James Hamilton -  Not in the Lesson Plan

 

 

When I was 23, I was going into my second year of teaching, and I was obsessed with being an excellent teacher, like I had a chip on my shoulder about it. I had a chip on my shoulder about it, because my first year of teaching had not gone that well. The general vibe with the veteran teachers was that I couldn't cut it. At some point, in the last year, they maybe concluded that I didn't have my stuff together. I don't know if it's because I was so young, or because I was so inexperienced or maybe because I clearly didn't own an iron and all my shirts were very wrinkled. 

 

So, going into year two, every day, walking into my fourth-grade classroom was a chance for me to show a new group of kids and prove to all these other teachers that I had my stuff together. Every time, we had to walk out on the hall, my lines were the straightest. My lesson plans were the most thorough. While I didn't buy an iron, I did find a type of shirt that doesn't even get wrinkled. [audience laughter] Every detail accounted for. 

 

My school was very rigid, like strict curriculum, long school days and no recess. So, it's like a kid's nightmare. The other teachers would complain about this no recess policy, but I took it on myself to find a solution. And the solution that I came up with, is that on Fridays, I would take my class to the park and would let them play for a while. It was about eight blocks from our school, which meant that technically it was a field trip, not a recess, so still within the rules. If you'd asked any of the kids, they'd say that despite the fact that, eight blocks is a very long way for fourth graders to walk, they thought this was the best idea ever, and their now favorite teacher, Mr. Hamilton, came up with it. 

 

The school was surprisingly okay with this on two conditions. One, the kids had to walk in and out of the building in straight and silent lines. And two, no one could get hurt. I was like, “Weird that you put straight lines before no one getting hurt.” [audience laughter] But also, I don't know if you've noticed, but my lines are very straight. [audience laughter] So, one day, we go to the park. It's like perfect weather. Everyone's in a particularly good mood. I always make a point of playing with every group of kids. So, I did it all. I did the swings. I did the slide. I did the jungle gym. 

 

There was one kid, and all he wanted was for me to chase him. And so, he would run into the field and I'd follow him. And then, he'd run around the swings and I'd follow him. And then, he went under the jungle gym and I followed him. He's a fourth grader, which is the perfect height to run full speed under a jungle gym that is mostly made of sheets of metal and sharp edges. I am two full feet taller than him, which is not the perfect height to run under a jungle gym at full speed. 

 

So, when I stood up even a little bit, I just put my head going full speed right into one of these sharp metal edges. I stumbled out and was holding my head. I don't know if you remember being 10 years old, but it's very funny when your teacher gets hurt. [audience laughter] It's like the funniest thing in the world. So, there was this kid, Thomas, who just pointed and laughed. As he's laughing, we lock eyes just as blood starts going down my face. [audience laughter] 

 

So, his laugh was kind of like, “[laughs] Oh, no. No.” I just hold my head and very calmly go, “We're going to go back early today. [audience laughter] So, y'all can just line up right over there.” While they're lining up, I go behind a car, and take off my dress shirt and take off my undershirt and wrap my undershirt around my now very bloody head and wrap my-- and button my dress shirt back all the way up, which, by the way, still not wrinkled. [audience laughter] I call the school and I say, “Hey, good news and bad news. Bad news, someone got hurt. Good news, not a student. [audience laughter] You'll see what I mean when I get back,” assuming I get back. 

 

We begin this eight-block trek back to the school, which again, a long distance for 10-year-olds under normal circumstances, particularly long when your teacher has an active head wound. [audience laughter] I'm just trying to keep it cool, you know? I'm just having conversations and saying things like, “You know, this is why I tell you to sit up so straight in class. A lot of blood flowing up there. A lot of blood.” Every couple of blocks, one of the kids just goes quietly, “Does it hurt?” And I go, “No. No” which it didn't. But internally, I was like, “This doesn't hurt, because that's how shock works.” [audience laughter] 

 

I get all the way back to the school and they're waiting for me. And even in the chaos, I'm aware that my seemingly brilliant plan has ended with egg on my face. And by egg, I mean my own blood. [audience laughter] They take me to the urgent care, and I get nine pretty painful staples in my head. And then, I do what seems reasonable, and I go back to work. And the school's like, “No, you can't teach.” I'm pretty sure I know why. I'm like, “This is because you don't think I know what I'm doing. You think that I'm bad at my job.” The reason they gave me was that you're wearing an urgent care shirt, your hair is caked with blood and you probably have a concussion. 

 

There was lots of things that my 23 year old self should have learned. I should have learned to not care what other people were thinking. I should have learned that you're inevitably going to bleed in front of the people that you least want to see you bleed. But those aren't lessons that you can just teach one day and learn. Those are things you have to learn painfully over and over and over and over again. But the one thing I did learn is that you can't control everything. I learned that, because no matter how good my lesson plans were or how straight my line was, I was just always going to be the teacher who cracked his head open. That's just it. Thank you so much.