When I was a kid, I tied my trusty blanket around my neck, stood at the edge of our front porch, closed my eyes, took a deep breath, held up both of my arms, and jumped.
“I’m a superhero,” I thought. “I can fly!”
I landed face first in our shrubbery.
Now, I tie my trusty bow tie around my neck, stand at the door of my elementary school, take a deep breath, hold out my arms, and jump into my day as a teacher.
I still think that thought from kidhood, though.
“I’m a superhero. I can fly!”
And most days, by 2:15 p.m., when the end of school bell rings, I’m laying face first in the proverbial shrubbery of the long, hard school day.
I still collect comic books (I know, I’m nerdy) and for as long as I’ve collected and read them, I’ve tried to put myself in the shoes and capes of the superheroes in them.
My favorite series is Guardians of the Galaxy.
I especially identify with Peter Quill.
He puts on the headphones of his Walkman, pushes the button on the mixtape his mom made for him, and goes throughout the galaxy fighting for justice, peace and freedom for the people and places that need it most, all while listening to “I Want You Back,” “O-o-h Child,” and “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough.”
I hum those songs while I’m fighting for justice, peace and freedom for the lives of my students and in my classroom.
You know what?
Students don’t need superhero teachers.
Abraham needs me to commit my life to helping him learn how to read as he struggles through the school day as a special education student.
He needs me to see that he is a great math student.
He needs me to know that because he made his way here from the farms and fields of Central America he knows about life...and death...deeply.
He needs me to give him a smile, a fist bump and a “I’m glad you’re in my classroom” every morning and a “I can’t wait to see you again, tomorrow” every afternoon.
Ainaya needs me to care about the economic poverty from which she comes and walk with her through the stress and trauma that comes with it.
She needs me to have high expectations for her behavior and her school work.
She needs me to say, “I forgive you...let’s try it this way” when she makes a mistake and to say “You’re the greatest kid to ever be born into the world!” when she does something right.
They need me to be me a compassionate, committed, creative teacher.
No, teachers aren’t superheroes.
I’m not a Guardian of the Galaxy.
But in a way, we are.
In a way, I am.
A guardian of public school.
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