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THE
LONG LONG ROAD THAT IS TEACHING
By Ted
Scheck
 My
name is Ted Scheck. I teach wellness
and PE at a school for the gifted and
talented in the middle of the city of
Indianapolis, Indiana. I’ve been
there for three years. I’m writing
to all professionals involved, or on
the periphery of physical education
because something kind of amazing has
happened to me. Or it’s no longer
happening, depending upon how I look
at it. I’m amazed, that’s
for sure.
I have a
student. I won’t mention his name,
so let’s call him Nameless,
or just ‘Les’ for
short. Les has some issues of impulsivity,
of self-control. Now the ironic thing
is that I had the same exact issues.
I was the classic ADD/ADHD kid. Impulsive
as a tornado and often just as destructive.
Trying to sit still in my seat, if you’d
pointed a RADAR gun at me I’d
have clocked in at about 22 mph.
Last week
my class was practicing the PACER
run for the Fitnessgram. The PACER
run is an amazing test. I love administering
it and even running it for practice
with the kids. You have to do certain
things the right way. Another PE teacher
I team-teach with filled me in with
an important detail, and I was attempting
to explain it to my class when Les suddenly
runs out and demonstrates it - all by
himself. It was so sudden, so unexpected,
yet at the same time I could tell that
the class wasn’t at all surprised
by what had happened. They were, however,
surprised by how I reacted.
I saw myself
in the same grade, way back in the mid-1970s.
We didn’t run the PACER test back
then. The closest thing was the 30-foot.
shuttle run or the 600-yard dash, which
was supposed to measure cardiorespiratory
endurance, but didn’t end up measuring
much of anything except short-term running
speed. I looked at Les and I understood.
I was almost inside his head.
Les ran back,
shamefaced, probably mentally girding
himself for what he supposed was to
come - me, unleashing anger like water
behind a leaky dam that finally bursts
forth. Instead, I smiled and patted
him on the arm. "It’s okay,
Les, don't worry about it." He
kind of mumbled and moved back to his
place in line.
My 7th graders
have been with me since the 5th grade.
They know me as well as any class I’ve
ever had. Patience is often an extremely
difficult thing to learn, especially
if you’re as stubborn a man as
I am. But I was patient. I was calm.
I was smiling. We only have thirty minutes
and I understand too well how precious
time is, and once lost, you never see
it again. The last thing these kids
want or need is me on some kind of emotional
rant because some of my apples spilled
out of my otherwise perfect little apple
cart.
That moment
with Les isn’t the only thing
that’s changed. I have other students
whose grain doesn’t always run
the same direction as the rest of the
class. Some of my students have huge
knotholes, and the blade of my teaching
can become stuck in their little idiosyncrasies.
I’m calmer, more focused, and
intent upon instruction. I don’t
know how it happened, this
being patient, compassionate and understanding;
I just know it has happened.
It’s made all the difference in
the world.
I’ve
been teaching for twelve years. I’m
47, about halfway through my career.
Assuming I’m still conscious,
upright, and healthy for the next twelve
or thirteen years I’ll arrive
at the ripe old age of 60 or 61. Halfway
through my career. I think that the
second twelve should be my shining moments
in the sun and get better not worse.
It’s all in how you look at things.
Glass half-empty or half-full? I’m
moving away from pessimism, which is
inherently negative and a downer, and
hey, I’m just glad I have any
water at all in my glass; teaching is
thirsty work. Cheers! Slurp.
When I was
younger I looked at seasoned veterans
and felt a confusing trifecta of pity,
apathy, and jealousy. They followed
rules and were procedural and calm even
in the face of outrageous hormonal storms.
Petty snide remarks and rude comments
just bounced right off their thick seasoned
hides. I stood there getting all emotional
and outrageously angry for things they
didn’t even raise an eyebrow about.
I think I’m finally there, that
mythical calm state I never expected
to arrive at because of the insignificant
stuff I’d let get in the way.
I’d feared that one day I’d
blow up and lose my top. Fortunately
I didn’t. I now realize I’m
a little more seasoned than the raw
oyster I used to be.
I’m
not saying teaching isn’t a tough,
demanding job. If you find teaching
as easy as a summer breeze you’re
probably not doing it right. I’m
still tired on most days and on Monday,
the day I have 11 classes, my brain
feels like a worn out sponge. But it’s
rewarding, more so than even the best
years I thought I had way back around
the time I got married to my wonderfully
patient wife. Things happen in PE like
they happen everywhere else; with a
varying degree of unpredictability,
chaos, laughter, and skinned knees and
elbows.
