by Taniece Thompson-Smith, 2024 Texas Teacher of the Year
“… I say to you, my young friends, doors are opening to you — doors of opportunities that were not open to your mothers and your fathers — and the great challenge facing you is to be ready to face these doors as they open.”— Dr. Martin Luther King
This beautiful, complicated journey called life is often shrouded in mystery. On one hand, you want to see what happens in the end. On the other, you want to slow life down, because seeing how it ends also means that you are at the end. As a little girl, I sat on the beaches of the Caribbean Sea and frequently looked up in amazement as planes traversed the airport, just a few feet from me. All I wanted was to get on that plane once, just once, and see what was beyond the clouds.
Reality, however, had a tighter grip on me. Why would someone like me ever get that opportunity? Those experiences were reserved for the smart and rich. I was neither. I knew that from experience. I was an average student. For me, the sciences were fugitive subjects because I knew my brain the best, and there was no way that I would ever be smart enough to excel in them. I grew up reading about Ben Carson’s journey to becoming a neurosurgeon. There had to be a secret missing from his story that allowed him to spread his wings nonetheless, and soar above his circumstances. I would never be any good.
My mom often recounted the story of her and her family, about 10 people living in a one room apartment (no living room, no kitchen), sharing an outdoor toilet and kitchen with neighbors living in the tenement yard. That’s my legacy. I dwelled on the difficulties in her own journey, not the hope she tried to instill in us, despite her rough start.
So, how in the world did an immigrant girl from such humble (unspeakable) beginnings not only get the opportunity to move to America, but to walk through the doors of the White House for the first-ever 2024 National Teachers of the Year State Dinner as an ambassador for all the amazing teachers in the state of Texas, the second largest state in America? After reflecting on this thought, I have summarized my journey into three pillars that have kept me grounded. They are conscientiousness, communication and humility.
Conscientiousness
“Would you like an empty purse? An empty brain is 10 times worse. So with a will, the strife begins. Put the golden knowledge in and work, work, work.”
There’s one thing that was explicitly clear when I attended elementary school. You work hard. Period. That quote above, or something similar, was written on the blackboard. While we waited for the classroom gate to open, we had to peek through the cinder blocks, copy the “gem” in our best handwriting and then rewrite it several times. By the time the gate opened, being finished with it was an expectation, not an option.
When our family migrated to the United States, my mom reminded us daily about the importance of doing our very best every day, regardless of the circumstances. We had this once in a lifetime opportunity to move from a Third World country to a first world country, and she made sure that we never took that for granted. It’s now ingrained in me. I approach everything with a level of grit and a determination to keep working hard, even after I falter, which I often do.
The words of Dr. Martin Luther King constantly ring in my ear. “And when you discover what you will be in your life, set out to do it as if God Almighty called you at this particular moment in history to do it. Set out to do such a good job that the living, the dead or the unborn couldn’t do it any better.”
Communication
I remember starting college in New York and taking the English proficiency exam for transfer students. Despite doing extremely well on the exam, I was exempted from remedial English, but didn’t earn any credits because I was not from a noteworthy college. In other words, my communication was enough to allow me to skip some classes but not good enough to earn credits on my transcript.
I was also enrolled in speech class because of my lisp. I desperately wanted to be a clear communicator. I was already struggling with assimilation. Since then, I have learned to be present in conversations, and listen with my whole body. I have also been consistently working on being a better communicator in speech, body language and in writing.
I am very passionate about civic scientific literacy. My willingness to advocate for elementary science has raised the bar, not just for my students, but for myself and other elementary science educators. I credit that to many factors, but my willingness to be vulnerable and communicate effectively is a large part of the reason for my progress.
Every encounter with someone creates a perception. According to two Princeton psychologists, Janine Willis and Alexander Todorov, when we meet strangers, we subconsciously form impressions of them within one-tenth of a second. In fact, those impressions don’t significantly change after a prolonged interaction over a much longer time. Therefore, I have learned to make every encounter as meaningful as possible.
I have learned to really listen and be engaged in quality communication. These are the moments that have organically created spaces for my voice to be heard and valued as an advocate for students. When the conversation is authentically about students and their well-being, it resonates well with others, even with those who would be traditionally partisan on how to achieve the desired outcomes.
Humility
When I completed my student teaching in the islands, I was in a rural community. Some students came to school barefoot. Teachers cooked their lunches in the middle of the school yard. Blackboards on wheels separated classrooms. Teachers made the poster boards and class manipulatives. These experiences define me as an educator. When I got my first teaching job in America, I spent the summer cutting out 180 bananas to track the days of the week. I didn’t even think that I could have just ordered cute classroom counters online. My fingers hurt for days after. Now, that is a treasured memory I refuse to let go.
I was taught to work hard and it manifested in how I approached my profession. I have seen both sides of the fence, and it has humbled me. For me to have this opportunity to live out the American dream has been nothing short of a blessing. So when I teach, I teach like our students’ futures depend on it. I teach like it’s the last moment I’ll ever see them. I teach like this is my last day on Earth to make an impact. I teach like my mom is standing behind me, asking me if I truly did my best. I teach like I’m standing on the shoulders of Dr. King, Rosa Parks, and my grandmother who stood for education and principles.
Welcome to the White House
On May 2, 2024, First Lady Dr. Jill Biden opened the doors of the White House for the first-ever National Teachers of the Year State Dinner. The sacred moment when my feet crossed the threshold from an every day guest peering through its gates from the streets of Pennsylvania Avenue, to an invited guest, walking in, to the harmonious symphony of the Air Force band will live on in my brain in infamy. I walked through those doors with every student I have ever taught in my heart. I walked through those doors with every conscientious, communicative and humble educator in my heart. I walked through those doors with all my ancestors who had worked so hard, even when the outcome seemed futile in my heart. I walked through those doors as a living testament of the American dream.
When my students struggle, I will tell them my story. When my colleagues grapple with the state of education and whether or not it’s worth staying in the profession, I will tell them my story. When I am judged for my mistakes, instead of all the ways I try to do better on a daily basis, I will tell my story. When the schools wrestle between tracking data and building capacity and community among staff, I will tell them my story.
My story is simple. I am an immigrant. America gave me a chance to embrace possibilities that I didn’t know existed. Education unlocked doors that I thought were forever sealed. Teachers poured words of affirmation in me. Conscientiousness, a communicative personality and humility balanced me on their wings and glided me from the liminal space of self doubt, through the White House, a symbol of strength, power and possibilities. Dr. Biden gave me an old school bell, a poignant reminder that as educators we will keep ringing the bell for education, and as she said, “changing those who [hear] its ring.”
Five words from Dr. Biden’s opening remarks will forever ring in my ear. For me, it is a call to action, to show my students that anything is possible.
“Welcome to the White House!”
