But towards the middle of the decade we started to learn about the detriments of secondhand smoking. My age would correspond with the stage of schooling when students were introduced to the dangers of cigarettes and alcohol. But secondhand smoking was a new thing. Through science, the narrative around secondhand smoking wafted from arbitrary to objective. My sixth grade classroom learned how bad it was simply to be around people when they were smoking cigarettes. By the time I entered eighth grade, my parents no longer had the option of telling the hostess which section they would like to be seated in. Smoking sections in public places like restaurants had vanished.

There is no question that education has an impact on culture. Like any institution, its outturn is able to lean upon and dent society. The question that requires a deeper mediation is whether or not education can change culture and society. 

Because culture and society cyclically inform each other, Education becomes the conduit for learning about both. School, then, is the site we individual members of a culture learn, both implicitly and explicitly, about the very culture they exist in. 

We should be asking ourselves, What is the purpose of education? Is its most essential aim to promote happiness? Or ought a child’s learning be absolutely tethered to their experience and the practical applications that evolve in between the continuum of survival and thriving? Regardless of which aim we lean towards, one thing is for sure: Education, in part, is a preparation for something. 

Ultimately, educators must teach citizens to be aware. Aware of their experience, of history, of reality, of what knowledge is objective and what is subjective. One purpose of education is to foster, within its students, an awareness of the culture and society they live in. Then, when we understand the elements that are most important to education we can insist that, at its core, a vital aim of it is to foster a capacity to prepare for and seek out a just culture. That is how education was utilized to make smoking indoors taboo. Because the purpose of education is inextricably tied to freedom, education can not only change culture, it is responsible for changing culture. The question remains: Is it doing a good job? 

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I stopped waking Mom up at the start of grade five when it would happen. She explained to the doctor that I was still doing it. He told her to limit my pop and gatorade. I wanted to tell him that I only drank pop at birthday parties and gatorade when my dad would stop at 7-11 after my baseball games. But I more wanted to evaporate into specks of dust right on that doctor’s table, so I didn’t tell him anything. The doctor explained that my bladder was overgrown. That it was too big for my age and that I simply had to wait for my body to catch up. Out of my control, really. That’s how I heard it, at least.

I developed a routine whenever it did happen after that. Something I could control. Sheets to the laundry pile. One towel laid on the spot. New sheets from the hallway closet onto the floor beside the bed. Lay on the dry side. Try to fall back to sleep. Without any feelings. No shame. Please no, guilt. Do all this in the darkness. Make the bed in the morning. Another day.

By grade seven it had reached a full stop. The warning signs became easier to read. Fighting with a maze of steps or turns or twists was a dead giveaway. The overactiveness probably slowed down too. My body caught up to me. Control of it was like looking up and finding the sun. So routine that it barely becomes a thought. Something that just happened. High in the sky. Again.

I knew before everybody. I was the most awake out of all of our family when Mom went to the hospital and never came out. This was a few years before Pops would need to be admitted. I learned then what the body does when it decides to give in. It runs ahead, forcing the person to now catch up. I noticed it in him slowly. He used to shoo the dog away when Blue would beg for food off his plate. A few years later he would leave her the bones with hefty chunks of meat and cartilage left around the knuckles. Towards the end he would rest his plate on the bottom shelf of the coffee table, letting Blue devour the dinner he barely touched. When she finished his food he would bring his plate back to the top of the table. He caught me watching him do this once. “It was just the scraps,” he said. His eyes pleaded with me. They were almost wet. I felt so sorry.

We buried him in the brown suit he wore to my cousin’s wedding back when I was still in college. I remember the photos of him in that suit on that day more than I remember that actual wedding. After a while, remembering the photos becomes a part of remembering the person. The remembering becomes a part of stretching out to hold on. A routine that becomes shorter and shorter and shorter everytime it happens. From being able to hold and touch someone to clenching onto memories happens in the blink of an eye. 

