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There have been many times in my life when I have experienced failure but never once have I considered myself to be a failure. For as long as my mother can remember I have always wanted to be a teacher. Apparently I lined up my dolls on a regular basis to pass on to them whatever gems of wisdom I had learned that day. I have been told it often enough that it has become a memory. I went away to college on the strength of some not very impressive qualifications, to embrace my destiny. In my first teaching practice, at the end of my first year, I was entrusted with a class of very young children. It had been a long time since I had been that young and I really did not know how to communicate with them. It was a painful experience having so much to teach and knowing that nothing was going in. There was no connection on any level. It was painful to watch their real teacher talk to them so effortlessly and know that every word she said was being mopped up like blotting paper, and to realise that I had failed. My failure was written down on paper so clearly for all future employers to see. I sobbed onto any dry shoulder that was offered to me back at college and tried so hard to feel gladness for the rest of the class who had shown themselves to be the next generation of capable and efficient teachers. I did not have a Plan B. It was teaching that I had set my heart on and nothing else would do. I looked carefully at the list of my failings and decided to act. I spent hours writing on a blackboard to get the lines straight and my writing clear and tidy. I spent ages talking to an imaginary class, projecting my voice. I read books that only very young children could read so that I could find what words they used and how they put things. I looked over the lesson plans I had written out and thought about how I would do it differently. I asked to visit local primary schools in a spare afternoon just to observe and to watch what was done and how. I left no stone unturned.
I have been teaching for twenty five years now. Yes, I failed my first teaching practice, but I went on to pass the following ones, improving gradually each time. I did not end up in a job teaching very small children, but in a high school teaching teenagers with chips on their shoulders and smart remarks on their tongues. I still fail to communicate at times. It has been a long time since I was that young.
Real failure happens when we stop learning from the mistakes that we make. Real failure comes when we give up and accept as unchangeable situations that never are.
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