The Things We Carry

Stuart Smith

Several weeks into the year and I was still having trouble remembering all their names. I played name games, made lists, printed out pictures, made seating charts. It was my first year teaching full time and I felt as though I had been abandoned in a cinder block classroom with a case load of one hundred students, and no instruction manual! “If you need anything, just ask!” I heard from most of the teachers I worked with. Problem was, the doubt and confusion seemed so immense at times, that I found it difficult to put together the right questions while constantly engaged in the new teacher juggle!

The first few weeks passed by, students seemed to be growing accustomed to a rigorous routine of writing. I, on the other hand, was up late each night, my pregnant wife asleep by my side. Most nights, I would fall asleep grading papers in bed. I worked hard to leave quality feedback on each student’s paper and felt rewarded as many of the students had earned higher marks in my class thanks to a revision policy allowing them seven days to improve their grade with a little extra work. Still the amount of work turned in was overwhelming.

We read examples of various writing models: Once More to the Lake by E.B. White, My Backyard by Mary E. Mebane, Eleven by Sandra Cisneros. We wrote: biographies, narratives, compare and contrast papers, descriptive papers, and arguments. Along with themes in writing, I introduced the students to archetypes and the hero’s journey, Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, and Kohlberg’s stages of moral development so that we might discuss the deeper meanings in that which we read, wrote, and lived. I wanted our focus to be on quality over quantity, though it seemed the latter was piling up.

As a history teacher, I probably focus on writing more than most. By the same token, as an English teacher I tend to bring a great deal of my social studies experience into the classroom. One example is a very unique war story; I’ve had the sweet and sour pleasure of teaching Tim O’Brien’s The Things They Carried for the past two years. I say sweet and sour as this reading requires us to take an emotional journey with author and veteran O’Brien as he revisits his experience, recounting the things carried by soldiers: good luck charms, photographs, drugs, weapons, nightmares, and the legacy of the Vietnam War.

Before reading, we made lists of the things we carried: backpacks, cell phones, cigarette packs, pens, pencils, iPods, and rings. I was surprised at the physical weight our students carry up and down school hallways, across campus, exceeding the average weight (15-20 pounds) of the “rucksacks” carried in Vietnam. “Are we supposed to just write down the real things?” a student asked. We placed those things in categories. We discussed the tangible and intangible things we carried. We filled imaginary backpacks with all the things that we carried, what we carried by choice, what others made us carry, what we might need to survive. We discussed the weights of those things, mostly intangible, some of which we wished we could put down! The weight of this unit was becoming heavier and heavier. After one of my junior CP classes would leave, I'd sink into my chair, exhausted, wondering what I had gotten myself into.

After reading, I asked the students to draft a letter describing a weight that they carried. The letter was supposed to be written to someone connected in some way to that weight. I honestly was not prepared for the outcome.

We outlined, made rough drafts, and then were off to the lab to complete the letters. I could tell that most students had really invested some time in their rough drafts. Of course, as a teacher, you often drag a few unprepared students to the finish line. Soon enough, all students were busy working at their computers. One student, Matt, finished early, “Hey Mr. Smith, is this long enough?” He handed me a single piece of paper: three typed paragraphs followed by a salutation and his signature. Before I answered yes or no, I said, “Matt, let’s read it through and see if it is complete.” The paper was addressed to his parents. The weight he carried was their divorce. It was heavy: for him to carry, for me to read. I squinted to hold back tears, grinded my teeth, handed the paper back to him. “Proof this once more and turn it in. Thank you for sharing with me.” I had to step into the hall for a moment, not sure if I could hold it together.

After Matt’s letter, I read others. Nicole was a quiet student. As is the case with many quiet girls, she sat in the back and no matter how I tried, there was a tendency to overlook her classroom experience, her work, or lack thereof. She never caused problems. Even her side conversations were quiet. In the computer lab on letter writing day, she handed me her letter and immediately asked if she could go to guidance. I wrote her a pass and read the first few lines of her letter. I walked out quickly to catch her before she got too far down the hallway. I thanked her, apologized, and urged her to be strong. I told her how great I thought she was. The letter was her opportunity to reveal an illness, to reach out. Like many of our students, self image is one of their main challenges. Nicole was struggling with bulimia. I spoke with her guidance counselor later on. She was in a treatment program the next day! Nicole was out of class for the next few weeks. Afterward, it was necessary that she be reintroduced to a regular schedule slowly. Nicole asked if she could work in my room during my planning blocks. I tried to give her both the space and support that she needed. A few weeks passed and she was ready to integrate into the general classroom.