I knew something wasn’t right even before I woke up. My phone was on silent so it never rang, just buzzed. And buzzed. When the light started to peek through the morning clouds I heard it vibrating on my bedside table. Over and over. 

Thirteen missed calls. A dozen messages. All before eight in the morning. I scrolled down, the overlap of particular contacts connected one person and one person only. Only Jay would be privy and familiar with this select circle of work friends, friends friends, and family friends. Something bad had happened. My thoughts immediately drifted to a car accident. Or maybe a late night charge while driving, a brief slip in judgement. Everything would be the same. That’s what I told myself, at least.

Fellas he’s gone. I sat up after reading that text. All there was to do was stare at my phone. For two minutes or five minutes or ten minutes. What?? I waited two or five minutes, no response. When Batch picked up my call he spoke like he had sand in his throat. Jay’s gone. What are you talking about? He’s dead. What? He couldn’t breathe and stopped near a gas station. And? By the time the ambulance brought him to the emergency unit it was already too late. No. Please, no. You should come to the hospital. I could hear him trying to swallow the whole shore. Outside the window off my balcony the sun looked directly over the lake.

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Disclaimer: I’m not the best teacher. I’ve seen people do work a lot better than me. I’m not the most effective, nor the most organized, nor the most cutting edge. I have so many flaws. But I am good at a few things. And one is detecting racism. And making sure that it’s called out when it happens.

That gets difficult when I become the target of racism. 

[Reader, I am going to walk you through this one, okay? Starting with the title, “Target on my Black,” which I think you’ll find is an astute metaphor for the fuckery that I experienced on this day.]

I heard from three former students, on separate occasions, about their excitement for the upcoming volleyball season and their anxiety around their very first home game of the year. They were now in high school and had made their junior team. I looked at my calendar and fortunately had some time on the day of their game. So I mentioned to each of them that I’d try to come support. Support, you know–the thing that propels youth and community forward? Yeah, that thing.

I arrived at the school maybe forty minutes after the school had let out for the day. Coincidentally running into these students in the hallway less than a minute after entering the building. We laughed at how nearly their entire team was comprised of students from our old school. 

I wished them good luck as they left to warm up.

Who knew I’d be the one needing it? 

Less than a minute later, I ran into some more former students. We talked, I asked them about their grades, they lied, I told them to make sure they were going to class. They nodded. We dapped. I left.

By the time I made it to the gym doors, two adults––a white lady and a south asian female––were peeking through the glass, trying to get in. “Y’all here to watch the game too?” I asked.

“Yup, the guy…he’s on the other side of the gym. He doesn’t see us.” The white lady responded. She was referring to a hall monitor inside. 

“Are you here for the Home team kids or the Away team?” I continued, confident enough that at some point all three of us adults standing here would eventually get into the gym.

“Away,” the white lady said. “My daughter is playing right now.”

“How about you?” I asked the other woman standing there, quietly watching.

“The Home team,” she said. “I’m here to watch my sister…I actually came to this school.” 

“Me too,” I said. “Yeah, I teach at the middle school down the road. A few of my former students are on this team.”

“Oh, wow, I went there too,” she said. She looked at me like she wanted to ask me more questions but before she could the gym door swung open.

“Mr. Morris! How you doing?” another former student said as she exited the gym. “Angel! What’s good? Where are you going? Aren’t you on the team?” I said. 

“Yeah, I am. But I have work. Gotta’ make that bread, juhknow?” 

I laughed as she skirted past all three of us and down the hall. The three of us walked in and went our separate ways, but not too far from each other. Maybe fifteen feet. That’s probably because the bleachers were yellow-taped off so there wasn’t anywhere to sit. There were less than a handful of adults in the gym who weren’t the teacher-coaches from the two schools. Me being one of them. 

The senior teams of the two schools were going into the third set. A few more students who I had taught turned around on their team bench to nod hello. 

