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I was a swimmer, back in the day. I grew up in the pool after we discovered that football, baseball, basketball, and soccer all required certain skills that I lacked, namely running, jumping, throwing, and catching. I hung up my bat after two summers of baseball in which I played right field and the center fielder somehow always managed to get position behind me to catch the ball that I inevitably mis-judged. But, be impressed that I made it a full two summers - all it took was a single weekend basketball clinic for me to realize my full potential on the court.

 

I liked two things about swimming. One, being immersed in water meant I couldn’t feel myself sweat. I liked that so much that, when I became a coach, my bio on the team website read, “My favorite part about swimming is not being able to feel myself sweat.” The other thing that appealed to me was, once I was in the water, my success depended only on me. 

 

It was a team, for sure. But my teammates weren’t the kind of teammates that would get mad at me if I dropped the ball, or who I could get mad at if they dropped the ball (hey, if I actually made the throw to you, you sure as strawberries better catch it). Sometimes, my teammates and I competed in the same race; I was in the outside lane (the slow lane). My teammate in the center lane (the fast lane) would win, I would finish 5-10 minutes later, and we’d all have our times. 

 

In high school meets, the team collectively accumulates points, but my high school didn’t have a team. Competing for the Y, most meets were about getting a PR or qualifying for state. I think you may have predicted this by now, but I don’t even know where Y State was in Wisconsin. 

 

My athletic talents aside, my Myers-Briggs personality profile is INTJ. I like doing my own thing. I don’t like depending on other people. In swimming, I may fail because I didn’t work hard, but I wasn’t going to fail because other people didn’t work hard.💭 Working hard was not a character trait I developed until my twenties. This is why it’s a poor idea to get married or buy a sports car before you have a fully-developed frontal lobe.

 

Teaching has always appealed to me for these reasons. We’re in a school building all together, but my classroom is my classroom, and my success as a teacher depends on how well I do my job. My curriculum director used to say, “Today’s teachers aren’t the ‘sage on the stage,’ they’re the ‘guide on the side.’”  💭 She also said other things, like, “No, I’m not buying you a textbook” and “Does your school really need three counselors?” So, I learned only to selectively apply her advice.

 

Screw that! I’m a darn good sage, and I love a spotlight. I could be the sage who guides beside those on his stage. 

 

The nice part was, while all the other teachers had frequent collaboration meetings with their departments - all the English teachers together, all the math teachers together, all the social studies, etc - I was the only computer science teacher. I didn’t have to collaborate with anyone. Best job ever. 

 

Backup. We briefly had meetings of a small crew we called, “The Misfits,” a collaboration of myself, the shop teacher, the consumer sciences teacher, the art teacher, and the behavior disorders teacher who, to be honest, was probably there to keep us from attacking each other. We quickly realized we didn’t have much worth collaborating over, and my desire to consider things to be important just because someone over at Central Office said it was vanished somewhere around year five.💭 Year five, as you’ll recall, is the inflection point around which 50% of the profession quits forever.

 

I was one of the few people in education who got to do pretty much whatever I wanted to do. It was great for an INTJ. 

 

Until it wasn’t. 

 

Until it got lonely. 

 

Until I could go several weeks in a row, come straight to my room, not interact with another adult all day, and then go home. 

 

My inner INTJ screamed as I not only sought out, but actually got a job that required constant collaboration with everyone! As the Talented and Gifted teacher, I need to support my kids’ continuous learning and give them opportunities to go beyond what the rest of the class is learning. Doing that requires knowing what the rest of the class is learning, and how well they’re doing. 

 

I went from not needing collaboration with anyone, to needing to collaborate with 36 different teachers, across six grades at two different buildings. 

 

And now, I have a different problem: no time. 

 

A simple math equation: with my students being served by 36 teachers, having a single, twenty-minute meeting with each of them would consume a full one-third of my work week. 

 

This sort of partnership is simultaneously absolutely necessary and absolutely impossible (which is also coincidentally the title of education’s number one hit album). 

 

The problem now is I can get by with less collaboration, but every minute less than that means I am able to give my students less than what they need. I need to ask teachers what they’re doing, the strengths they’re seeing in these kids that I can build from. We have research that shows TAG pullouts that aren’t building on what the kids do in their core isn’t much more beneficial than kids just missing class. 

 

Nonetheless, the inertia of the education system has deemed that my class is totally separate. Despite the willingness of my administrators, pushing to do it right is like the scene from Apollo 13 where they say, “We gotta make this [square block] fit into the hole for this [round tube] using nothing but that [spacesuit parts].” Show people what it’s supposed to be like, and you get the reaction of the CAPCOM when the engineers put their contraption on his desk: “What’s this???”

 

We’ll get there, if for no other reason than teaching is a team sport. I don’t think people get into education realizing that. 

 

You may have heard something about a national substitute teacher shortage. Because of this, not every teacher who takes a sick day actually gets a sub. Then, who better to take their place than everyone’s favorite teacher who doesn’t have a homeroom class? 

 

Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad to help! Teaching is a team sport, remember? The school literally can’t function unless we all work together. So, I cancel my groups for the day, grab my computer, and head into a friend’s class to help out. 

