shakespearemom

Although my main profession is writing, at least according to this blog, I actually have over 15 years’ experience teaching English and writing at the college level (with a little junior and high school thrown in). I am about 2/3 of the way through a writing class right now, and a recent conversation reminded me of an important point with teaching: expectations.

As part of my education degree, I was required to conduct “field experience” three times, including two stints at the local high school and a 12-week session in junior high. At the high school, the teacher’s lounge was an illuminating place for me. Teachers–and even the principal–sat around at lunch ranting about the lame students they had, whining that retirement wasn’t closer, and commiserating about everything. In the class I was observing, the teacher–one of those whining in the lounge–was spending four weeks reading The Scarlet Letter aloud in her classes, in a droning voice that nearly put me to sleep. Now, I really like that novel, but I nearly forgot how much I liked it because of her reading. And I could tell that the students didn’t like it, either. The only time she actually interacted with them was when she told them to be quiet or insulted one of them, telling them they’d never amount to anything if they didn’t listen. The students were naturally crabby about the whole thing, and they weren’t the kindest in response. And those same students were going to walk out of that class believing that The Scarlet Letter was a terrible book, that English stunk, and that school was a waste of time.

When I moved to the junior high, the teacher’s lounge was a hotbed of enthusiasm. The same actions that depressed the high school teachers made the junior high students rave. And I found myself drawn in by their happiness, by their optimism about their students. Instead of being encouraged to quell student discussion, I was pushed to do the opposite. “Expect them to be involved,” the principal told me, “and they will be. Encourage those who aren’t sharing to do so, and  create activities that involve the whole class, but let each kid shine.” I was teaching speech and theatre, so the task wasn’t hard, and I had a few lone resistant students, but they were won over. I had one student especially who, seeing on his progress report that he had a C+ in class, told me he’d never thought he’d pass at all. He was suddenly filled with a desire to do even better, and his final grade was a B. Overall, my classes were teeming with students who couldn’t wait to do the next activity, who raised their hands desperately, who wanted more than anything in the world to be involved.

Were the two groups of students radically different? I don’t think so. It was the expectation that changed. I have found in my own personal experience that I resist low expectations. When someone dismisses me, assuming I have little to offer, little talent, or a low capacity for achievement, I get mad, and I want to prove them wrong. However, what I’ve realized as an adult is that these same people will see what they want to see. I cannot ever prove to them that I’m worth more than they expect. So I stop trying. At the same time, I find I want to be around people who expect a lot from me. Their high expectations mean a great deal, for I know that as I grow and gain in expertise, they will be there cheering me on, watching my progress, and raising their expectations as I raise my game.

Perhaps the saying is true: “You get what you expect.” My kids know I expect a lot, but they aren’t weighed down by my judgment (you don’t want them to think they can never measure up, for that won’t help them–that is actually a low expectation), and they act better as a result. They are better behaved kids because I expect them to be.

So, what are your expectations? What do you expect from others? What do they expect from you? Can you raise those sights a bit, push yourself farther?  

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