[I know, I know. Trust me, I’m getting to the point. But a part of the point is the amount of students in this space whom I clearly had a relationship of familiarity with…]

While they were huddled up preparing for the tie-breaker I walked over to the junior team to chat. You know. That whole support thing. After two minutes or so, I was back holding the same spot where I had been standing for the previous fifteen minutes. Right beside the doors we came in, out of everyone’s way. 

[Right here is where the only objective defense that I will acknowledge. You could argue that by walking over I had made myself known. Hence why what was about to happen, happened. I would argue, doesn’t going over there and talking to the entire team indicate that clearly I had some form of relationship with them?] 

Ten minutes after that was when the bullshit started. A coach from the home school walked up to me. “Hi, ugh..” he stuttered, unsure of exactly what to ask me. “Ugh, who are you?” He finally spit out.

“Hi,” I said with a smile, “I’m Matthew Morris.” I mean, he asked me who I was. And even though I knew what he insinuated I still wanted to make him be as direct as possible with the racism he was about to project. 

“Uh, yeah. Um, but but how come, why are you here?” He asked, even more unsure of how to precisely frame my estrangement from every other person in that space. He didn’t know how exactly to tell me that I looked like someone who didn’t belong. How to tell me that I ought to prove myself. How to let me know that I needed to defend my presence in a high school gym at a high school game even after demonstrating a clear relationship with a bunch of high school students. 

“So, I taught at the school down the road and a few of my former students told me about their first game. They asked me to come. That’s why I’m here.” I said, flashing a brief smile again. Thinking that this would aid him in forming a rational, logical, contextual, and sound conclusion that answered any of his future questions. “Yeah, so we’re colleagues.” I said, just to add a little extra seasoning and reasoning.

Unfortunately, you and I know that racism somehow always bends around reason. Slips through cognition. Get passed sound judgment. 

He walked back over to his team bench. To where his other coaches were sitting. To speak to his colleagues. He bent over to speak with a white guy sitting at the end. He walked back to me. Instead of just sitting his bitch-ass on the bench, he walked back over to me. I laughed to myself. Knowing that the bullshit clearly wasn’t over. 

“Yeah, so there are no spectators for this game.” He said, this time with an iota of added surety. “I can see that.” I said, now intent on making this guy stand in his not-so-subtle racism. 

[I hope that you can see how this interaction is completely racist without me having to explicitly explain why. But if not, this next part should make it clear as day.]

He stood there, too timid to actually make eye contact with the person he was telling to leave. Maybe, as public discourse would tell you, because I am Black I am threatening by default. I find it interesting how Black men can be simultaneously threatening yet feeble enough to be approached for no ostensible reason.

“But, I’m not really a spectator. Like I said, I’m a teacher. Who taught these students…literally your entire junior team. I’m just here to support them.” I said. “And…we’re colleagues.” I let my facial expression say, do you get it now?

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry,” he said. He was lying. We both knew he wasn’t sorry at all.

“So what about them?” I pointed to the two females I came in with. “Are you also going to ask them to leave?” I asked.

“No, parents can stay.” He said.

He told me this without having once spoken with either of these other adults. No clue who they were or where they came from. It was simply unspoken, I guess, that they were allowed and I was not. It was simply unspoken that the other adults, by disposition and appearance were validated while I was not. It was simply understood that these other visitors were verified in the space; they belonged and it somehow made sense for them to be in the gym. They naturally fit in. I was unnatural to the environment. 

Even after telling him that I was there to support former students. For students who asked me to be there. There because I am an employee of the Board that school belongs to. Belonging even more so because I was also once a high school student at that school.  

I didn’t even bother to mention that. That I could show them my photo on the wall made no difference. They already could not see the racist intent behind their actions from the very beginning of the encounter. Yet another example of having a target on my Black. 