 

Teaching is a team sport, but I don’t always have home field advantage in my own arena. 

 

Case in point: I once subbed in a 4th grade class where a girl named Moriah walked through the door while I was sitting in the back keeping the class quiet during a guest reader. Just inside the door, she waved her hands, blew me a kiss, and then walked back out. 

 

What had I just witnessed? Did Moriah just decide to nope out and leave? 4th graders going on sophomores can be the worst! I tip-toe back out into the hall and, sure enough, Moriah is nowhere to be found! Not in the room next door, across the hall, or hiding behind the cubbies. So, I call the office, report her skipping class, and then go back to listen to the guest reader. A few minutes later, our behavior responder brought her back. 

 

Here’s what actually happened: this wonderful teacher had helped to simplify things and make them more efficient by teaching her class some sign language. Moriah signed, “bathroom” to me, thought I said yes, and then signed, “thank you” and left. Me, who didn’t recognize the base coach’s calls, erroneously stole second and got thrown out. 

 

Another time, I subbed in a 3rd grade class where I met a delightful young man named Jensen. I quickly💭 Quickly because the teacher heroically came to school sick knowing she didn’t have a sub, gave it a good go for half an hour, but then had to leave so quickly I didn’t have notes on the particular behavior needs of any of her kids. learned Jensen was yet incapable of really any form of self-regulation. A slightly hard math problem meant leaping out of his desk, grabbing a wad of paper towels, and making some sort of soapy mess of a towel animal. 

 

Yes, I recognize this as a form of escape behavior. Yes, I recognize we can make a plan to teach him replacement skills. But I’ve been in this classroom for 17 minutes and I’m currently working on learning today’s phonics lesson at the same time I have to teach it to the kids. 💭My solution was to have one of my advanced students lead the lesson instead, because I’m still a trained middle school history teacher who now understands the basics of teaching phonics but didn’t have time to learn this class’ routine.

 

Later in the day, we’re working on some independent projects. Jensen brings his computer to me and asks, “How do you spell olympic?” I tell him, and then he surprises me with a delightful fact:

 

“Most people don’t know this, but the Titanic had an identical sister ship called the Olympic.”

 

Oh child. It’s nice you know that, but that’s a rookie fact in Titanic-dom. You’re not in the big leagues yet. I invented this game. 

 

“And there was also a third one called the Britannic, and it was sunk by a mine in World War I.”

 

Okay, so you are in the big leagues. 

 

“And this one is called the Lusitania, which isn’t related, but a lot of people confuse it for the Titanic because it has four funnels and it also sank.”

 

[Insert Mr. D’s stupified face without a vocal response.]

 

“How do you spell maritime? I’m writing a story called Maritime Mystery.”

 

Okay, there are two third graders in the history of third graders who know the meaning of the word maritime and they're both in the same room at the same time. You poor child, I thought, I have lived the life you are about to live. 

 

(Congratulations reader, you have survived the implosion of the space-time continuum.) 

 

The inside of his desk also resembled mine in third grade: total disaster. 

 

But what gets me is he didn’t believe I was also into ships, even when I handed him the book I wrote about the Lusitania! He couldn’t focus on another person talking long enough for me to point out the subtle differences in the superstructure that allow one to distinguish the difference between the Olympic and Titanic. 💭 The Promenade Deck on the Olympic is completely open, while the Titanic’s is partially-enclosed, among other subtle differences.

 

I sub, take on committee assignments, and volunteer for school improvement projects because teaching is a team sport. I would love for there to be more subs, and as a principal, I will work to make life easier for the guest teachers in my building. Teaching is hard, but we’re capable of doing hard things when we see the difference they’re making, and it’s easier to make a difference when we’re all players on a team. 

 

No, specialist teachers shouldn’t be subbing. People’s willingness to be team players doesn’t mean the leaders can avoid solving these problems. Knowing my leaders, I know they’re trying while swimming against a tidal wave of bad policy at our state level. I hope my colleagues in other schools are as fortunate. 

 

I loved swimming because of its individualism. Later in life, I became a coach, and realized that an effective swim team pushes each other, supports each other, and brings out the best in each other. They know the best way to push you when you can’t push yourself anymore. Some of my most proud moments as a coach was watching the things the athletes did as a team. You’re by yourself when your ears go underwater, but the work of the team contributes a great deal to your success. 

 

Turns out swimming, too, is a team sport.

 

We’re by ourselves in our classrooms for large chunks of the day, but in an effective school, we’re not solo players. No one teacher can meet all the needs of all the students in their class. 

 

Teaching is a team sport. 

 

Now, legislators and policymakers: help us to enable this. 💭 And don’t say stupid stuff like, “You don’t need a college degree to teach second grade math.” You don’t need a degree to DO second grade math, but you most certainly need one to teach it well.

 

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David Dubczak is an educator and writer documenting his final year in the classroom before transitioning into school administration. Follow David Dubczak - Writer on Facebook to keep up with semi-weekly posts. 

 

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Read David's books and plays right here at www.DavidDWriter.com. Since I'm a nerd, I've written a lot (but not exclusively) about ships. 

 

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