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My experience playing teacher for one year

I went from being a freelance journalist and mom to high school English teacher overnight. The result: ‘Beowulf’ meets performance art.

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The best way to describe my “teaching method” is performance art. I ended up reading the texts aloud and teaching chess as an inroad to learning about powerful queens in British literature. The greatest find was a podcast by “some guy from New York” who was forced to interpret the classics as an alternative to a prison sentence for an assault charge. He has an uncanny knack for communicating with the teen universe.

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Even though this is a private school, most of my students refuse to read books (text applies only to their phones) and have precious little comprehension when they do. “Beowulf” looked like a lost cause. On Day 3, I threw my hands up and sent the students out of our tiny room and into the hallway. Laying “Beowulf” on the threshold, I instructed them to step back in and over the text. I repeated this process several times.

“Why’d we do that, Mrs. Suhay,” one sassy student demanded. I replied calmly, “Now if anyone asks you what we did in class today you can tell them we went over ‘Beowulf’ – thoroughly.” So it began. Wordplay. Word work. I don’t know if it’s right or wrong, but I don’t think you can get anywhere teaching English literature and writing until the students learn how much fun this new language toy can be. Also, I believe to be a creative writer you must first be taught to be a creative thinker.

I have all my classes keep a “commonplace book” like Thomas Jefferson did. I heard about it on National Public Radio while driving to my first teacher orientation in late August. By the time I parked, I had a tool for kids who need to be lured into reading, but who are great at zinging each other. They collect quotes and passages from books, the Internet, conversations, television, songs, and newspapers (A new wonder! Text in print! It could just catch on again).

They put them into their commonplace books, and each Friday we do a Quote Slam in which they try and outsmart each other, and me, using other people’s words.

Every day I have them participate in word theater. Some classes get lists of SAT words and then come up and act them out while we all try and guess the definitions. It’s charades with college in mind. I also keep a prop box. A magic wand works beautifully in demonstrating charismatic as “an almost magical influence.”

In British Lit, I printed out copies of the Lord’s Prayer in Old English, stuck them on envelopes and passed them out. Inside was the modern translation. They had 30 minutes to try and decode it while I played an MP3 file of the Old English being read aloud.


I live in terror of the day I don’t make it to class and some poor substitute has to attempt my “lesson plans,” which he or she will find in my desk amid the fairy star wand and pink tiara.

This week I had my Pinocchio moment when, instead of being a wooden carving in the image of an educator, I felt like a real, live teacher. In my first class of the day, my roll call produced an extra student. This has been happening more frequently, as students attempt to cut other classes as spectators.

This was different because the young man in the chair graduated last year and had come back to sneak into the British literature class he’d been hearing about – heaven knows where.

So, even though I am not a teacher, I now feel like one. My students are truly mine and not just frothing, angry waves breaking over my desks. I will miss this profession terribly next fall when the school will no doubt find someone qualified. For now I can only say thank you to those who suffered me as a student as I have finally learned their lesson.