[The worst part about anti-Black racist acts is that they are typically so overtly racist that it almost, counterintuitively, becomes easier to shrug them off by simply saying, “that wasn’t racist.” 

In education, racism is often couched in student safety, a position those non-Black folk would have undoubtedly stood on that day if I pointed out their racism.

What’s worse is that the man who came up to me doesn’t even realize the racism he was subjected to by being asked to validate my existence in that space. Him being a marginalized man; he didn’t even take in the subliminal racism he was subjected to by being told by a white man to go see why that Black man is here… Or maybe he did, which is just as disgusting.]

I should let you know…I did end up watching that game. And supporting my students.

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“I tell my own son, ‘them things are for bed or inside the home,’” he said. “‘I don’t want to see you with that on your head outside in public.’” He spoke about preparing Black students for their future and holding them accountable for how they dressed. 

“I hear you,” I said. I did hear him. Here we were. Two Black men talking about ways to help Black boys become Black kings. “But I see it differently,” I continued. 

The truth is: Not only do I disagree; but I see it as a form of anti-Black racism and the opposite of culturally responsive pedagogy. Instances like this, however casual, are forms of culturally not-so responsive pedagogy. I have a problem with any infringement on Black students representing Black culture inside of their schools. Especially when it comes from Black teachers.

Black folks shutting down aesthetic demarcations of Black culture inside schools is the stuff that is supposed to be picked up by––to use Kiese’s terms––the worst of white folk. I personally don’t care how a Black teacher chooses to raise their own children. I don’t care which suburb they choose to buy their home in. Or what they decide to put in it. Or what they tell their children to take off or put on once they step out of it. But I do care about how Black folk take up forms of Blackness in our schools. I do care about Black folks who teach towards anything less than validating or examining all parts of Black culture and then turn around and preach culturally responsive pedagogy. 

What they’re doing is actually Culturally Not-So Responsive Pedagogy. And the truth is: doing that may be more harmful than simply ignoring Black culture. Especially when it comes from Black teachers.

I don’t need a cultural competency chart to know where I stand. Reading an article will never erase then override my lived experience. We don’t get to––to use Kiese’s terms––that Black abundance by tucking in and taking off parts of our Black selves. Black excellence and acceptance is not tethered to assimilation. Black excellence and acceptance is not tethered to assimilation. Black excellence and acceptance is not tethered to assimilation. Never that. 

I wear my durag while I’m teaching all the time. For a variety of reasons. Sometimes I need a line up. Sometimes it goes with the fit. Sometimes my braids look dusty. Sometimes it just is what it is. Nothing more, nothing less. Both inside and outside of culturally responsive pedagogy. Never Culturally Not-So Responsive Pedagogy. And because of that, I can’t tell you everything that culturally responsive pedagogy is. But I sure can tell you what it’s not.

Culturally responsive pedagogy is not teaching about Black history and then delegitimizing Black futures. Culturally responsive pedagogy is not centering Black stories and then validating only a single version of our Black story. Culturally responsive pedagogy is not bringing hip-hop lyrics into the classroom and then limiting other forms of hip-hop culture and knowledge production in between those class walls. Culturally responsive pedagogy is not leading Black affinity spaces and then in those affinity spaces insidiously promoting assimilation tactics. Culturally responsive pedagogy is not befriending Black students and then chastising Black forms of belonging. Culturally responsive pedagogy is not liking and sharing all that pro-Black talk on your social media when you get home and then targeting all the Black kids every second of every day when you get to school. That is not culturally responsive pedagogy. That is Culturally Not-So Responsive Pedagogy.

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1. Learn one thing about each student

It always takes a while to commit student names to memory, especially if you are working with more than one class or in a school that sees a lot of transition or turn over from year to year. Knowing the names of your students is crucial to relationship building–that should go without saying. But beyond getting those names down, learning one thing about each student in your classroom establishes a familiarity that teachers can build on when they are delivering lessons or when they have to lean on their classroom management strengths. I mentioned in a previous blog the importance of knowing yourself in your role as a teacher; however, knowing your students carries seminal weight as you move through that October month.

