered in the accomplishments of their students.

I have wept for joy at the weddings of former students, laughed with glee at the birth of their children and stood with head bowed in grief and confusion by graves dug too soon for bodies far too young.  Throughout the course of a day I have been called upon to be an actor, friend, nurse and doctor, coach, finder of lost articles, money-lender, taxi driver, psychologist, substitute parent, salesman, politician and a keeper of the faith.  Despite the maps, charts, formulas, verbs, stories and books, I have really had nothing to teach; for my students really only have to learn who they are, and I know it takes the whole world to tell you who you are.

I am a paradox.  I speak loudest when I listen most.  My greatest gifts are in what I am appreciatively willing to receive from my students.  Material wealth is not one of my goals, but I am a full-time-treasure-seeker in my quest for new opportunities for my students to use their talents and in my constant search for those talents that sometimes lie buried in self-defeat.

I am the most fortunate of all who labor. A doctor is allowed to usher life into the world in one magic moment. I am allowed to see that life is reborn each day with new questions, ideas and friendships. An architect knows that if he builds with care, his structure may stand for centuries. A teacher knows that if he builds with love and truth, what he builds will last forever.

I am a warrior, daily doing battle against peer pressure, negativity, fear, conformity, prejudice, ignorance and apathy: But I have great allies: Intelligence, Curiosity, Parental Support, Individuality, Creativity, Faith, Love and Laughter all rush to my banner with indomitable support.

And who do I have to thank for this wonderful life I am so fortunate to experience? The parents. For you have done me the great honor to entrust to me your greatest contribution to eternity, your children.

And so I have a past that is rich in memories.

I have a present that is challenging, adventurous and fun because I am allowed to spend my days with the future. 

I am a teacher…and I thank God for it every day.

By John Wayne Schallter, Chicken Soup for the Teacher’s Soul, Chicken Soup for the Soul Publishing, 2012.