being *that* kind of teacher, part I
I’ve hit an emotional stretch of teaching time. Last week,I attended the funeral of my student “Melinda’s” mother. Melinda has been through hell this year. Shortly after her grandmother died, her mother was diagnosed with a brain tumor. She was put into the care of her aunt. The aunt, who is bipolar, went off her meds and beat Melinda, who told the school counselor and was put into foster care across town just as her mother was put on a respirator. She has been in a much better place emotionally and in terms of well-being, and has been fairly matter-of-fact about the whole thing, right down to coming to class and saying, “My mom’s funeral is tomorrow” when she came into class on Monday (I greet my students individually at the door so I can tell them what they need for the day and gage what kind of mood everyone’s in). She is the kind of kid who doesn’t know who it’s appropriate to tell your life story to and who doesn’t need to know- for example, she gave the librarian the whole run-down when asked why her books were overdue! She’s been raving about how great her foster mom is, and I’ve been happy to see her in warm winter clothes rather than the dirty summer clothes she’s been wearing since moving in with her aunt.
When I arrived at the mass (my second Catholic funeral mass, and I still got really confused- Catholic friends, help me out-- is it your understanding that the deceased is not yet in heaven at the time of their funeral? That's the impresson I got), I saw my student Allie and a woman I knew must be her foster mom. Melinda was with them, and I was a little bit slow to put things together… Allie’s foster mom is the same person who has now taken Melinda in as well! I got to meet Mom as well as their social worker. It’s the one time I can say I’m glad I went to a funeral.
I also got to meet Melinda’s aunt. The aunt, upon seeing the social worker’s brown skin and long black hair, immediately asked, “Where are you from?” When the social worker replied, “North Carolina,” the aunt corrected herself-“No, I mean, what is your heritage? Are you from India or something?” The social worker looked taken aback but very levelly told the aunt that she’s Native American. Allie had to turn around to keep from laughing in the aunt’s face and I gave her a little squeeze. When the aunt went away, Allie turned to the social worker and said, “I absolutely adore you.” I absolutely adore that kid.
I was the only one of Melinda's teachers who went to her mother's funeral, and I know it was going above and beyond my job description, but I also know how much it meant to me when my high school chemistry teacher, Mrs. S, came to my father's visitation. I have some co-workers who will tell you that teaching is just a job to them, something to make money while they figure out what they really want to do with their lives. That's not me. Teaching has been my dream since I was five and I can never let it be just a job. It's my calling, it's my career, and that means knowing who my students are and caring about them outside of the 84 minutes each day that they're in my class. I worry, though, because it seems like it's impossible to be a career teacher AND have good relationships with my family, friends, and boyfriend. It feels like something always has to suffer, and I know it won't be my dedication to really loving my students. Where does that leave my personal life?
Tomorrow, I'll post about the personal narratives my students have been working on and what I've learned from the assignment myself. There's no school tomorrow due to the Nor'easter and the five inches of snow we're expecting, so I should have lots of writing time!
When I arrived at the mass (my second Catholic funeral mass, and I still got really confused- Catholic friends, help me out-- is it your understanding that the deceased is not yet in heaven at the time of their funeral? That's the impresson I got), I saw my student Allie and a woman I knew must be her foster mom. Melinda was with them, and I was a little bit slow to put things together… Allie’s foster mom is the same person who has now taken Melinda in as well! I got to meet Mom as well as their social worker. It’s the one time I can say I’m glad I went to a funeral.
I also got to meet Melinda’s aunt. The aunt, upon seeing the social worker’s brown skin and long black hair, immediately asked, “Where are you from?” When the social worker replied, “North Carolina,” the aunt corrected herself-“No, I mean, what is your heritage? Are you from India or something?” The social worker looked taken aback but very levelly told the aunt that she’s Native American. Allie had to turn around to keep from laughing in the aunt’s face and I gave her a little squeeze. When the aunt went away, Allie turned to the social worker and said, “I absolutely adore you.” I absolutely adore that kid.
I was the only one of Melinda's teachers who went to her mother's funeral, and I know it was going above and beyond my job description, but I also know how much it meant to me when my high school chemistry teacher, Mrs. S, came to my father's visitation. I have some co-workers who will tell you that teaching is just a job to them, something to make money while they figure out what they really want to do with their lives. That's not me. Teaching has been my dream since I was five and I can never let it be just a job. It's my calling, it's my career, and that means knowing who my students are and caring about them outside of the 84 minutes each day that they're in my class. I worry, though, because it seems like it's impossible to be a career teacher AND have good relationships with my family, friends, and boyfriend. It feels like something always has to suffer, and I know it won't be my dedication to really loving my students. Where does that leave my personal life?
Tomorrow, I'll post about the personal narratives my students have been working on and what I've learned from the assignment myself. There's no school tomorrow due to the Nor'easter and the five inches of snow we're expecting, so I should have lots of writing time!