Teacher-y Things

Every former colleague always ask me, “What are the kids like where you teach?”

Well, they are:

Messy

Self-absorbed

Goofy

Hormonal

Stressed

Care takers

Thoughtful

Thoughtless

Hot

Cold

Steady

Temperamental

Self-conscious

Loving

Hard on each other

Hard on their teachers

Hard on the world

Hard because of the world

Oblivious to the rest of the world

Seeking the end of the world on December 21^st so that they don’t have to take my final.

Just kidding about that last one… (sort of). They’re kids. They are no different than any kid I have ever taught, babysat, been a summer camp counselor to, sat on a front porch and listened talk about their prom, heartbreak, or graduation with, or bandaged up on a playground.

I am not a parent, so I hope I don’t oversimplify this particular statement, but school shootings (and shit, I hate that it’s even a term we can pluralize) paralyze me. I never get used to tragedy, and I guess that’s a good thing, but I cannot divorce myself from doing what most parents do, which is think: That could have been my kid. Except I think about my students.

I have this pattern that I can’t seem to break. The first six weeks of school, I am the least favorite teacher on the block. A notoriously hard grader, a champion of the phrase “do it again and don’t hand it to me until you’re proud of it,” a big fan of apologies to someone’s face and looking them in the eye, and a proponent of manners (i.e., do not suck your teeth, roll your eyes, talk under your breath, walk away angry), I don’t always rock kids world at the beginning. But boy do I give it a good rattle.

Then the 7^th Week hits. Suddenly it’s starting to make sense. I don’t hit hard with the “I told you so,” (although I think it) but kids start writing well, they start reading harder articles, they learn my mannerisms… I learn their names. It’s a win-win situation. 

Here in Brooklyn, we’ve got some tough nuts to crack. At this time of year some of my students get pretty depressed because they aren’t looking forward to Christmas Break. School is their safe space; it’s really their whole world (and not-so-surprisingly these aren’t the best students) because it’s where they have limited pressure. I work with some pretty tough teachers. These peeps are no joke. They bring it. You have to. Kids will catch you slipping, and game over. We bust our tails to make school a tender place… and they never want to leave. Well, they do want to leave class, but if they could stay there and just hang out, they would… all night.

*knock knock (4:05 pm) walking out the door

Kid: Ms. Son, which train do you take?

Me: I take the G. I walk down Jay Street to get there.

Kid: That’s mad far, Ms. Son; we’ll show you a faster way.

And just like that, I collected seven misfits that walk me to the train every day after school. It’s a good mix of kids. I ask about the highs and lows of their day, how physics is going (always a hit), or weekend plans. We play “We’re selling hot dogs for lunch”, a game that my friends Robert and Tom came up with to pass time, where you impersonate someone using only the phrase “We’re selling hot dogs for lunch” to guess the impression.

When I lived in Texas, I had good relationships with kids. I feel like I was exactly where I needed to be for as long as I was needed. I’m a big believer in moving on when the time is right. Sometimes I think about leaving education, but then I think about the 7^th Week. Some people work several years, or even a whole career, and they never hit that turn where you go from being adversary to advocate.

I asked my students the other day before I introduced a new and very difficult concept, “I know this writing is tough, but I need to know something. Do you trust me? Do you trust that I have your best interest at heart? Do you believe that I come here every day to make you a better person? Do you believe that I will never ask you do challenge yourself if it won’t make you better?” Essentially proving that this (teaching) only works if they trust me. Let’s just be real about that.

Schools are supposed to be safe (well-built, sturdy, durable) buildings, but the classroom is a cultivated safe space. We work really hard to create a space where kids can escape a bad home life, a place where kids can connect with at least one adult on campus, and a place where they can be honest.

Working in a time and space where school shootings exist, and subsequently working in a school doesn’t scare me (well, no more than living in a city that was attacked eleven years ago). What scares me is that people might stop equating schools as a safe place, and that message does permanent damage. I can’t do anything about the guns. Or the crazies. Or people that get super political, from either side. I’m not really on a side (and I don’t say that because I am a big person. I say that because I honestly don’t have any answers).

What I do have are your kids for eight hours a day. When they’re with me, I try to keep the bad stuff out and shine light on the good stuff. Safety is a pretty relative term. I would hope that if you are a parent, you can think of at least one teacher with whom you’ve left your child that you consider a champion and an advocate. I don’t mean against bullets, because I cannot protect against bullets. What I can do is listen to your kid when they have questions about the world they are about to participate in full time and try to soften the edges.

I’m pretty satisfied with that.