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I believe in the power of being there.
A teacher has a unique and, I’ll say it, weird relationship
with his students. Get close, but not too close. Understand them as
individuals, but be careful not to show too much of yourself. Show students you
care about them, but hugging a student is inappropriate. Be energetic, approach
students on their level and find similar interests, but remain the adult who is
not quite their friend. It’s a confusing juggling act. In the jumble of
recommendations and restrictions, I have found that the best thing I have to
offer is myself. I will be there.
Soccer is not an interesting sport for me. Two groups of
people kicking around a ball for hours and ending in a tied score of 0-0? I
don’t understand the appeal. However, if one of the young men sitting in my
desks invites me to their game, you can bet I will be there. I may need to take
cues from the crowd about when to clap or scowl, but I’m there. I will hang
around the field gate as the team exits and tweet a picture from the game
because I want students to know I’m there for them, and I support their work.
I’ve driven to faraway community plays and sat by myself at poorly scheduled
hockey games, but I was there. Even outside of the English classroom, I want my
students to know that what they are doing is great. Netflix can wait.
A teacher’s life is busy. Today, I had a meeting before
school, play practice after, and Mini Class Night in the evening. There was
less than an hour to work out the shuttle bus and get myself some dinner, but
when a freshman in the cafeteria asked me for help on his Algebra from when he
was absent, I stayed. Yes, it meant I had to basically inhale some chicken
nuggets before meeting rooms full of parents, but I feel like being there for
that freshman was the best choice for that moment. That’s a much bigger impact
that being able to breathe between bites of dinner. I care for my students and
want to see them succeed.
I have never experienced a tragic breakup. I have never lost
a close friend. Yes, I have known loss, but rarely have I felt it as some of my
students have. I’ve had a classmate snap his neck while working out and another
murdered by his girlfriend’s ex-husband; I’ve known a co-worker to drop dead of
a heart attack in a mall and another in a school lobby with an aneurism. But I
have not truly felt loss like my students have. I’ve never personally been
linked to the kid who found his parents’ murder-suicide when he got home from
school. No one I ate lunch with chose to end his life by stepping in front of a
train or onto a highway. My arsenal of grammar usage and literature analysis
cannot heal this pain. My students know things that I cannot fathom, but I am
still choosing to be there.
I am not a parent, but I want to keep them safe, make sure
they are making smart choices and resisting temptation. I am not a therapist,
but I want to talk them through their problems and be the one to find solutions.
I am not a magician, but I want to wave a magic wand and make everything
better. I am only one person, but I want to make the world better for my kids.
I am not a parent, therapist or magician, but I have decided
to be the person who is there. I will support. I will aid. I will come when
called. I may not be anyone’s first choice, but I will be an option. You will
see my face in the stands, hear my applause in the theater, watch me use my
phone as a calculator since you are not allowed one. I will not force you to
express feelings on topics you don’t want to. (But you can.) I will not offer
life lesson you didn’t ask for. (But I have them.) I will distract you with a
box of donuts. We will talk about movies or music. You will listen to me read a
second blog post written at midnight, even though my first is completed and
saved and ready, because I feel strongly enough to share. Sometimes it’s just
nice to have a person. I’ll be that person.
I don’t know how I can be useful, but I believe there is
still a power in being there anyway.
I am here.
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