A childhood tradition of mine that was as consistent as opening presents on Christmas morning or searching for my basket on Easter Sunday (which, more times than not, was in the drying machine hidden behind a fresh set of clean clothes) was sorting through the big garbage bag my mother would bring home at the end of Teacher Appreciation Week each year. You guessed it: My mother is a teacher, and every year she’d give me the honor of opening the apple-shaped pencil sharpeners, chocolates, and “I love my teacher” magnets as she sat and wrote down which student got her each gift so that she could properly address her thank-you notes. I remember thinking that my mom must feel so happy to receive all of these gifts, but the expression on her face as she scribbled down students’ names never matched my assumption.
Years later, I became a teacher and although I never received enough presents to fill a garbage bag, I certainly experienced a lot of pomp and circumstance during this week. And I have to say: Teacher Appreciation Week makes me uncomfortable. It made me uncomfortable when I was teaching, and it makes me uncomfortable now as I think about policies and systems that can help to professionalize teaching.
Years later, I became a teacher and although I never received enough presents to fill a garbage bag, I certainly experienced a lot of pomp and circumstance during this week. And I have to say: Teacher Appreciation Week makes me uncomfortable. It made me uncomfortable when I was teaching, and it makes me uncomfortable now as I think about policies and systems that can help to professionalize teaching.
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