Last week was tough; this one is much better. In fact, last week I called home in tears so
often that my dad worried about me enough to call me. I, too, was worried about walking back into
the classroom on Monday. I wondered whether my students would look at me differently,
now that they’d seen me physically defied. Was the respectful teacher-student
relationship completely abrogated?
Driving to work Monday morning, I thought about how to cope
with the day without having a meltdown. How to teach without crying, or
delivering scathing remarks, or shutting down completely and operating as a
husk of a person?
I hit upon my usual method of coping; pick the person whom I
would most want to be like in this situation, and fill myself with them until I
can bring my own self back. Pretend that they’re watching over my shoulder,
commenting, and do what will make them proud. I cast around in my mind: who
would know exactly the tone to take
with recalcitrant, disrespectful, or angry students?
My teachers.
Of course. I breathed deep into memories of Rebbetzin M
gently chastising me for writing a too snarky newspaper column, Rabbi G
catching me the first (and only) time I ever cheated and my deep shame in his
disappointment, Rabbi E rallying us into continuous, never-ending enthusiasm
for learning, Mrs. M massaging my shoulders encouragingly when I freaked out in
my very first high school history test, Mrs. W’s superbly commonsensical
teacher-tone guiding us into correct behavior, and G ignoring my impetuous need
to test every prank that I’d ever read about in his class in favor of my
developing literary soul. My teachers.
I walked into my classroom unafraid, certain that even if my
teachers never had to deal with students quite like these, their sense of human
dignity and respect for human growth would apply nonetheless. I remembered what
my principal told me once, after I’d facilitated some shenanigans and he’d
given me candy and made me walk the school grounds with him and his pedometer
as punishment (mine was a weird high school experience): Teachers must forgive
students every single day.
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| Ha! This sign should hang in the school I teach at. |
Thank you, teachers o’ mine. I am beginning to realize that
teaching requires the utmost greatness of spirit. It is giving me visions of a
person I never thought myself capable of being. Something to work towards. Maybe someday to become. But until then, I am safe, emulating you.
Oh, how this gives me hope! We do so much for our students, so much thought and care goes into their assignments, projects, grades, conversations, behind-the-scenes coaching of their parents, but most of them only notice if they're getting what they want. It's true; teachers at your alma mater have vastly different challenges than those you face. I'll write you a menu sometime soon with our daily specials.
ReplyDeleteI came into this particular educational scene late in your game. I came here from working in the backcountry with the types of students you work with now. On one particular course, I had a pit in my stomach every morning and felt fear every night after one particularly hateful student found some garbage in a less-than-pristine site...a section of PVC pipe that he was able to smash into a sharp point. It was so hard to remain The Instructor. I wanted a protector. We were far from any communication. The walls of my tent wouldn't be much of a match for him. I hated that course. I hated not being tough enough to feel safe around him.
You're so clever in your instinct to become someone else in those moments. It won't be long before you'll be able to remember YOU as your best self in tough times. You'll be able to conjure up YOU from a previous era, one in which you were all you needed to be. My hunch is that in the years to come, you'll become the YOU from the parsha you're in now.