Probably I never would have known what true compassion is had I not had a sister who had suffered a traumatic brain injury when she was a toddler. Reduced to roughly the IQ of a four-year-old, she underwent numerous forms of ridicule throughout the years we were growing up together. My parents, frustrated and without resources back then, were often angry and impatient when she couldn't do things as other kids could do them. Various kids throughout the neighborhood and from school were constantly making fun of her or mocking her. Mom and Dad's disappointment was crushing to her self-esteem, but the cruelty of my peers toward my sister seemed only to hurt me. She wasn't intellectually advanced enough to even know that they were making fun of her - Oftentimes she would smile along with them, because surely if they were grinning around her, it had to be because she had done something right for a change.
Over the years, as my sister's body grew and her mind remained the same, she struggled to stay happy despite the onset of horemones that she couldn't understand and the growing anger and frustration of coming to see that her younger siblings were all doing better and developing more than she could ever seem to do. She didn't understand why. Why didn't Mom and Dad love her the same as all the rest? Why didn't she ever seem to get anything right? The pain of this has stuck with me all of my life. I don't mean that I am traumatized for life and can never be whole again because of the thoughtlessness of kids I never saw again, or because of the well-intentioned but ultimately harsh efforts of my parents to raise a child who would never grow up. What I mean is that when I see a child who is different, for whatever reason, I know that there's a real person inside of them, a unique, (and therefore beautiful), precious individual. I know that the words and actions of those around them might make them feel sad, then frustrated, and then outright belligerent to the point that no one else can even stand to be around them anymore, but I also know that I'm one who knows better. I know that when my sister was sent to bed without dinner for not using proper table manners I, determined to combat what I knew was injustice based upon misunderstanding, would always be there to sneak a sandwhich to her. It's funny. As I type this, tears come to my eyes now even though those times are from long ago. I know what compassion is. In the dictionary, it is described as the understanding and empathy for the suffering of others. In practice, I just know to look a little deeper when I meet someone who is difficult or even outright annoying to understand.
It was for the sake of my sister that in school I always sought out the underdogs and made them my friends. I wasn't always happy with the results, because of course this put me under fire, too, but I had a passionate conviction that I was doing the right thing. Everyone left the table in the lunchroom wherever one little girl would sit. Only a little girl myself, I would go and sit beside her. For some reason in early high school I became a craven coward and would mostly feel sorry for a kid being teased from a distance, and at best would find them afterward and ask if they needed anything or wanted to talk. Having become a target myself, I tried to blend into the crowd as much as possible. Sometimes the only person who might smile at me all day was a teacher who liked my story or admired my artwork. Having become a target myself, I felt empathy and a connection to every single student in the school who was misunderstood: the dumb kids, the ugly kids - even the really bad kids.
I remember also the time when I was paired with two stupid boys in Home Economics class and one of them called someone a "retard." Losing my patience, I told him that my sister went to the Intermediate School District, and that if he wanted to call anyone names he should come on out to our house and meet her for himself. I think I expected this to subdue him in some way, but instead his face took on the kind of disgust you might feel toward stepping into a pile of dog feces. He asked, "God, how do you live around that? Doesn't it make you sick just looking at her?" What stung the most about this question was that he wasn't even trying to be mean anymore; he honestly didn't comprehend why somebody didn't just come along and clean up the shit. When I think back to some of the truly sickening things that kids did and said to other kids within the walls of the schools I went to over the years, it's a wonder I ever wanted to step anywhere near a school building again.
In a way, it was for my sister's sake that I became a teacher. It was also because of those teachers who had noticed me, encouraged me, and more or less kept me from runnin away from home and ending up on the streets somewhere rather than put up with things at home or school a moment longer. But mostly it is for the sake of all those children out there who need someone to look past the surface and see a real person with feelings in there. To this day, I still love the kids who are in special education, the kids who don't look like everyone else, and I think somehow most especially those kids who have just had enough of it all and are angry. I find those kids and I smile at them and ask them questions and just keep right on believing in them, even when they project all that anger and frustration right up in my face. I know that if I am compassionate hard enough and long enough, somehow that will eventually pierce their deceptive surface and reveal the beautiful soul inside. Sometimes I come home discouraged at how long it is taking, but I am encouraged to know that most of the kids I see really do have the capacity to grow up and make something of their lives if they can come to believe that of themselves. And I know that it starts with me, because "me" started when someone else believed in me. It's discouraging when they backtrack or act out, but I know that when they learn to trust that my empathy and understanding are real and permanent, they will do anything for me. I've seen it time after time. The "bad" kid is reformed - at first maybe only for me - and if then I can take them just that one step further toward doing anything for themselves, then I have done my true job as an educator.
