She paused.
I gulped.
She continued, "Next week, we're having principals from other schools tour our school, and some of them will pop into your classroom for a visit. Since you're the reason our school gets that A+ rating, we want you to show them how it's done." She smiled that warm smile principals are known to have. I did not share that same smile at the time.
Are you kidding? This is the beginning of my second year. I'm a rookie! No way they're going to see me as the reason we're getting A+ marks. In fact, the reason we have an A+ is because the evaluators haven't been in my room yet!
I'm not sure if I thought those very words at the time, but I remember being nervous and not having the kind of confidence needed to blow anyone's socks off. But, they were coming, and I had no choice but to pray that they'd either not come in my room or God would come down and turn water to wine - or some kind of miracle that would allow me the opportunity to escape the work day embarrassment-free.
After a sleepless weekend came and went, I was as ready as I could be. Monday morning also came and went, and I was able to breeze through the lessons without worry because there were no visitors popping in; no adults accept me. It was heavenly. I was thankful because it looked like I would escape the day unharmed by these upper-level visitors. I'm pretty sure their workday would be just as productive if they just searched "Incredible teachers" on YouTube and watch those videos, then tell their staff to be like them. Why do they have to come to my classroom to see what cool teachers do in the classroom? I'm not suggesting principals and superintendents are awful people (after all, I got hired by one), but they have expectations and probably drive Mercedes-Benzes and BMWs. In addition, most of them have gone through multiple certifications, all of the teaching positions, and various forms of experience in the school system before being hired into the position they currently held. For them to be inspired by me, I need to show them something amazing. Isn't that how it typically works? While their expectation was to see a great teacher in action, my expectation was that these visitors were the Grim Reaper, and this experience would be the death of me.
Then the door opened to my classroom. Here we go.
I just started my reading lesson, and in walks a bald man with glasses and brown tweed suit with matching pants. He had a yellow visitor sticker on his right pocket, and he pulled up a chair in the back right corner of the room.
He just watched. The same thing a visiting principal would do. He was clearly that man.
It was my time to shine. Time to put my big-boy pants on and make my principal, my parents, my future kids and their kids, proud. I knew I couldn't toss him out of my classroom, so I did what I knew was best.
I walked over to this tweed-suit-man and introduced myself.
"Hello, welcome to our school. My name is Mr. Fitz." Get ready to have your mind blown, I guess, I thought.
"Nice to meet you," he replied, standing up. He held out his hand to shake mine. Nice and strong. He had the handshake of a principal and even sounded like a principal. Obviously he ran a school 20-30 minutes from mine, and he probably ran it like a champ.
"Can I help you with anything?"
"No, I just wanted to stop in and see how it's going."
"Absolutely, and we're glad you're here!" I replied outwardly. Inwardly, Why me? God help me.
Boy, did He. I decided to go rogue from my written plans and put all of my best training to practice. Spring Arbor University, my Alma Mater, would be proud. Kids 20+ years into the future would be proud. I ran reading centers, made my expectations for the kids clear, infused technology and art into the lesson, and cracked jokes to keep the kids entertained. I did what administrators know as differentiated, monitored students' progress, and managed the behavior and discipline like a professional parent. It was incredible and still ranks in my top-10 best lessons taught to this day.
After I took a moment to catch my breath from the spectacular performance, I noticed the principal standing up to get my attention.
"Wow, that was amazing. It's good to see my daughter's teacher in action -- oh, I'm sorry --" the tweed-suited man interrupted himself. "I didn't introduce myself...
I'm Ron. Ron Moller. Allison's dad."
Allison's dad? As in, parent of one of my students? I thought.
I wanted to slap him. Of course he couldn't introduce himself as Allison's dad at the beginning. Of course he had to wait until the end of my spectacular lesson to finally tell me who he really is. My reading lesson was so good, it would be the top video trending that administrators would find on YouTube if they typed "Incredible Teachers" in the search bar and hit enter.
But who was it for? Who was I trying to impress?
Allison's dad.
Forget he students, I did all of this performing and doing what great teachers did for Allison's dad.
All this man wanted to do was watch me teach his daughter how to infer using quotes from a passage. He wasn't even visiting to help me grade assignments, hang art on the wall, teach a mini-lesson on story structure, or show my students how to juggle. He was there, on the same day principals and administrators were also visiting classrooms mind you, to be convinced his daughter was in good hands being educated by me.
I don't blame him. He loves his daughter, wants what's best for her, and desires for her to get the best education a 5th grade teacher could offer her. And it's highly unlikely for him to know other schools were coming by to check us out too.
I blame myself.
After all, I was not hired to inspire parents of fifth grade students. I was not entrusted 25+ students so that their parents could be in awe of my detailed weekly newsletter, amazed by my communication via e-mail and telephone, and be taken aback by my ability to thoroughly conduct parent-teacher conferences with the confidence of a 20-year veteran educator. So, why was I trying so hard to impress Mr. Tweed Suit Man? I knew in my heart I was teaching because I wanted to make the student's lives better, not a late-30s man in a suit watching me teach for the first time. It was meant to be, "Hello Students, Mr. Fitz, at your service," not "Hello Mr. Tweed-Suit Man, Mr. Fitz, at your service." A subtle distinction, but important.
Unfortunately, Mr. Tweed Suit Man is a representation of how easy it is to lose sight of the real mission. Allison's dad symbolizes every time I get swept up in how I am perceived by others in order to gain their approval. Forget how God sees me and the important role he has me playing when I am trying so hard to impress the Tweed Suit men of my life.
Sometimes he is disguised as my wife. Sometimes my boss, or the parents of students I teach. Even myself, perhaps. I often try so hard to prove my worth - to prove I am enough, that I deserve to be a teacher of children. Worse, I continually reflect on my work and tell myself it wasn't good enough even if I have plenty to smile about.
No matter who dons that suit and sits in the classroom of my mind and heart, I spend so much of my energy devoted to pleasing that person or people, that I forget who I should actually be doing the best work for. Under the topic of teaching, the obvious answer is that my best work should be done for the students. After all, they learn best when I put my best foot forward.
However, even the kids should not be primary reason why I do the work to the best of my ability: "So whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do all to the glory of God" (1 Corinthians 10:31). It may sound cliché, but when we allow our daily mission statement to be to reflect the glory of God in everything we say and do, it changes our inward mindset and outward posture. Our view of the day is seen through the same lens of God. Our problems, obstacles, and issues seem miniscule in the grand scheme of God's design. Even our victories are only a small fraction of the bigger picture God has in mind.
What does this mantra of doing everything for the glory of God look like on a day-to-day basis? Answer: The theme song of my childhood, sung by none other than my dad.
This is the day
**"Christ: Our Model for Glorifying God" - https://www.dbu.edu/