I am a teacher.
My classroom is usually the biggest
room in the building. My desk is the
stage. There are days when my neat piles
get messed and moved around by impulsive
self-centered child-like beings that
are supposedly from Earth. These beings,
aged (at my school, anyhow) from about
seven to twice that, are the most unpredictable
and impulsive people I’ve ever
met. And you know what I’ve discovered?
They’re kids. They’re
supposed to be like this. They
are not miniature versions of quiet,
calm adults. They. Are. CHILDREN!
My 7th grade
girls can be as catty as trapped tigers,
then on the flipside of that moment
as warm and generous as humanly possible.
My 6th grade boys can in one breath
act mature and intelligent, and on the
next exhale they’ve pulled their
eyelids inside-out or are snorting like
wild hogs and trying to wipe boogers
on each other’s shirts. Instead
of driving me crazy and getting all
bent out of shape, I just sigh, breathe
in and out, and do my level best to
channel this crazy energy in some semblance
of direction. I’m privileged to
be at my gifted & talented school.
My Principal hand-picked me from dozens
of applicants. I was hired to do a job
because somewhere inside of me was,
is, will be, or will have been, the
man who was supposed to be there to
do this job.
Roman Legionaries
were expected to sally forth. It was
their job. Similarly it’s my job
to get my soldiers marching in sync
and moving in the right direction. Have
I finally seen the light? I don’t
know; maybe. What I do know is that
I feel great when I dress in my sweats
and carry my whistle and gym keys. I’m
getting things done, and I’m taking
the abstract and making it concretely
applicable. Teaching requires energy
and effort, but I’ve somehow turned
into a more efficient teaching machine.
Years ago
I read a study about energy efficiency.
Some bright researcher carefully measured
the caloric expenditure of a bicyclist
and compared it to walking. I recall
that on level ground, riding a bike
is exactly twice as efficient as walking.
Meaning: you walk at 3 miles per hour
and expend x amount of calories, and
someone right next to you rides a bike
at six miles per hour, expending exactly
the same amount of calories. Same caloric
output; the bike gets you twice as far
in half the time.
My teaching
used to be some crazy inverse of that.
It was crazy because back in the day
when I could eat five meals a day, and
survive on four hours of sleep and had
the energy of a college athlete (which
I was), I was the most inefficient teacher
imaginable. I should have been going
6mph and burning x calories; instead
my bike had two flat tires, the frame
was bent, I was unconscious next to
the rock that upended me, and the chain
was completely off the bike, wrapped
around my left ankle.
Now my energy
output is much reduced, but I’m
calmer, and the bike is right where
it’s supposed to be - on the beaten
path, and not off. I’m using fewer
calories but getting farther than ever
before. What is the cause or the effect
of this change? Time I guess. Experience.
Finally learning lessons hard-won. Losing
my temper so many times it was almost
an expectation, and then walking away
from that person and shutting the door
on inappropriateness. Not taking everything
so darn personal.
Kids do kid-like
things because they don’t
have the very skills that I’ve
spent all these years learning.
I’m allowing my students to be
themselves, and seeing that they are
really amazing in their own right. I’m
finally allowing kids some, or maybe
a lot of, wiggle room. I’m not
blaming a child for their upbringing
(or lack thereof), and I’m not
punishing them for crimes they did not,
or did not mean to, commit. I’m
keeping the boat afloat no matter how
high the waves. I’m bailing water
out of the boat when water gets in and
not blaming either the water, the waves,
or the wind for just being what nature
created it to be.
Sometimes it’s okay to walk at
3mph and not bike at 6mph. At six miles
per hour, you go twice as fast in half
the time, but see much less. I’m
slowing down, but making much more progress
than I ever did before.
Biography:
Ted Scheck graduated from St. Ambrose
College, located in Davenport, Iowa,
in 1985 with a BA in Physical Education,
and from 1985-89 he taught three years
at Davenport Schools. He moved to Indianapolis
with his wife, Pam, in 1989 and taught
his first year at Indianapolis Public
Schools. From 1990-2002 Ted worked as
Director of Motion Analysis Laboratory
at Riley Hospital for Children. When
the funding ran out for that job he
got back into teaching, and has been
at various schools in IPS since 2003.
Sidener Academy for High Ability Students
opened in 2008 and Ted was chosen as
the PE/Wellness teacher. Teaching has
been a long, and extremely interesting
road for him, and at the midpoint of
his career he feels that the next 12
or 13 years should be the best of his
career. He's looking forward to it!
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