2. Get to know the area 

Part of the reason why disproportionate opportunities still persist in many school boards––especially those boards with a prevalent inner city representation––is because educators parachute in, do their daily job of teaching curriculum, and parachute out, headed straight towards the highways and their homes, far far away from the location of where they actually teach. You don’t need to live in the area but you should make an attempt to get to know the area you teach in. In October, an idea could be for you to ask your students to teach you about the community. Sharing the space and creating a dynamic where expertise isn’t always seen as filtering from teacher to student in addition to demonstrating a level of interest in their backgrounds works twofold and goes a long way. Another idea for October is taking a walk–spend some time in the community. Gain an understanding of the socio-economic context your students come from. Go beyond the hearsay or what the census says. Get out there and explore. 

3. Build classroom community

Many educators struggle to establish relationships that prioritize high academic standards and strong classroom togetherness for a myriad of reasons, but a main one is because they stop explicitly building classroom community after that first day or first week. Of course, “the work” has to come at some point but that doesn’t have to come at the expense of eliminating time and space for relationships. You should strive to build a classroom community in October throughout the entire month. It will pay dividends later on in the school year.

4. Establish class structure

It’s important to keep in mind that every student learns and thrives differently so teachers should look to create a learning environment that caters to the needs of all. This is best done when there are elements of a clear class structure. That could be something as small as starting with the same type of activity at the same time of day or ending class with a similar routine each afternoon. Establishing a class structure in October gives students one less thing that they have to anticipate in their fast-moving, information-inundated lives.  

5. Ease Anxiety and Foster Belonging

The previous four ideas sort of construct this last one and that is to create a space that students feel welcomed. The beginning of the school year can be a tense time for a lot of students; there is the social aspect of figuring out how to fit in, the academic aspect of new material, and many many invisible aspects that relate to identity that every young person has to navigate. So be careful with the sarcasm to start the year and venture closer to the side of optimism and positivity when engaged in conversation and teaching. This should be an all year thing. But in October, it is vital to keep this idea in mind.  

These 5 ideas for October are aimed at helping teachers maintain an effective classroom and prolong the novelty experience that those first few weeks to the start of the school year provide. Many are eager to get into the swing of things and get straight to the books, but by utilizing these 5 ideas for October, it will make that academic part a lot less difficult. 

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And that’s not so side of a note because when I teach in classrooms I am in the real world. The school is important because it serves as a social institution. But we tend to slip into thinking that the intention of schooling––regardless of level––is to prepare students for socialization. Our thoughts turn to actions. We then operate contingently on student production as it relates to student potential. We approach education––teaching and learning––as practice for the real game. When, in fact, teaching and learning is the real game.  

And what’s more troubling is that it is our ideas surrounding the dichotomy of student production and student potential that determines everything inside of schools. From class structure, to the modes of teaching, to the things and actions and the whats and the who’s that are valued, to value itself. Because we frame school as a preparation ground for future living, we lose the ability to ground the actual potential of learning in real time.  

I know it’s important for educators to focus on details. Equally valuable is to teach in a way that gives students the best opportunities for success––both in the moment and moving forward. But when we get lost inside of the building and lose sight of the outside world, we cannot slip into thinking that we are actually outside of reality. We are experiencing reality: continuously reconstructing its meaning from class period to class period. 

Essentially, when we teach it is important to keep in mind that we are doing so in a space that does not exist outside of the real world. Therefore, our purpose as educators––so called conduits of information and knowledge––is to value the process as much as we value the product.

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1. Greet each student at the door

This is something so easy that a teacher can do from day 1 to start building an inclusive classroom. There are so many benefits to this practice. Teachers will break the ice with every one of their students right off the bat; greeting each student provides a quick scan of the personalities of each of them, and it helps teachers gauge the mood of their students that day. Having a bad morning? A greeting at the door can begin the process of alleviating that feeling.

