Why I Teach These Stories

A Teacher Like Mrs. Bennet

A few years ago on an early morning flight from Portland, Oregon to New York, I found myself groping blindly for a pen in my carry on, while awkwardly trying to hold the tray table up with my shoulder. Just as my coffee was about to spill, my folder full of student essays fluttered into the aisle. A young flight attendant stooped down to help me pick them up and asked me what grade and subject I taught. I smiled when I said high school English, because I have become very familiar with the conversation that so often follows. Oh, cool! he said, totally excited: I had the best 10th grade English teacher and he smiled broadly when he began to tell me about Mrs. Bennet.

Although our conversation was disjointed and happened intermittently between hurried trips up the aisle and offers of drinks and snacks, I quickly understood what was so special about Mrs. Bennet. Not only did her class help my young flight attendant to remember his love of reading, but also it became a safe haven for him. At a time when he was an extremely uncomfortable teenager trying to figure out how to “come out,” his English class was reading In Cold Blood by Truman Capote. When Mrs. Bennet casually mentioned that Mr. Capote was openly gay and celebrated widely for his both his literary genius and his glamorous and open lifestyle, something important happened.

I just knew that I could be myself in that classroom, and that there were people, like Mrs. Bennet who would accept me, he explained. He spent the rest of that school year reading voraciously, writing his own stories and practicing the kinds of conversations that he would have later with his family. He actually came out to Mrs. Bennet in an essay about personal identity and in our conversation on that day, he insisted that “she saved his life” during high school.

Now, I’m not going to suggest that something this profound happens every day in the high school English classroom, but I will say that the high school English classroom can be a unique site for deep connections between students and teachers and their stories. If you believe that to understand the narrative—ours and theirs—is to begin to understand the world, you understand just how important stories are. As English teachers, we have agency to choose books and stories that engage and resonate with our students, that show them how different people live and  help them to see possibilities that they might not see otherwise. 

Making Space for New Narratives

In recent years, the public education landscape has shifted and English Language Arts curricula are no longer understood to be a set of canonical literary texts to be taught, but rather a set of critical skills to be acquired. I have interpreted this shift to mean that I have the freedom to reimagine my work and to choose texts that not only help my students to read and write effectively, but also texts that are written by people like them and in which they can see themselves.

Luckily I have had the support and encouragement of my school’s administration as I actively search for new texts to add to our more traditional literary offerings—texts written by women, and people of color. Texts that feature members of the LGBTQ community, texts that are sometimes challenged for their content or their language, but often speak to students in ways that other texts do not. Why are these texts important? Because they make space for voices which have not always been heard. And, in the hearing of these voices, my students often begin to understand the importance of finding their own.

Writing Back: The Power of Personal Narratives

Recently, after a close read of Sandra Cisneros’ novella, The House on Mango Street, I asked my students to write their own small collection of personal vignettes. Every time I do this assignment, I am surprised, delighted—and often humbled—by the trust my students place in me. I have read stories and poems that have brought me to tears and others that made me laugh out loud. This year, I was particularly struck by what I didn’t know about my students—their accomplishments, the  places they’ve lived,  the unimaginable losses they’ve suffered. 

As I reflect on this assignment, I see a common thread and it might be this: When students read narratives that engage them and compel them to think about their own lives, they don’t mind writing. When this writing is met with encouragement, enthusiasm and understanding, they want to write more. This cycle seems to cultivate two important  conditions for true learning—confidence and curiosity. And, the sweet little secret that I will share with you, but not with them: This is the foundation for more sustained critical work. And, just as importantly, for the deep connections between teachers and students.

So, when I think of the kind of teacher I want to be, I think of someone like Mrs. Bennet. I want to continue to seek out new texts that help my students to understand that they can be themselves in the world—and that their voices and their stories are important. And then I listen closely.