It was the first week of a new school year, and I was driving to work with a million things running through my mind.  Actually, it was more like a very long teacher to-do list.

I needed to contact parents about sending an extra bag of clothes for potty accidents. I needed to find the right scissors for my left-handed student. I needed to talk to the occupational therapist about a pressure pencil for another student and coordinate a good time for a student to go to speech.

I was thinking about the fun songs we were going to sing that day, which ones the kids would enjoy and how I could make our activities engaging, meaningful and fun.

And I couldn’t stop thinking about one of my students who had been so sad the day before that she didn’t eat her lunch. Would she be happier today? Would she eat today? What could I do to help her?

So many things were running through my mind, but they all had one thing in common:

The students.

Their needs. Their feelings. Their learning. Their success.

These might sound like mundane considerations to someone outside of education, but to a teacher, they’re not mundane at all. They’re the things that matter — knowing your students, anticipating their needs, planning instruction, communicating with parents and specialists, making learning fun and doing whatever you can to help each child succeed.

And as I drove, I found myself thinking about something much bigger: When did teaching become something more than teaching?

I became a teacher to educate children.I didn’t go into this profession to be a political activist. I didn’t become a teacher to inculcate children with my personal political beliefs or turn my classroom into a platform for political causes.

I wanted to help them learn and grow. I wanted to see the excitement on a child’s face when something finally clicked. I wanted to teach them to read, write, think, solve problems, communicate and become confident learners.

And yes, I wanted to help them become good human beings. But I believe that can happen without turning the classroom into a political indoctrination center.

That morning, my thoughts were about scissors, pencils, speech schedules, extra clothes, fun songs, learning activities and a child who didn’t eat lunch because she was sad. That’s what being a teacher looks like to me.

And then I started wondering about the growing role of activism in education.

Somewhere along the way, a segment of the teaching profession began embracing the idea that teachers should be activists, not simply educators.

When teachers were in college earning their credentials, were they thinking about how to teach children to read? Were they learning effective math strategies, child development, differentiation and how to communicate with parents?

Or were they also being taught their role was to advance particular social, political or ideological causes?

I know teacher preparation looks different today than it did decades ago when I was in the program. But somewhere along the way, the definition of an educator seems to have expanded for some from teaching children to changing society through children.

Those are two very different missions.

Teachers have enormous influence, which is exactly why we should be mindful of how we wield it. Teachers are entitled to their own political beliefs, but having personal beliefs is different from using a position of authority to impose those beliefs on students.

When a teacher’s personal ideology becomes more prominent than the academic mission of the classroom, we have a problem. We’ve seen examples across the country that raise difficult questions about where that line should be — teachers bringing political and ideological debates into classrooms, using classroom displays to make political statements, promoting particular social or political movements or even appearing to celebrate or mock someone’s death because of political disagreement.

Children shouldn’t have to wonder whether their teacher will judge them — or their families — based on their political beliefs.  A classroom should be a place where children learn, not a place where they are expected to adopt their teacher’s worldview.

This is where we need an honest conversation about the role of teachers unions.

What is a teachers union supposed to do? Represent teachers. Negotiate salaries. Protect working conditions. Provide workplace representation. Advocate for safe schools. Help teachers understand their employment rights.

Those are legitimate reasons for having a union.

But when union conventions begin sounding more like political conventions — with discussions about national political candidates, partisan causes, defunding law enforcement or immigration enforcement, and broader political activism — you have to ask, is this really what teachers are paying their dues for?

Where does representation end and political activism begin?

And perhaps the bigger question: Who decided that every teacher must agree with these political positions?

Teachers don’t all think alike, vote alike or share the same values, and that’s OK.

A teacher shouldn’t have to choose between being represented at the bargaining table and financially supporting political causes they don’t believe in.

Maybe that’s why my thoughts that morning bothered me so much.  My mind wasn’t on politics, elections or political movements. My mind was on a child who needed the right scissors. A child who needed an extra set of clothes. A child who needed a pencil that would make writing easier. A child who needed to get to speech at the right time. A child who was sad and needed someone to notice. 

And a classroom full of children waiting for me to teach them — and sing some fun songs.

Those things may sound mundane, but that’s teaching.

It’s noticing the child who needs something and figuring out how to help. It’s calling the parent. Talking to the therapist. Planning the lesson. Adjusting when something isn’t working. Making learning exciting. Celebrating the small victories. Wiping the tears. Helping a child discover, “I can do this.”

No one is suggesting teachers shouldn’t have opinions or participate in their communities. They absolutely have those rights. Teachers can vote, protest, campaign, volunteer, write and advocate for causes they believe in. 

But there’s a world of difference between being a teacher who happens to be an activist and being an activist who happens to be a teacher.

That distinction matters because when children walk into my classroom, they shouldn’t be walking into my political world. They should be walking into their learning environment.

Maybe we need to get back to a simple question: Whydid you become a teacher?

If the answer is to help children learn, grow and succeed, let’s put our energy there.

Let’s worry about literacy. Mathematics. Students who are struggling. Children who need additional support. Partnering with parents. Making learning fun.

Let’s worry about the child who needs the left-handed scissors. The child who needs the pressure pencil. The child who needs speech services. The child who was too sad to eat lunch yesterday. And the songs we’re going to sing today.

None of these things will make the evening news. None will become a political talking point.

They may never be discussed at a national convention, but they matter to the child sitting in front of us, and that’s presumably who you became a teacher for. 

Not a political party. Not a movement. And certainly not a union. 

At the end of the day, I thought about that morning to-do list and smiled. 

The little girl who had been so sad the day before? She ate her lunch. And she smiled. A lot.   

The speech schedule? We found a time that worked. 

The extra bag of clothes? Good thing I remembered it, because we had a potty accident. 

The left-handed scissors? They worked great.

The pressure pencil? Another small piece of the puzzle that helped a student be successful.

And those fun songs I had been thinking about on the drive to school? We sang them, and the kids loved them.

That’s teaching.  And after all these years, I still wouldn’t trade it for another job.