2. Mind you bias

Regardless of age or maturity, every student wants to feel like they are valued just as much as their peers. Reflect on who you are spending time talking with, who you gravitate towards, who you call upon during discussion, who you help more often. Sometimes, you may have a student or students’ vying to be that cliche “class pet”. Avoid the class pet misnomer for their sake and for yours. Nothing interrupts a classroom community like the whiff of favourites. 

3. Spread the attention

Similarly to what was just previously mentioned, a classroom community is one where everyone feels included. Therefore, spread the attention. Figure out who your quiet kids are. Find the attention-seeking ones. And consciously spread your energy all around. A community is a group that shares some of the same characteristics and also shares some of the same goals. But they may not all go about achieving them in the same way. In order for a classroom community to thrive, that attention also needs to be shared. 

4. Be honest/transparent

I’ve written about this recently and the reason why it keeps popping up is because I believe it to be fundamental to quality teaching. In order for your students to feel comfortable and validated, and eventually feel like their classroom is a space where they can be themselves, they have to see it modelled. Just like a good math or science lesson that requires the teacher to show examples for deeper understanding, honesty and transparency from the teacher leads to more honest and transparent students. Which inevitably brings the class closer.

5. Prioritize “classroom community”

On the surface, this sounds redundant. But let me explain. If you want to establish a positive and robust classroom community, you need to devote energy to building it. What does this mean? Well, for starters, building a classroom community doesn’t stop after the first day. And it doesn’t continue to naturally grow just because you threw a few ice-breaker activities at them during that first week. A strong classroom community has structures that are embedded throughout the course of the school year. For example, in my grade 8 homeroom, we would end the last English class of the week 15 to 20 minutes early, put our books away and close any assignments we were working on, move desks and put our chairs in a circle, and have what we called, “Family Time Friday.” We would have a class conversation about all things school and otherwise: things that were working for them, things they wanted to see fixed or improved, issues they were having, ideas they wanted to share or see fleshed out moving forward. After a few weeks, the students didn’t even need me to initiate our “Family Time Friday.” They knew that it was part of what we did. And it created a group of students that were able to collaborate, advocate for themselves, and become more metacognitive. And ultimately, become closer.

Building a classroom community is not done in one day or one week. It is an ongoing process that really should extend throughout the entire ten months of the school year. Especially for teachers who have a homeroom or teach multiple subjects to the same students. Ultimately, creating a vibrant, inclusive, and welcoming classroom community makes learning easier for students. More importantly, it makes them feel valued and whole. Which should be every teacher’s underlying goal. Especially since it makes the actual teaching part of teaching easier. 

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1. Authentic

When I was in teacher’s college over a decade ago, the prevailing sentiment was to “park your politics and religion when you park your car.” Essentially, the messaging was that teachers should create a schism between their personal identity and their teacher identity. While there certainly are situations where a teacher feels compelled to omit private information, education is no longer that institution where the teacher stands at the front of the class, depositing information to rows and rows of students, and brings no authenticity into learning. And we’re better as a society for it. 

Being authentic as a person in your role as a teacher supports the implicit learning that weaves in and out of  the curriculum and works to create a culture of individual validation. Simply put, teachers who are authentically themselves while teaching foster students who feel like they belong, too. 

2. Reflective

If you stopped growing as a partner after your first relationship, how much improved can your next relationship possibly be? Even the relationships between high school sweethearts evolve. The same rule applies to effective teaching. The best teachers continuously try to grow and improve year after year, semester after semester, and sometimes lesson after lesson. Good teachers are reflective of their practice. They excavate their experiences in their classrooms and work to reform their approaches to teaching and learning. 

This quality is present in the best teachers. Reason being, reflective educators create learning environments that intrinsically feel safe. When the teacher is willing and open to learning, students are implicitly encouraged to do the same, through a classroom setting that feels and is more equitable.

