Today, the brother of a former student who is now mine as well was commenting on his essay score, unhappy with the way his have been going, I suppose, and mentioned that his brother's used to be much higher when he went through the class. I told him that was possible as I hadn't served as a Reader at that time. I used to grade way too high, especially in the beginning. Serving as a reader and getting some years as an AP teacher under my belt have helped me get my scoring in line with the test's demands. Nothing helps "calibrate" like being a Reader.
Then he said it.
(and this might not be verbatim, but it's really, really close) "Yeah. He said he didn't really learn how to write until he got to (his university)."
I felt like somebody stuck a knife right in my chest. Thank you for reminding me how little what I do is actually worth. Thank you so very, very much. It couldn't possibly matter, be of use, or worth if it happened off a college campus, right? Nothing that happens in high school is "real." Or maybe it was just bad because it happened in my classroom. Maybe the substandard pointlessness that so failed him was all me.
The whole house of cards is falling in. I try. so. hard. It means so very, very much. It's not what I do; it's who I am. It always has been. However, I just can't keep doing this at this level when this is going to be the outcome. On a day when I had to mediate between kids who were arguing over a cellphone one "borrowed" from the other as a "joke," have been called out over the intercom twice concerning taking attendance, and a thousand other little papercuts to my soul, I am so tired. I just need it to be done now. And I guess when it's done, apparently, since I am unintentionally harming instead of helping and supporting like I thought I was, maybe it's going to be for the best.
From experience, it takes awhile for things learned in highschool to really sink in. You can't control what people learn. You can only offer it up the best way you know how.
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