Hug a Teacher

My boyfriend and I were sitting on the couch the other night. It had been a long work week, with a 14 hour work day nestled right in the middle of it. It felt like a job just to keep my eyes open. We were talking about our day when he asked if I had heard what happened to the young teacher in Massachusetts. My heart fluttered. The word “happened” implied past tense and the word had a sad and eerie feeling to it. He then told me she was murdered by her student. I shuddered, trying hard not to think about the maelstrom of events that were probably unfolding for her grieving family- the relentless and invasive digging that this child’s attorney will most likely do into this woman’s personal life in an attempt to find a reason to justify this sick kid’s actions. As teachers, we stand on the front line, sometimes up against the world’s most angry children. Our job is to teach learning strategies and information and yet, built into our unwritten curriculum we must also teach them love, life-skills, caring and tolerance. We must try to sell to them on the idea that the world is truly a good place when we aren’t always so sure ourselves. We parent these children and often bend and mold ourselves into the people they need us to be in order to fill the gaping holes they have in their lives left by situations beyond their control. At times, I feel this tug the world has on me to be superhuman; to be able to toggle between being loving and tough, professional and parental. I must openly accept criticism from parents, politicians, colleagues, and evaluators and accept the idea that on a daily basis we will be told that we are not meeting our children’s needs, that we are deficient. Then we must still smile hard and comfort a struggling student who is frustrated. I’m frustrated too, sweet babies. Each morning, my alarm clock shrieks and vibrates on the nightstand reminding me it’s not Saturday. It’s time to face a day where almost anything can happen. Anything can be brought into my classroom. Sometimes I find myself re-braiding a student’s braid that came loose on the way to school and I think about the hurried pony tail my own child has. I dig through my purse for granola bars because a student was tardy and missed breakfast and I think about the convenient breakfast full of sugar I started my kid’s day with. I often have to train my brain to remember I’m a mommy first. Teachers spend their days drawing boundaries for the child who wants to be mothered yet still finding ways to show they are listening and they care. We try hard to relate to the boy who hates the world. We keep our cool when he’s tearing up his work or scrawling thick black pencil across the assignments we’ve most likely spent our own personal time at home creating. We find things to love in the children with very few lovable traits. We must sometimes find creative ways to communicate with students who speak no English. We make small decisions every day for children who have never had the chance to problem solve. “There is a chair by my desk, Miss. Where should I put it?” “My paper is a little wrinkly. My friend told my other friend she doesn't want to be my friend anymore. How do I make her be my friend? Miss, what should I do?” “I don’t like chicken and it’s the only thing for lunch. What should I do?” “Someone peed on the bathroom floor. What should I do?” “My pencil lead is dull. What should I do?” We are mediators in arguments between children whose real battle is that they’re looking for some control and stability in their own lives and may only get the empowerment they need by hurtfully draining it from others. We spend our Fridays trying to harness the energy we can feel building up inside our students, ready to come out in the form of unbridled chaos and by the time the weekend comes, our brains and hearts are aching and sore. Sometimes, we are the only safe place for a child to bump into and we are on the receiving end of aggression we don’t deserve. Sometimes our hearts are raw with emotion when our children are suffering yet we are also some of the very few who get to experience the unbelievable joy they feel when they reach a goal they thought was impossible. We are not the only people who are pushed to their limits. I know that. We are regular people that are stretched like rubber bands.. trying to maintain a bit of cohesion in a classroom where the outside world visits far too often. I can't make any guarantees to any young teachers going into the field that this will happen but I know for myself, even when your heart and ego are bruised and you're spending your evenings peeling dried glue off of your fingers and you hate the sound of your own last name, in the end, when that child you thought you'd never reach gives you a hug so tight it gives you goosebumps, it's worth it. It's so worth it.