Creating Our Worlds with Our Choices

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As a young teacher, I was thrust into creating a program from a class that barely existed. I was hired three days before school started to teach an Animal Science course in the career and tech-ed department of a local high school. This was supposed to be a hands-on course where students would learn how to take care of cats, dogs, and other pets like rabbits, guinea pigs, reptiles and fish.

I would have some students for up to 3 hours a day - but I had no textbook, no supplies, no animals and a "curriculum" that was just a half a page of suggested topics. I was the only teacher of this class in the school; I didn't have anyone I could borrow from. I was 22 years old, fresh out of college with a mere twelve weeks of student teaching under my belt. I was starting from scratch in just about every way possible.

Blank slates are daunting, but they are pregnant with possibility. The lack of support and structure was on one hand overwhelming and on the other hand freeing. The class was mine to design as I wished. And while it meant being in constant creation mode, I loved it.

So, how did I create a program that in just two years went from being a half-time program to a full-time program to a program with a waiting list? One small choice at a time.

I knew some things I needed to know and a lot that I didn't. But I had students in front of me five days a week and I had to teach them something - every single day. I didn't have the luxury of years, months or even weeks of research, there was nothing to do but trust what I did know, pay attention to my instincts, dive in and try.

Each and every day was a new set of choices. Some worked. Some didn't. I learned as much, if not more from the second set.

But I had a vision, and I let that be my guide.

I knew I wanted a class where students wanted to be - not because I was the "nice" teacher or the "cool" teacher but because I was a teacher who believed in them and all that they were capable of. And because they were learning things they cared about, things that mattered to them.

• I wanted a class where my students helped shape what and how we learned.

• I wanted a class where students felt safe to take risks because that's how we grow.

• I wanted a class where respect and compassion created this container and where they learned not just how to care for animals but to care for their fellow humans.

• I did my best each day to model, however imperfectly, what it was to show up for someone with respect and compassion and love (even when it was tough love).

My classroom was very organized. It had to be. Over 30 different animals lived there. It was my students who fed them and cleaned their environments. We ran a grooming salon two days a week where people in the community would bring their cats and dogs for baths and haircuts. My students did the scheduling, the checking in and checking out and the bathing and haircutting.

I needed my students to know where things were so they could find what they needed when they needed it. Yes, it would have been "easier" if I had just controlled everything, but that wouldn't have given my students the chance to learn from their mistakes (like I was getting to learn from mine).

Students (and teachers) responded to the environment. Students who were waiting to be picked up after school came to hang out in my room. Fellow teachers want to have our meetings there. Once a student came to my class from his social studies class asking to borrow a stapler. "Doesn't your social studies teacher have a stapler?" I asked. "Yes, but he said it would be faster for me to just come borrow yours because I'd know where it is."

The organization wasn't just for me, it was a way to help my students feel like it wasn't "my" class but ours.

Students came to me from different schools across the county and they came to me from different backgrounds. I couldn't just cross my fingers and hope they got along. And if you've been around highschoolers you know that ultimatums like "no disrespect" just don't work.

I had to be intentional about building community and I had to help my students learn the skills for it. We had weekly class circles where we addressed whatever needed to be addressed. They learned how to treat each other with respect so they could work together productively. They learned how to address and resolve conflict. They learned how to create safety.

My students never ceased to amaze me with their creativity and ingenuity. They took on leadership roles within our student organization. They raised money, planned field trips, won numerous awards. They learned how to rise to the occasion because I supported their risk-taking and helped them process failure.

They took the care of our animals very seriously. Once, when the school had a gas leak and had to be evacuated, they insisted on not leaving the animals behind. They boarded the bus that would take us to another location with pockets full of lizards, hamsters and ferrets. It was contained chaos. And we all learned so much from it.

Creating a world where this could happen often meant challenging the status quo. My students appreciated that. The same could not always be said for my administration or fellow teachers. 

I pushed boundaries. I insisted on having access to the building after hours - animals still eat even when students are on vacation. I pushed back on discrimination. I wouldn't flunk the student they wanted to kick out of my school (who happened, not surprisingly, to be Black and male) because he did well in my class. I pushed back on sexism. I once halted a department-wide assembly as the mostly male student body cat-called some of my female students who were running the meeting, later challenging their teachers to do a better job of raising men who might just end up working for a woman.

Many of my students didn't particularly like school. Many of them had never really experienced success and yet (sometimes with significant nudging), they reached beyond their own limits, accomplishing things they never thought they could because they were given room to do so.

My boss once told me to stop being successful with the "bad" students because I'd keep getting more of them. "It's like you want to save 'em all," he chided. "That's because I do. And in trying to save all of them I might actually save some and that's enough of a reason for me to try."

Of course, I wasn't actually saving them. I was giving them a place to find themselves.

Watching them develop a whole new understanding of who and how they could be in the world remains one of the great privileges of my life.

I didn't just create a program, I created a world.

I didn't know that then but I can see it now.

And it was with all the seemingly small choices I made along the way.

Creating the world that is ours is a journey, and often one that is ongoing. And it's not for the faint of heart. I struggled a lot in those early days. But I kept going because I believed in what I was creating.

That's how it is whenever we create. We hit roadblocks. We experience failures and loss. We run out of steam. We have days where we think it's useless to even try.

And we also have days where we witness tiny miracles, where we see the seeds we've planted beginning to poke through the dirt with a tiny green sprout, where we catch a glimpse of our new world that takes our breath away.

'And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.' - Anais Nin

Where are you ready to blossom? What world is calling you to be its midwife? How are you giving voice to it?

CreateAWorld is a collaboration with myself and fellow facilitators telling the stories of people who are building a better world and supporting you on your journey to do the same. If there is a world you are seeking to create and you'd like to connect with others who are on the same journey, you can find us on substack: CreateAWorld | Substack