No, I Wouldn't Hate You

It is so funny when people ask what I do for a living.  It usually goes the same way:

Person: "So what do you do for a living?"

Me: "I am a teacher."

Person: "Oh. Well what grade do you teach?"

Me: "I teach big kids, high school kids."

Person: "Ohhh. What subject?"

Me: "English."​

Person: "Ohhhhhhhh. You're one of those teachers.  You would have hated me as a student. I could never sit still and I talked all of the time.  I was never a good reader or writer."

And then two thoughts enter my mind. #1. I am so sorry that you felt so unappreciated as a student that you would think that any teacher whether they knew you or not would hate you. #2. I like you as an adult, so I am quite sure I would have loved to have you as a student. Students like this are our puzzles - we teachers have to find ways to tap into how their brain works so that we can teach them what they need to know to be successful for the next 2-8 years of high school and college.​ We are not always successful, but we always try.

​And, ​truth be told, I have only taught 3 students who I prefer not to run into at Walmart.  Yes, I will walk the other way if I see them.  THREE students out of TWELVE HUNDRED. And in all three of these cases, our administration put the safety and learning of both myself and my students​ first.  I did not like the chaos those students​ brought to my classroom, but if those students would have shown back up at my classroom door and asked me to help them learn, I would have done it - no questions asked. I'll say it again: three students - only three - out of 1,200.  That is a .25% chance that I would prefer not to have a student in class or walk the other way when I saw him/her in the store.  Those are some pretty good odds. Teachers have too much to do, and we have too many students walk through our doors each year to hold grudges or to hate students. The emotion of hating someone is exhausting, and we teachers are pretty good at being exhausted without feeling hatred toward a student.  

What makes me the most sad is that I had a young man say to me the other day, "You're not going to like it when you have me in class.  I talk and wiggle, and I distract others."  He was shocked when I said, "No, I think you'd fit in just fine in my class - we talk and wiggle a lot." At ten-twelve years of age (sorry, I do not know his exact age), this young man has already established an identity for himself at school. He feels he distracts and causes problems. He has most likely earned himself a permanent spot in the hallway or an island desk in the room with no one around him. I have no doubt that he has had amazing teachers who are kind and loving towards him, but somehow he has felt like he doesn't belong.  I think we just need to figure out how to tap into his genius and let him lead. The more I teach, the more I realize that the "norm" for most students is to not fit the norm. If students fit the norm, we wouldn't need teachers to manage, facilitate and inspire; they could all learn from computers or robots.

As teachers, our words and actions are powerful. They have the power to build up or tear down.  They have the ability to make world-changers or to suck the curiosity out of students' minds. We must tell students they are important to us. We must praise them for learning gains, even if they are small - any improvement is praiseworthy; I try to remind myself that a mole-hill to some is a mountain to others. We must make our classrooms the places students want to take chances.  We need to create lessons that engage them so that they end the hour saying, "Wow, that went by quickly."

Sometimes I think the education battle we face today is because of words that were said to people decades ago.  I hear adults talk about the punishments that they used to receive. I hear of them being ridiculed in front of their classes.  I hear so many stories that I hope and pray are stories of the past.  This is why we must tell our stories - to control the narrative.  Most adults know of mimeograph copies and film strip projectors.  They don't now about the world connections we make, the amazing discussion and projects that are happening in our classes each day - maker spaces, blogging, coding.  When we turn on the news, it is not unlikely to hear about a school scandal - one bad egg can ruin it for the other dozen (or thousands and millions of good eggs).  Again, that is why we must tell our stories.  And how do we do that? Through Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram.  Through blogging.  Through dinner-time conversations with friends and neighbors. It's actually so easy to do, but it just requires time and the confidence that what we are doing is worthy of being shared with others. Each time someone tells me, I think you would have hated me as a student, I think to myself, "You have no idea what really happens in my classroom or you would never say that." So, I smile and say, "No, I wouldn't hate you." What kills me is that they will never believe it.