3. Transparent

Curiosity is a centerpiece to learning. And a primary foray into curiosity begins with the question, “Why?” So it shouldn’t take much deduction to understand that one sure-fire way of interrupting the flow of learning and stomping out curiosity comes from teacher uttered statements like, “because I said so” or, “that’s the way we’ve always done things” or, “because we just have to…that’s why.”

Revealing “the science” behind certain teaching methods, exposing the teacher truths that are behind particular activities, and revealing reasons behind some lessons and learning goals won’t put the precarious dynamics of teaching and learning, teacher and student in harm. In fact, transparent teachers more closely knit spaces where students are engaged and informed and take on an added sense of ownership and agency in their learning because they have been exposed to the why behind it. Breaking the fourth wall may ruin a stage performance, but in the best classrooms, it’s just another quality of a good teacher.

4. Adaptable 

In a sense, this quality serves somewhat as an umbrella for the previous three qualities of a good teacher. In order to be adaptable as a teacher you need to be authentic with your students, reflective of situations that arise, and transparent when you change things. On a base level, being adaptive means being flexible. The best teachers have this quality because they understand that learning is cogenerative and not static. Being adaptive actively resists the depository model of teaching. It acknowledges that students are way more than just empty vessels, sitting passively, waiting to be told how to think.

Good teachers are not easily persuaded but they are responsive to the needs of their students. This includes a willingness to compromise. The quality of adaptability caters to a student-centered approach that emphasizes excellence over authority. It curates an accommodating learning environment, which benefits all students. And by being adaptable along with the three previous traits, qualities teachers maintain “authority” without the “because I said so” declarations.     

5. Organized

Okay, I included one surface quality in this list. But all good teachers are organized in the broadest sense of the word. They know what they’re doing, they understand where they’re going, they have a plan, and they came prepared. It is very difficult, venturing on impossible, to be a good teacher without owning the quality of being organized. 

Now listen, there is a continuum to the quality of being organized. Similar to how we fail to see the organization in, let’s say, a group of elementary boys who are able to head out at morning recess, quickly divide themselves into two fair teams, play a game with rules everyone abides by, make nets, decide on boundaries, keep score and do so until recess is finished. Only to pick their game right back up where it left off at the next recess. That’s organization! Now this type of organization speaks to nothing about the state of these elementary boys’ desks. Like I said, organization is demonstrated on a continuum. And the best teachers have this quality in some form or aspect.

Because good teachers prioritize holistic well being for students first and foremost, they naturally tend to be authentic in the way they show up to do their job, reflective in their practice, transparent in their approach to teaching, adaptable to their school environment, and organized in some manner. Good teachers have a host of other qualities, both surface level and from a philosophical standpoint. But these five, I find, are the most common qualities amongst those folks who do that job of teaching really really well. And that’s because these five qualities mainly foster student validation and belonging.  

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Teaching is an act. In the purest sense of what that word means as a verb. To teach is to be compelled to take action. To move. To react. To do something. Teaching is also an act in the purest sense of that word as a noun. An action. A performance. 

This is why teaching is aptly referred to as a calling. That is why when teachers talk to other teachers whom they haven’t seen in a while they ask, “what role are you in this year?” It is difficult to tease out where teaching starts and performance stops or vice versa. But understanding that this line exists is one of the most important qualities a teacher can have. Knowing that there is a line, however hazy it may become, is vital in knowing thyself. 

When a teacher truly knows themself, they are able to pursue the act of teaching in its truest sense. More simply, a teacher who is authentic to themselves takes action––teaches––in a way that can never be misconstrued as a charade. Authenticity, from a teacher, leaves little room for posturing for the sake of posturing. Authenticity is a quality that creates classrooms brimming with engagement, regardless of the activity. It creates conversations that lead to real learning within, and beyond, the content. The act of teaching through a real and authentic lens fosters rich classroom experiences that allow students to explore their own truths. Or at least parts of them. 

