mary van milligen

A colleague emailed my English department this summer informing us about an Illinois Writing Project program that teamed with the Chicago Sun Times to give teachers a platform and address an issue that he or she felt was problematic within the public education system.   After reading this, I felt compelled to take advantage of the opportunity.

Instead of narrating the typical list of flaws and bureaucratic issues that sometimes infect a school, I decide to zero in on the beautiful displays of learning and kindness that develop within the calming blue walls of my classroom and establish a positive tone. As the piece progresses, I subtly argue that too often we don’t necessarily focus or acknowledge the importance of the human side of instruction.  I essentially state that I feel that one of the strongest communicative skills that we need to teach, empathy, cannot be assessed on a standardized test.

After a few editing emails between me and the Illinois Writing Project director, Steve Zemelman, and approval from my principal, my piece was submitted to the Sun Times.  Last week I received communication explaining that the Sun Times editor liked the piece, but he didn’t feel it touched upon a big issue occurring in education.  I was asked to alter it some more, but as I reflected on the piece, my intuition prohibited me from creating more edits. I realized that my voice would no longer belong to me-my points would become another redundant message that appears to be falling on deaf ears.  I have much reverence for editors and their work, my husband was an editor for 15 years, but in this case, I wholeheartedly chose not to alter the piece for a few reasons.  1.  It’s an authentic lens into my classroom. 2.  After 18 years of teaching, I think the content does reflect a major trend we unfortunately observe in our schools that centers on anxiety and depression, and 3.  I want to display why so many of us chose to teach and be newsworthy as a teacher for all the right reasons, not for a blatant political agenda or an inappropriate choice.  And most importantly, I want people to understand that public education has many faces, specifically one that confidently looks in the mirror.

So, here’s my piece that wasn’t alluring enough for that particular audience. I hope you enjoy the reflection.

In spring of 2013, I eagerly waited for my department. chair to post the tentative schedule for the following school year.  Every seasoned teacher recognizes that this is a crucial moment.   In an academic sense, this initiates the churning of lesson plans and the creation of unit calendars, but there’s another part others may not realize, because teaching involves such a crazy schedule.  1. You begin to think of your meal plans for the year.  Meaning, if you’re scheduled to have lunch during third period which begins at 9am, you’re going to pack an afternoon snack and 2.  You get to pre-determine the best time for bathroom breaks.

When I saw the chair surreptitiously post the excel spreadsheet of course schedules on the side of a nearby filing cabinet, I approached it, and I scanned the document to see how the following year would unfold.   During first semester, I would continue to teach 20th Century Literature, and I would also tackle a new class for me titled Composition and Communication.  Then, I looked at the second semester schedule and tensed up a little.  I saw that I was scheduled to teach Poetry.  Poetry?!?

I’ve written poetry as a hobby, but to teach Poetry, I didn’t think this was the right course for me. I would never achieve the iconic status of Mr. Keating from Dead Poets Society.  I didn’t possess a rehearsed script embedded with perfectly timed crescendos of music whenever I blurted out a metaphorical epiphany to entice my students.  I also didn’t want to stifle students and ruin this beautiful art form in some way.  Beyond that, my Poetry course was 1st period.  Teaching second semester seniors during first period is like playing the opening act for The Rolling Stones.  No one cares; they just want the main attraction.

However, a few weeks into the course, something beautiful ignited. I routinely pushed the important academic skills, but also allowed the humanness of the subject material prevail.  Within a matter of days, the class began to pour their struggles into poetry.  One student unveiled her tormented spirit regarding her relationship with her mother into her stanzas.  Then, another student allowed the rhythm and rhyme to voice her ongoing struggles with dyslexia.  Poem by poem, the stories of charitable acts, drug addiction, mental disorders, nostalgia, and hopes began to fill their blank pages. I found myself honored to share the reflective journeys of these students.  In a time when anxiety and pressure seep into our culture minute by minute, the class realized that there is never isolation in struggle, and experienced honesty in a safe environment- a lesson obviously transferrable to life.

In the winter of 2015, I learned that my former high school Health and Consumer Economics teachers’ daughter, Megan, was shockingly diagnosed with stage 4 alveolar rhabdomyosarcoma cancer. I adored these influential educators and yearned to do something for this family. I decided my class would help me fulfill that need, and they excitedly extended their community of compassion towards a girl they had never even met.  During the next week, my students created and workshopped similes that represented joy and sadness, brought in supplies to decorate posters, and recruited a media student to film the project.  Both senders and receiver of this gift walked away with hope.  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nS_txLBLFQU

In poetry class, I taught them a way to cope. I taught them empathy. I taught them poetry. They taught me perspective. Although these lessons cannot be measured with a timed test, knowledge like this will stand the test of time – and could benefit students everywhere.