A noble endeavor - to teach, reach and inspire young people.Teaching students - what a noble endeavor - to teach, reach and inspire young people! Between the glory and satisfaction, however, you might find it quite daunting to take on a room full of kids with all of their unique expectations and issues. It can make new teachers - and even seasoned folks - want to throw up their hands and run!My first job as a teacher was in a youth prison in Golden, Colorado. It was here at this prison that the worst criminal offenders were housed. My students were murderers, rapists, and child molesters. Most were repeat offenders, sent to Golden after other incarceration and rehabilitation efforts had failed. The atmosphere at the prison was volatile. There was violence in the air. But, as a freshly-minted new teacher, I had my expectations high and was ready to set boundaries with these young "hoodlums". I was told by the prison administrators to be extra tough with these young men or they would roll right over me.The reason for being so strongly warned was that, unlike a Math or English class where the most dangerous item in the room is likely the textbook, my carpentry students would have daily access to power tools and hand tools that could easily be used as weapons. Violence against the teacher, fellow students or even oneself was always a risk. In fact, not too long after I began teaching at the prison, we discovered that a student of mine actually "borrowed" a pair of heavy-duty pliers with which to cut the chain link fence and escape! This resulted in the entire prison going into lockdown. That incident did very little to enhance my new-teacher credibility!All teachers even had to go to weapons training. In short, I learned that if a knife or a weapon was pulled, someone was going to get hurt. I was trained in self-defense to give me better odds of avoiding injury or even death. For example, when confronting a knife-wielding student, I was taught to raise my forearm to an assault. This way, the arm would absorb the slashing blow that otherwise might go to the face, neck or chest. I have to admit I had a lot of fear, but I was determined not to let it show. I was going to be tough, but still really wanted to inspire and educate these young men and help them evolve into builders and productive members of society. I dutifully read my textbooks, studied for tests, asked questions in class, and I thought I was ready. I received my teacher certification papers. I proudly carried my brand-new brown leather briefcase and I went off to be a teacher! Little did I know, I might need to use this same shiny briefcase as a chest protector in the weeks to come.My shop class was located in the basement of the prison. A guard walked the students down to my class each day. Once all students were inside the shop, he would slam the metal door shut, locking me inside with the students, giving none of us a chance to escape. His retreating footsteps sounded a haunting echo as he left me alone with my class. My only contact with the guards was a radio, which I could use if I needed backup. The guard assured me that he would do his best to reach me quickly if I radioed him with a problem. I was told, "If they jump you, call us." It was not very reassuring.On my first day of class, I asked a young man to pull up his drooping pants. There were many previously-established classroom rules, of course, and one was that pants were not allowed to sag. This student grabbed his crotch and yelled at me, "Suck on this, whitey!"It went downhill from there, and I had NO control over the class. The students took control right after that comment as they saw I was totally unprepared and had no idea of what I was doing. What I had no way of knowing was that these aggressive young thugs were truly scared little boys underneath all of their bravado. They were simply always on the defensive, speaking the violent language of the prison and adopting a threatening stance.Humiliated and dejected, I told my wife that evening that I had made a huge mistake in becoming a teacher and that I should quit. However, she believed I had it in me to be a teacher and would hear nothing of the sort. I reminded her that one student had told me I was full of shit, and all of the students were completely disrespectful. They even told me they could jump me and take my keys whenever they wanted. They told me they were already in prison, so they didn't give a shit what I wanted them to do. I didn't have any nifty comebacks for their threats. That first week of class completely took the wind out of my sails. Oh, and by the way, I had several of my ribs cracked while breaking up a fight between two gang members.My fabulous classroom management skills were not quite working out as I had hoped. Ideas about expectations, boundaries, and norms were bouncing around in my head like a silver ball ricocheting around the colorful field of a pinball machine. I was confused and worried about my future. I couldn't even remember why I had wanted to be a teacher in the first place. My lifelong dream had been crushed in a few short weeks. I decided that those kids were literally going to kill me, and I definitely did not have what it took to be their teacher.That night, as I was mulling over my failed future, I had an epiphany!I realized that I was not being "real" with these students. How could I expect them to behave and be real with me if I was being phony and trying to be some tough guy?I had a deep conviction that night that I was not supposed to give up but that I was supposed to shoot straight with the young men and "tell it like it is." I woke up with a sense of hope, a little moxie, and a new-found strength.I went to class the next day all fired up. The first thing I did when I walked into the classroom was slam my stool down on the concrete floor, sit down, and inform the kids that we were going to have a heart-to-heart talk. I told them that if they would let me, I could teach them some building skills as well as some life skills. I told them in a very honest and forthright manner that I was a new teacher and I really didn't know what I was doing as far as classroom management. "But," I told them, "I am an adult, and I have had years of experience with building and with life."I started to share with these young men how I had moved around a lot as a kid. I was often made fun of at my various schools for being the new, skinny kid and the son of a preacher man. I told them how I struggled in school, especially with math. I told them how I felt different from the other kids, how I felt like an outcast, and how this caused me to develop quite a low self-esteem. I told them that I had turned to alcohol and drugs to cover my pain, and how this led me into a world of trouble.I was simply shooting straight with these young men now, and I could feel the walls in the classroom coming down between teacher and student. It was as if a fresh breeze blew through the room. The thick threat of violence that had polluted the atmosphere was gone. For the first time, I felt safe in my own classroom. What a relief!I told the students about my lifelong dream of becoming a teacher and the obstacles I had overcome to get to this point. I shared with them how learning the carpentry trade rebuilt my self-esteem and gave me a way of making a living and being a useful member of society. I shared with them how I became the foreman of my shop through hard work. I joked with them about how I was not the smartest employee, the best craftsman, or the best looking, yet I was still made the foreman. I had begun to lay the foundation of a class where I could share valuable lessons, life skills, and wisdom, all with a touch of humor. My life as an authentic teacher had begun!
