The 6 in 5: recertifying and cleaning up house

It’s that time again for me. The state requires six continuing education credits every five years to recertify, or ‘six in five.’ I order transcripts, prove that I am employed and pay the lady at the front counter for another round. I liken it to cleaning out the garage — something that should also happen no more than once a decade. What would I keep and what would I toss out?

In 2009, I moved to Wasilla Middle School. My first assignment was teaching sixth grade. I taught using the shotgun approach of spraying an array of ideas and lessons out to students. There was the time Haley caught one: “If Mexico is a free-market, why isn’t their world health index greater?” I will box up that one. Then there was the computer mouse incident: “OK, who keeps taking the mouse’s balls?” I might toss that one.

I followed that rough and tough class up to seventh grade. Teaching in the seventh-grade hall prompts me to think of Miss Price, my high school drama teacher. Miss Price always wore dark polyester pants with a contrasting blazer over a white Oxford. She managed to walk even faster than she talked, long fingers punctuating the air with Price-like edicts and manifestos. She told all of us once that we could never know humility. She scoffed that not just anyone could achieve that special grace, a grace obviously too good for the likes of us. I have been on the lookout for humility ever since. I have decided that Miss Price should have taught seventh grade. She might have found it.

It has been teaching seventh grade that I have learned what it means to teach the middle of the middle school. I have worked to master teaching in a paperless environment while using a weekly self-reflective scoring rubric for grading. For better or worse, this game-changing instruction both humbled me and kept me young. And, between the gnashing of teeth, seventh grade has kept me laughing.

“Young man,” I gave the naughty boy my best ever teacher glare, “can you please help me understand exactly what I am missing here?” He paused, thought for a moment and then uttered, “Uh … your sense of humor?” (Come on, Miss Price. You gotta admit …)

An empty box called “7th Grade” is all I should keep. No paper, no waste, only open space reserved for the humility — that, and great big, deep breaths.

While once upon a time students might have slipped and called me “mom,” now they slip and say “grandma.” Only fitting, since I can also now say I have taught the children of my former students. I offer testimony that the Valley is raising a new generation of wonders; the best of the best are coming just around the corner. I must save space for their box and pray that our state is prepared for this youthful potential.

My six required credits pale in comparison to all that I have gained from working at Wasilla Middle these last four out of five years. No, recertification doesn’t recognize these containers of real lessons learned. I wish it had a space on the application for comments. I know what I would write: “Thanks. It’s been the best five ever. I learned a lot, taught a little, won some, lost a few and loved every minute.”

Emily Forstner teaches Language Arts at Wasilla Middle School.