(after Grace Paley)

by Emily Brisse

It is the responsibility of the teacher to shift the desks, arrange the chairs – to make room. It is the responsibility of the teacher to have both extra pencils and erasers, to give them away. It is the responsibility of the teacher to have a plan: this then this, but also possibly this, or this, should that or those other things happen. It is the responsibility of the teacher to be flexible (see previous). It is the responsibility of the teacher to speak with enthusiasm but listen without always planning what next to say (see previous). It is the responsibility of the teacher to consider the full story. To respond. To guide. To open the gate. It is the responsibility of the teacher to assess many details at once, sometimes the least of these being academic. It is the responsibility of the teacher to spot the kid eating an apple alone at lunch, to chat with them for a while, offer them generous attention. It is the responsibility of the teacher to be patient, especially with that kid whose desperation for attention comes from a desperate place. It is the responsibility of the teacher to notice the student with the bright eyes: to lead them to all the gates, discuss all the paths, be the wind at their back. It is the responsibility of the teacher to care about the paths–because down each one is their students’ future–and to care about their students (responsibility = the state or fact of having a duty; care = serious attention or consideration applied to doing something correctly or to avoid damage or risk). (In other words, teaching can be hilarious, joyful, and ridiculous, but it is always serious. See previous.) It is not the responsibility of the teacher to be everything to every child. It is not the responsibility of the teacher to give up sleep and sick days and work-life boundaries in service of their teaching (no matter how serious teaching is). Because, here’s the central thing: it is the responsibility of the teacher to love teaching. Not everyday, no; there are hard days that every teacher has where they think they must march or crawl or slither to the admin office and quit. But if one loveless day turns into ten and then a piled-up year or two, it is the responsibility of the teacher to think about why they are still teaching, and perhaps teach themselves something else. The teacher teaches math or biology or English or computer science, but really, they are teaching openness. They are teaching trust. This is a serious responsibility. So, it is the responsibility of the teacher to be honest. This is what it means to be large-hearted. This is what it means to offer second and third chances. Here, see this apple? See how its existence roots back to its tree’s first small seed? This is what it means to hope, always hope, always see the world for what it could be.

Emily Brisse’s essays have appeared in The Washington Post, The New York Times, Creative Nonfiction’s True Story, Autofocus, and The Sun. She teaches high school English in Minneapolis, creates guided journals for individuals and parents, and writes about presence and positivity (not the toxic kind) on Instagram at @emilybrisse.