I feel bad when I take a day off. I imagine the supply teacher looking around my classroom, trying to locate that spot where they can clearly define their territory and mark their space as the commander-in-chief of a group of 30 four-foot-tall children. But that use of space to signify a central authority is precisely why I initially chose to get rid of my teacher’s desk. Throughout my first few years of teaching, I found myself retreating to my “station of solace”. This withdrawal to my sanctuary seemed to make my job easier. But for whatever I was gaining in security, I was losing in the one of the most important aspects of teaching: relationships. The desk became a territorial marker in my classroom – a space off-limits to students. The mere presence my desk, and me sitting at it, detracted from the relationships I had worked so hard to build. So, it was time to let it go.

Three months into operating in a space that bears no symbol of authority, I am able to reflect on what it is truly like to teach without the holy grail of representative power – the teacher’s desk.

The first insight that I have realized from teaching without a “pedestal” is that ultimately the true authority of the “teacher” never really changes. My shield (aka desk) may be absent. But because I am invested in my craft as a teacher and devoted to educating children, my position as the “lead learner” is not challenged. Reading this, some may then argue that there really is no point in giving up the teacher’s desk. But I have found that there is much to be gained.

What I chose to lose in a quasi safety net, I gained in classroom synergy. You know those students who never seem to be on task unless you are hovering over them? Try not having a space to mark assignments or answer emails. Without a desk, I can no longer hand out an assignment and have students work independently while I sit at my desk and do my own thing. I must find a space to attend to my teacher duties. So, where do I go? I sit right with the students who are the most constantly distracted. I don’t talk to them. I don’t hover. I simply sit there and do my work while expecting them to do theirs. And guess what? Magically, the distractions dissipate and we all get our work done!

But my “independent work” only takes up a portion of my day. When I had my teacher’s desk, I could sit there and wait for students to come to me with questions about activities or assignments. Now I can’t sit back and wait for students. The lack of a central location for me as a teacher fosters a consistent environment of accountability. I am walking around my classroom non-stop because I have no other choice. Not having my own “home base” creates a space where every student gets help, not just the ones who take the agency to get up and come to the big oak holy grail of the classroom.

Of course there are times when I’ve done all my work and my students are all on task. So without a desk, what do I do then? Ironically enough, I venture out into my classroom and actually talk to my students. This seems counter-intuitive; students are working and there are no distractions but I am the sitting with a group of students and talking to them about their work, which leads to a conversation about what they did on the weekend. When I do this, students are distracted from the task at hand and not “learning.” But a teacher should do more than teach a lesson, give out some practice, and make sure every student gets it. If that were all that teaching entailed, I would not be a teacher. The “non-academic” conversations I have had with students in the last three months have probably eclipsed all of the conversations I have had in the last two years. Without the big desk to distance myself from the students and take a break, I’ve gotten to know my students a whole lot better.

The primary objective of teaching – to inspire and create – is so easily supplanted by a focus on compliance. This is what the crux of teacher preparation prepares teachers for; this is what teachers spend most of their time fussing about. In the real trenches of education, the places where teachers “battle” day in and day out, the emphasis is more on obedience than it is on fostering critical thinking. Losing my desk has helped me get back to the real reason why we are all at school in the first place: to teach, inspire and learn.

[share title=”Share this Post” facebook=”true” twitter=”true” google_plus=”true”]

The post Getting Rid of My Teacher’s Desk appeared first on Matthew R. Morris.

But why do I need my own teacher’s desk? The desk is one of schooling’s traditional markers of power. It is the sign and sight of the authoritative figure in the classroom. The ruler of the classroom kingdom owns that space and it should not be messed with. I’ve seen teachers lose their minds on students when students sit at the “teacher’s desk”. We shuffle kids in and out of spaces and try different groupings throughout the year, but when one student ventures into the forbidden territory of sitting at the teacher’s desk, many teachers freak out.

I used to be a teacher that cherished my invaluable teacher’s desk. I wouldn’t let kids sit there either. But then I realized that the teacher’s desk is just another obstacle that is impeding teacher-student relationships and classroom authenticity. When I was indifferent to students sitting and doing their work at my desk, I tangibly felt the power that such an object had on children. Students would vie to sit there during a lesson and then quietly do their work after. It became a site of privilege for students. This is because it is a site of privilege for teachers. The teacher’s desk allows teachers to sit and command from a distance. It fosters this idea of provisional self-esteem by signaling to the class that things may look like we’re promoting democracy but really things are running more like a dictatorship. I want the students who enter my classroom to realize that I truly am just the “lead learner” and next year I am going to start by helping them understand this through spatial transforming. And the first thing I had to do was get rid of my teacher’s desk.

Getting rid of my teacher’s desk does not mean that I am better than any other teacher. What it means to me is that I am checking (or acknowledging) my privilege as a teacher in the space of the classroom and in order to facilitate a more equitable classroom community for my students, erasing one of the pillars of that inequity is a step in the right direction. I am comfortable in my role as the head member in my classroom, and I don’t need a teacher’s desk anymore to signify that.

The post Why I Got Rid of My Teacher’s Desk appeared first on Matthew R. Morris.