The relatively free society that dominates the structure of American life has afforded many of us the opportunity to do something great—something that arguably can change the world. The past two years for me have been transformative indeed, a figurative pot of churning ingredients for personal progression that have spurred a revolution in my mind—in my sense of the world, the education landscape, and perhaps most importantly, my sense of self.

Finally, I can see the robust value of the “Master of Arts in Teaching” degree from Quinnipiac University. The full scope of this two year adventure has been put into focus by countless hours of erudition, reflection, and meaningful conversation regarding the crown jewel of our society: education. In these formative-educator years, nothing has been as significant in demanding that my identity be intrinsically linked to the students whose learning I care so deeply about.

Now, as this graduate program nears completion, I am the towering academic titan that I aspired to be as I earned my undergraduate degree from Rutgers just two short years ago. I am gratefully prepared to engage with the invariable range of emotions and demands of the high school landscape. I will boldly engage the seas of apathy, streams of tears, the burning desires to succeed, the hungry stomach roars, the rancorous bullying streaks, the high-fives and “you-da-man’s”, the “Mr. Hagewood, your name is tough to say” lines, the fearful glances, the embarrassed smiles, the light bulbs exploding in minds and hearts, and the most beautiful thing in the world to cap off the chaos: “Hey, Mr. Hagewood, thanks for making a difference in my life.”

I was hired as a full-time social studies teacher at a local district last month, and it may be the greatest thing that has ever happened to me. Now, I can only hope that my classes will be the stuff of champions: a place where students can learn, challenge previous heights, feel safe, and forever be convinced that learning is a fact when the heart and soul are dispatched to rip assumptions to shreds. I will be relentless, and it was my intense preparation at QU that enabled me to confidently stride forward in a world that is otherwise mired in skepticism and paralyzing self-doubt. I will succeed by carrying the fire.

Teaching is a lifestyle. Now it’s time to live it.


-Josh Hagewood

Josh graduated from Rutgers University in 2009 with undergraduate degrees in History and Geography. Subscribe to our feed for more posts from Josh.

Entering the student teaching world from the perspective of an intern is similar to walking into a fine restaurant after having been an employee of that eatery’s kitchen—a preparatory area that you know to be slightly dirty, disorganized, and unrelenting. Stepping out onto the nicely groomed carpet, you notice tablecloths spread gently across dining tables, silverware gleaming in the gentle light of high-hanging chandeliers, and people politely bustling about.

George Orwell, with his work, Down and Out in Paris and London (1933), reports rather candidly of his restaurant experience by saying that, “It is amusing to look around the filthy little scullery and think that only a double door was between us and the dining-room. There sat the customers in all their splendour—spotless table-cloths, bowls of flowers, mirrors and gilt cornices and painted cherubim; and here, just a few feet away, we in our disgusting filth.” For all of its glory, one cannot understand the poverty of interning until he or she has witnessed the glamour of student teaching.

Of course to claim that teaching—much like the pristine restaurant dining experience—is without its hiccups, would be a sadly naïve perpetration of injustice. Even fine restaurateurs will cause problems every now and then; those problem-starters always seem to be the same people: one wants the meal to be cooked for exactly three minutes more, another exclaims that his salad lacks the proper proportion of black olives; even one more whines that the bill is too expensive. These are the students that slip through the grasp of our classroom management technique; they are in the dreaded 5% of students that require constant intervention and prodding. But like at a restaurant, it is these customers/students that make the venture worthwhile. Otherwise, the monotony might be shockingly…boring.

Obviously, given everyone’s own experience with school, it shouldn’t be a blow to hear that this immaculate student teaching world can explode into a million disorganized pieces. It seems to me that good teachers enjoy this disorganization like any good puzzle fanatic might. There’s an intense joy out of creating harmony from the chaos—leaving students in a better position than the one they occupied when they entered your class. Could anything be more intensely rewarding?

Let’s face it: as enjoyable as interning in a school can be, nothing tops the beauty of helping a student over the course of an extended period of time. Quinnipiac’s MAT program nicely allows for the graduate student to view this transition from temporary fixture to permanent stalwart. Anchored in position for the fifty days, these students become a part of your world. You are required to constantly find ways to make their educational situation academically richer and more fun than it has been in the past. The prospect of this possibility alone makes me shiver as I wonder how many people may someday be able to point to “Mr. Hagewood” as the source of their inspiration.

Perhaps I’m a lunatic, boldly plastering the bias of a teacher for all to see. But I’m ok with that. Teaching is the greatest profession in the world.

--Josh Hagewood

Josh graduated from Rutgers University in 2009 with undergraduate degrees in History and Geography. Subscribe to our feed for more posts from Josh.

Staring down twenty-five 16-year-olds in the face can be like looking down the barrel of a high-powered rifle, if you’re not careful. But like most other dangerous propositions, there is something thrillingly worthwhile about looking them in the eye, knowing that overcoming the challenge of identifying and saving students from their own academic demise will be oh-so-sweet.

Walking into a classroom in the morning is like taking a path down memory lane for most educators: the smells, the sights, and the feelings are the same as they were when they once walked to take a seat as a student not so long ago (or perhaps long ago, for the late bloomers). There is something so profoundly unique about being in this position of power—a place that gives you the strength to elucidate and enlighten.

Serving as an intern allows for the rare opportunity to experience this euphoria every day, always in a new way. At first, every classroom, student, and teacher is fresh to your experience, and just as a new student walks through the halls questioning his or her position in a foreign place, interns are discovering the fear of the totally unknown—or, what was once known, but has since been forgotten.

Students can sense that you’re young and not distant from the educational process, but there’s something about this knowledge that they flaunt—they want you to know that they are aware of their relationship to you as “little brothers and sisters.” Indeed, my sister next year will be entering high school, not far off in age from the students that I teach on a daily basis. The advantage here, of course, is that our youth and relative inexperience give us the ability to understand and connect with students that gravely need that pipeline to a trustworthy adult figure. Some students don’t have the support beams necessary to handle crisis situations, and in many cases, in your very first year in education, you will be all of the things that a student needs by default. In the words of the teacher and writer Frank McCourt in his epic book Teacher Man, “In the high school classroom you are a drill sergeant, a rabbi, a shoulder to cry on, a disciplinarian, a singer, a low-level scholar, a clerk, a referee, a clown, a counselor, a dress-code enforcer, a conductor, an apologist, a philosopher, a collaborator, a tap dancer, a politician, a therapist, a fool, a traffic cop, a priest, a mother-father-brother-sister-uncle-aunt, a bookkeeper, a critic, a psychologist, the last straw.” You will be a jack of all trades, and master of all of them—not because you want to be, but because you need to be.

Some folks would question this lifestyle; after all, a job that pays for one service but asks for many is asking for the world, right? I wouldn’t hope for it to be any other way. Let them ask for the world. I’ll give them the universe.

--Josh Hagewood

Josh graduated from Rutgers University in 2009 with undergraduate degrees in History and Geography. Subscribe to our feed for more posts from Josh.