The last day of 1st quarter is — generally speaking — very stressful for me. I input grades and consider if my students learned at all. I typically second guess, regret, and — generally speaking — worry that I did not offer my students the quality instruction they deserve, or demand enough of the quality work they can deliver.

But, my cousin visited me so I missed out on my quarterly reflection episode. Deb lives in Tacoma and wanted to share her birthday with me. So we drove down Turnagain Arm, up to Talkeetna, into Hatcher Pass, and back home again. We grew up together and it was nice to share my piece of heaven with her.

I am not sure how much she liked Alaska though. She kept saying it was big. That was about all she said. “My, it is certainly big here.”

Not big and wonderful. Or big and beautiful. Just big. I think she found Alaska daunting.

Her “big” bit gave me pause. Teaching is a little like my cousin’s Alaska. It is a big job.

Twelve shelves stand behind me in my classroom stuffed with professional books — an absolute plethora of information, tips and tricks, theories and theses. I have the technology to know which kids are ready to classify statements as fact or opinion, and which of their classmates are ready to produce examples of propaganda.

I know whether it is the “au” dipthong or the “schaw” that is keeping a student from spelling “thesaurus” correctly. I know Lexile scores, SBA scores, fluency rates, even locker numbers. I know a lot of big stuff.  

But, one boy, in loosely tied tennis shoes and over-sized jeans, sits on the end of a table in my class, and has not finished a homework assignment all year. He starts them, does not finish them. I fear that if I do not catch him soon, he will fall too far behind to ever catch up. It is a big problem, and one that my dozens of books and hours of study are not solving.

Teaching is not about knowing what to do, it is about doing it. Somewhere in the curriculum that I am happy to teach and the records and marks I must keep, I need to reach this little guy so he can begin to experience what it is to learn and achieve. It will take clarity, structure, patience, skill and my least favorite — consistency. How to do that is not necessarily in any of my how-to manuals. It is the science of teaching merging with the art of teaching. It is the engineered roads carved along the unexplainable ocean.

So, I pause. Like Deb’s humbled feeling next to the Alaska landscape, I consider how little I am in front of my students who need to learn and accomplish so much.

My cousin reminded me about that. I can not explain it anymore than she could describe the grandeur of the Chugach Mountains. Teaching — generally speaking — is rather big.

Emily Forstner teaches at Wasilla Middle School.