Part of me learning how to teach required a willingness and preparedness to learn myself. Examining how I’ve become the way I am. Reflecting on how my school experiences affect how I now intersect with school. Excavating my truths, worldviews, biases, and all things in between to be better in my practice of teaching. This is an ongoing process. Like the act of teaching itself. 

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The first time I drove a car I was 12 years old. My father travelled to Jamaica for his father’s funeral. My mother never owned a driver’s license. I was old enough to not have to walk across the street and then walk down another two houses to be babysat during summer break anymore. And with this I even earned my first latchkey. That summer was the first time I felt like a man.

I wasn’t a man…

For the first few days after dad got on the plane and mom went to work, my younger brother and I scrambled to figure shit out. It started with sleeping in and using more peanut butter than we were supposed to on toasted sandwiches at lunch. We had free range of our house for the first time ever. Naturally, we ended up exploring. 

By the end of the third day, with dad being away and mom at work, we found the keys to our sky blue Buick Regal. I pressed the key into the door hinge and reached over to unlock the passenger side for my brother. We sat there for half an hour, me moving the steering wheel, him telling me to press the gas because it’s some cops and robbers shit. Both of us, pretending to be driving around. Like kids.

We weren’t men yet…

We did that one time on the third day and three times on the fourth day. On that fifth day I pushed the key into the slot right beside the steering wheel. Then I twisted it. 

We drove to and ate breakfast at Aunt Marys, the local breakfast restaurant across the street from the middle school. I got fried eggs with bacon and Tiny had scrambled with sausages. We paid with a ten dollar bill mom left for us days before. And we got in that mothafuckin’ car and drove home. Like men.

I didn’t hit anything until I came around that very last corner, the one leading onto our street. When I hopped the curb my little brother looked at me with so much fear that I had to stop for a second. I didn’t know anything about gears so I drove over Mr. Tedesco’s nicely mowed boulevard, back onto the street, and parked almost a quarter foot on my own lawn. We ran inside and left the keys back where we found them. We barely went outside for the rest of that week. 

Mom was almost too tired to even notice but Pam and her talked everyday. Pam always knew what happened on our street. Mom told us we weren’t anything close to the grown fuckin’ men we thought we could act like. She also told us that this would be the first thing she told our dad when he got back. She didn’t even make us dinner that night. We had to stomach that. 

We knew, we weren’t men. 

Twenty years later they both would bring up that story at family functions. It served to embarrass us when we started talking like we knew more than we did. Ten years after these times I think I understand why. 

They, as parents, knew what upbringing and raising and lessons looked like. We thought we knew how to be them––adults––but we really had no clue. Both of them abridged the child-to-adult development by giving me a key and letting me learn on my own, without babysitting. They balanced, intrinsically––from what they experienced––how to parent in a good way and what quality parenting is. 

In being parents, like teachers, what they learned to do helped them teach us how to learn. They figured out that parenting, like driver’s ed, is some parts teaching and some parts letting the child, or the driver, learn on their own. 

But how would they know what good teaching could be without them letting us roam a little? In order for parents to grapple with what quality parenting can look like, they have to be willing to let their children explore. Same rule goes for driver’s ed instructors. Same for teachers. 

And same for the educators who teach teachers how to teach. We only arrive at quality teaching by letting teachers learn bits on their own. That’s the art.   

I never went to driver’s ed. When I finally really learned how to drive years later it was my dad who sat in the passenger seat and let me navigate. Those times were quality experiences. His teaching from the time he travelled away to the time he sat beside me in that same car served as good education. His method was a gift. A gift in so that he probably left his keys on the top of the fridge for a reason. Only known to his why. Only articulated between and through his understanding of the difference between good teaching and quality education. Because of him––and good teaching mixed with quality education––I too know how to steer.

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