While I was substitute teaching today, I was reminded of all this by a fairly simple encounter. By nature of being a substitute, students come and go and it is seldom that I really get to know them or that they really get to know me, but I never let that stop me from trying.
Today a kid came swaggering in looking rough and mean and disrespectful, slammed his belongings on a desk, and began pulling out his laptop with the all-too-familiar "I hate school and everybody in it, and I really hate you!" look. Because some teachers I have known take this demeanor personally, they will feel instant animosity right back at kids like this. I know better. Why, that kid doesn't hate me - He doesn't even know me well enough to hate me yet. I smile at him. The kid gives me the "Don't you even look at me, bitch!" glare. I say, "Hi! As you can see, I'm your substitute today. We will be doing - or, in the case of some of these guys - not doing all the usual type of work that your teacher gives you when there's a substitute. I'm happy to be here for you if you need me." I know that I sound cheesy and as if I am not taking my job seriously, and so do the kids, but it relaxes them to the point that they don't even mind when they find out I'm actually going to make them do their work.
This kid was easier than some. His face registered surprize and he relaxed a notch as he got out his work.
He asked hopelessly if he could borrow a pencil.
I smiled and said, "Of course!" giving him my last one.
I then focused everywhere else at once (substitutes have that super power, you know) and didn't trouble him again until after he had reluctantly brought out his work. Now, this is where I really got him. The majority of his classmates were standing around talking and being disrespectful for real, but I didn't pay them any mind. Instead, I got up with my notebook and a pen and walked over to the angry kid's desk. I stood there until I got his attention, then asked, "What's your name?"
Angry, distrustful expression again that clearly stated "Right! Fine! Single me out and tell the damn teacher what a hard time I gave you like all the other substitutes do!"
He snarled his name.
I wrote it down and said casually as I walked on along the row, "I don't write up kids that give me a hard time, you know - I just make a note of the names of all the kids who actually sat down and did their work." I didn't look back, just took down the measly two other names of diligent students before going back to the desk.
As usually happens when I take this approach, students sat down and grew quiet. I won't say that they all go right to work on the promise that I'll put them on my Nice list, but it's amusing to me how many kids will suddenly want to know what they're supposed to be working on (never mind that I already told them- of course they weren't listening before) or have questions about specific details of the assignment. Now, I'm not Super Sub for nothing, but I have to confess here that this method only works if I am substituting in the classroom of a teacher who has excellent classroom management skills already established. The teachers who have no particular control over their classroom even when they're there have highly difficult classrooms to control in their absence. I did have the fortune to have substituted in this classroom before, however, and knew what was going to work for this group.
My now diligent student finished his work before the rest of the class, gave me back the pencil he had borrowed with something like awe on his face, and then asked if he could use the bathroom. I let him. While he was gone, I looked over his work. Not surprizingly, it was very well done. Some of the Angry kids are angry because they're frustrated at assignments well beyond their level of comprehension, but I could tell this was - and he was - one of the Angry kids who was mad because he was really smart and nobody had the patience to find that out anymore. Maybe things were tough at home like for my sister, or maybe they were just tough at school - maybe both. Doesn't matter. I don't look at the situation, I don't look at the surface - I look at the person inside there.
At the end of the hour, this student stopped by the desk one more time and said, without quite making eye contact but with a friendly smile, "You would make a great teacher!"
I smiled back. "I know, right? Thank you so much for taking the time to see that about me!"
(I acutally hate the phrase 'I know, right?' but students are always amused when I use it)
Anyway, I thought that I would write about that today, because this is the reason why I personally became a teacher.
No comments:
Post a Comment