I read a great many letters, about failure, about the loss of loved ones. Henry, the toughest boy in class, wrote about insecurity. I read stories about bullying, drug and alcohol abuse. One girl’s family had already moved twice during the school year. She carried things in cardboard boxes.

The letters weren’t all heartbreaking, some wrote about their keys (which represented independence), some wrote about their cell phone. Wait a minute! We don’t write about something just because we carry it all the time and use it inappropriately during class! The cell phones represented constant communication, always knowing someone was there. And they were able to eloquently explain the importance of always knowing there was a connection to that friend they were worried about, to mom while she was at work, all a text message away. They all wrote with sincerity, with heart, with meaning.

The lesson was such a success, by the end, I had had conversations with each guidance counselor and several teachers. “Everyone is talking about what you are doing,” my supervisor told me. What I felt, however, was a gigantic wave of emotions! It had enormous weight. It seemed to be crashing down on me. I would not have been able to imagine their response and the implications of my actions.

As a profession, how responsible are we for dealing with student emotions?

As professionals, should we devote ourselves, a portion of our practice to the emotional lives of our students? I had created a safe space for these students, a safe place to share, to expose not only their education, but their feelings. I had created relationships with each student and in turn, they had honored me with their trust, their education, and their stories.

Each of these students had a file, a record of their educational history. Of course, as a new teacher, juggling my many responsibilities I had no time to familiarize myself with the contents of their records. What I knew about them came out of our classroom experience. But what if those files could tell the student’s story? Would it be my responsibility to consider the weight each of my students carried? Would that be part of our responsibility in education? Not just to clear away the brush, exposing the educational pathway, but to call in the medics, revive, restore them so that they were really able to take advantage of what education could be.

I am passionate about making this kind of investment in education, in each student’s education. I believe that I have a responsibility as a citizen in a democracy to take an active part in my community. I chose to work in schools because I wanted to make a contribution, have some personal impact on the place where my children and our community’s children would spend so much of their time. I did not want to be the parent that sat on the sidelines complaining. I see our schools as the only public venue capable of filling in the gaps regarding the livelihood of our youth. I believe that it is in our best interest to see to it that each individual not only has access to education, but receives the individual support required to take advantage of that education. Can education make a sad person happy? Probably not, and I don’t buy into the idea that education is the great equalizer, at least not in its current state. But I can certainly see that positive contributions in a student’s life improve the many possibilities of learning.

Do we as a society benefit from happier, more balanced community members? The majority of our students will make up our future communities. They will be the future stakeholders and voters. A handful will go away to college and settle down elsewhere. The majority will stay close to home. Those that stay will be the: postal worker, teacher, plumber, electrician, social worker, coach, small business owner, farmer, and artist. They will all require post-secondary learning to be prepared for the 21st century workplace. If they hate school now, their free public education, chances of them paying for more later will be severely diminished.

Our students will be our community’s future parents. If I do my job, or what I see as my job, my students will be better prepared to provide for and nurture the next generation of students. “Remember this, please: the majority of you will be parents. For some of you it will be joyous! It will be well planned. For others, it may be a happy accident! Regardless, read to your children. Cuddle your children. Nurture them.” I don’t let a class go without hearing that, at least once.

I feel that I can use my time in schools to educate in many ways. I believe that we are responsible for teaching the whole child, and to do so, I feel that we must take an account of where our students are in regard to their emotional health, where they have been, and what they have been through. This is part of teaching the whole child. I try to work in a way that challenges the student to build useful skills and to broaden their world view. My success is connected to their success. I need to see progress, to see that things are being built, connections being made, barriers coming down. I am into preparing our students for the real world. It’s the 21st century, an era that will be marked by new technology, globalism, and environmental challenges that, I believe, will force us to be more innovative than ever, as individuals and groups of individuals. I feel that in this global world, a great need will exist to build stronger communities and that a great deal of my work should be devoted to helping students develop into strong citizens, citizens I can be proud to share a community with!

The students from The Things They Carried Unit let me in! We had built something, a trust. If I am allowed into their heart space, there is a chance that I might be able to make a positive contribution to their emotional livelihood. If I can affect their emotional life, my chances of having an impact on their learning will be improved dramatically. And my aim is to take part in an educational system that supports something transformative in the lives of our young people, in the hearts and minds of my students.

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