Handprints on their Hearts: An Ode to a Once and Always Teacher

Mary Nacey

 

When my eldest, Ollie, was in 6th grade, just starting middle school, years before the stress of pandemics and lockdowns, he had a choir teacher, Ms. B.  

Ollie wasn’t even sure he WANTED to do choir at the end of 5th grade…he was still in a phase where he didn’t really understand the benefit of a team…he wanted to sing, and he wanted it to be his way.  I talked him into choir because I thought it would be a great lesson…he wasn’t a particularly sporty kid, and teamwork didn’t come easily to him.  This, I thought, would be an amazing opportunity to take something he loved, and show him that teamwork could create powerful things.

I wasn’t wrong. 

Ollie met Ms. B, and was hooked.  Ms. B brought the perfect mix of fun and discipline, of ambition and elation, of high expectations and personal acknowledgement of every student.  It was the joyful cocktail that you want from music.  It was exactly what Ollie needed, and he was sparked like a fire.  Sometimes, possibly without realizing it, Ms. B taught lessons in perseverance and hard work and how music can heal, and in doing so, Ms. B saved Ollie. Ms. B gave Ollie his voice.

After that golden year, it was time for Ms. B to move on: a cross country move, a set of new students to teach, a new adventure to live.  With many tears and best wishes, we sent Ms. B off…we were sorry to see her go, envious of the students who would get to keep her.

We followed Ms. B’s adventures…new students, new family, new music.  Then, last week, in a social media post that made me cry, Ms. B announced that she was leaving education.  She said:  

“I even started to hate music, which has been a constant in my life since I was a kid, and often would rather listen to complete silence than anything else.”


She had lost her passion for music.  It wasn’t just frustration with the system (though that was there too), but the literal loss of one of the deepest loves of her life.  

Ms. B is not the only one; the education system is hemorrhaging teachers.  Not only teachers who are burnt out after dozens of years…teachers who haven’t even reached a full decade of teaching.  Teachers who began with so much passion for their subject matter that it could not be contained, so powerful that it exploded into a desire to share it with children.  Music, reading, history, art, math, science…it’s the same story across the board.  Teachers who come in bursting with joy and optimism are leaving too soon, cynical and jaded, losing not just their desire to teach, but also the joy they once found in their subject matter. 

Teachers deserve to work in an environment that continues to cultivate their passion, not only for their subjects, but also for teaching itself…an environment that fertilizes their passion and encourages their growth as educators and as people.  Instead, they are working in a system that sucks the oxygen out of their passion.  This is where we are with our educational system.

As I said, Ms. B’s announcement made me cry.  I cried because I know what she did for Ollie, and I’m so sorry for the future students who won’t have the absolute joy of having Ms. B as a mentor.  I feel the same about all the fabulous teachers we are losing, though this one cuts deep.  But, as I wrote to Ms. B after I read her announcement, a person has to put on their own oxygen mask before they can help anyone else; a teacher can’t share their passion with students if that passion has been destroyed.

It's on the rest of us now. We need to do better for our teachers.  We need to create environments where their passion for teaching (and their passion for the subjects they teach) are given oxygen and space to bloom and thrive.  This is how we will retain strong teachers, by creating environments that grow their joy rather than extinguish it. 

It won’t change Ms. B’s journey…for now, her priority must be to rediscover her passion for music, and to learn what will bring her joy going forward.  But maybe if we work on nourishing our teachers, we will be able to attract and retain the next batch of mentors for our children - those future Ms. Bs who will save the future Ollies.  

To Ms. B, from Ollie (and all of us): 

“Because I knew you, I have been changed for good.”


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