"Teaching the Teacher"
I’ve spent too much of my life wishing I could trade lives. I’ll admire someone and wish I could be them. I’ve often assumed that if I just lived in another neighborhood, or another house, or had had other parents, I would be closer to the woman I want to be.
For instance, I have an amazing coworker. No one motivates our students to work hard as well as Mrs. C. She reads our students well, knowing just when to push them and when to pull back. She makes them work, but they still love her. Her clothes are fashionable and look new. She always seems relaxed, though I know she must be even busier than I am, as she has a five year old son and a one year old son. Her long, dark hair falls in gentle waves. How I wish I could be more like Mrs. C.!
One day, J., a towering mountain of a boy was complaining that he couldn’t focus. At 6 foot 5, no one could call him weak, but he has as many excuses as there are days in the week of why he doesn’t want to work today. Usually, they are run of the mill: “I’m tired,” “I’m thirsty,” “I don’t feel like working,” but last Tuesday he had a new one. When Mrs. C. told him to get to work, he said, “I can’t work. I keep thinking about my cousin who was shot last year.”
Mrs. C. pulled a chair out and sat by his desk. “J., you must get to work now” she said calmly. Her tone wouldn’t allow any arguments, but there was no anger in her voice.
“But my cousin, I keep thinking of him …” J. began.
Mrs. C. broke in, “We all have our problems, J.,” she said softly, her voice still even and loving. “My first son was shot and killed. He was six. But you still see me working. You still see me here, every day, doing all I need to do.”
“You don’t need to speak of all that, Mrs. C.! “ T. broke in. “There’s no need,” T. said gently. T. admires Mrs. C. as much as I do.
“My nephew shot him by accident. They were playing with a gun. We all have our problems, J. But we can’t let the past hold us back. Now, I want you to get back to working, J.” Mrs. C. got up calmly and went back to her desk. I noticed J. stared at his computer for a couple minutes, but he did resume his work after that. A hushed silence reigned again in the High School 3 classroom, only broken by the occasional click of computer keys or the soft murmur of Mrs. C. answering a question.
I still admire Mrs. C. I still hope to emulate her way of working with our students. But more and more I see, I don’t want to switch lives with her or anyone else. She may be everything I want to be as a teacher, but she earned that success. I’m not sure I could ever be strong enough to walk her road.
Her lesson that day was for J., T., and the fourteen others studying biology that day. But I know I’ll never forget her words. A true teacher is a living lesson. Life isn’t something I should feel is on hold until my legal life is sorted, or I live in the place I want.
Life is happening now. What lessons am I teaching by how I live?
For instance, I have an amazing coworker. No one motivates our students to work hard as well as Mrs. C. She reads our students well, knowing just when to push them and when to pull back. She makes them work, but they still love her. Her clothes are fashionable and look new. She always seems relaxed, though I know she must be even busier than I am, as she has a five year old son and a one year old son. Her long, dark hair falls in gentle waves. How I wish I could be more like Mrs. C.!
One day, J., a towering mountain of a boy was complaining that he couldn’t focus. At 6 foot 5, no one could call him weak, but he has as many excuses as there are days in the week of why he doesn’t want to work today. Usually, they are run of the mill: “I’m tired,” “I’m thirsty,” “I don’t feel like working,” but last Tuesday he had a new one. When Mrs. C. told him to get to work, he said, “I can’t work. I keep thinking about my cousin who was shot last year.”
Mrs. C. pulled a chair out and sat by his desk. “J., you must get to work now” she said calmly. Her tone wouldn’t allow any arguments, but there was no anger in her voice.
“But my cousin, I keep thinking of him …” J. began.
Mrs. C. broke in, “We all have our problems, J.,” she said softly, her voice still even and loving. “My first son was shot and killed. He was six. But you still see me working. You still see me here, every day, doing all I need to do.”
“You don’t need to speak of all that, Mrs. C.! “ T. broke in. “There’s no need,” T. said gently. T. admires Mrs. C. as much as I do.
“My nephew shot him by accident. They were playing with a gun. We all have our problems, J. But we can’t let the past hold us back. Now, I want you to get back to working, J.” Mrs. C. got up calmly and went back to her desk. I noticed J. stared at his computer for a couple minutes, but he did resume his work after that. A hushed silence reigned again in the High School 3 classroom, only broken by the occasional click of computer keys or the soft murmur of Mrs. C. answering a question.
I still admire Mrs. C. I still hope to emulate her way of working with our students. But more and more I see, I don’t want to switch lives with her or anyone else. She may be everything I want to be as a teacher, but she earned that success. I’m not sure I could ever be strong enough to walk her road.
Her lesson that day was for J., T., and the fourteen others studying biology that day. But I know I’ll never forget her words. A true teacher is a living lesson. Life isn’t something I should feel is on hold until my legal life is sorted, or I live in the place I want.
Life is happening now. What lessons am I teaching by how I live?