Students, Signs, & Stigmas

by Jennifer Ellison

"Thank you... for NOT! giving up on me..."

I can recall a particular visit to the dentist last year. I sat in the cold, leather seat awaiting my cleaning when a busied dental hygienist sat beside me on the small, round swivel chair. She reclined my seat and began sorting through various instruments in front of her. From behind a mask, she began what was to be short-lived small talk with me (the nature of these visits do not allow for much beyond that). She asked me the normal questions: how was my day going, what did I do for a living. "I'm a high school English teacher," I replied. She froze, her shoulders sagged, her head tilted, and she said what most people say: "Wow. I don't know how you do it with these kids nowadays." She went about her work again, but for some reason - though I'd heard that response many times before, her words lingered in my head long after the appointment.

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I have worked with teenagers for over ten years. I have worked with convicted felons, gang members, parents-to-be, students working multiple jobs, straight-A students who were Yale-bound - every kind of student you can think of. I've lost many students, too. I've lost students to suicide, drive-bys, accidents, and I've lost students in other ways, too - to the world of drugs or crime. Teaching is a difficult job, and working with so many individuals with different baggage can be taxing. But the truth is - there hasn't been a single student in my walk that wasn't kind to me personally. Teenagers are just big kids, I contend. They operate in a world that demands that they grow up and they resist this in different ways, or throw themselves into adulthood prematurely. But I've learned that you can't have both. You can't be consistently threatened with failure in the future and still thrive in the present. In every grade, I hear teachers talking about the future to their kids - this cumulus-nimbus-of-a-picture painted for them if they don't succeed right now. That they will mess up any potential opportunities later. I've known third grade teachers who even throw statistics at them like the number of prisons that are built based on third-grade state test scores and failure rates. Can an eight year-old truly absorb the weight of that? Should they have to? While there is, of course, value in setting oneself up for success, it is the threatening manner of the execution I am faulting here. Now I won't get started on all the issues in education today, but I heavily consider the outside world's perspective of children today and how extremely negative and pessimistic it has become (or always has been?).

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So - without going into the many things we dump on our future generation - let me say the following:

I've had students throw me a birthday party every year I taught. Not just a card signed by a few - but presents, decorations, whole chocolate cakes, flowers, and even musical performances ranging from the trumpet to the bassoon. I cried every time. I have had students bring me food when I wasn't able to eat because I was pulled to duty. I have had students bring me my Chai latte (even after they graduated) and I have had students write about me in their essays years later while in college. I have had students write the most beautiful things for me, and my artistic students would pull out all the stops and draw or paint me pictures. They leave encouraging words on neon sticky notes, and even have made announcements on the intercom reminding me I am valuable when I had been feeling.... not so valuable. Children are generous. But I know how people can perceive teenagers -in fact, a particular student comes to my mind when I consider the outside perception of these young people. He was not in school to learn and I felt like a thorn in his side on a daily basis because it wasn't good enough for me to let him sleep every day. So I'd wake him, get some work out of him, and we'd do it all again the next day. I thought he hated me to be honest. One day, I saw him working on letters of the alphabet - - I taught at the high school level, mind you. I would see him drawing "A"s one day.... "B"s the next. Finally I had to ask:

"What is all this?"

"Nothing, miss," he'd say, and he'd put his pens and paper away until the next day when he thought I wasn't looking. The day came when he was practicing his "F"s. I inquired again, but stopped him from putting anything away this time. I pulled up a chair next to him. He finally revealed that he was practicing to be a tattoo artist. His script was beautiful. His penmanship, I still remember to this day. Smooth lines, crisp edges - perfection. I thought of my own children in that moment.

"So, will you do 'G's next?" I asked. He nodded quizzically.

"Could I challenge you to do some names for me?"

He nodded again.

"Gibson and Gavin." I said this succinctly. I walked away. He did a little work and went back to sleep.

That was pretty much it. I didn't see him practice letters again in class. He'd still sleep here and there, but he eventually began to sleep a little less and work a little more. The day he graduated high school (as a father to-be), I cried. He cried. He couldn't believe he'd done it. He'd been working the night shift at Home Depot and then going to school during the day. He was almost 20 when he finally finished high school. His mom made the best homemade empañadas I ever had, and we celebrated the day he finished his last final exam. I'd see him walk the stage a short time later, and I was filled with pride that he finished. Finished for his son, for himself.

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Before he officially walked across the stage to receive his diploma, though, he brought me something. He'd previously been practicing letters on blank, white, printer paper. And though we'd never spoken of my request in those months that passed, he presented me with this gift on a 2'x2' black foam board scripted in metallic silver marker :

When I saw it, I almost cried. That he not only did what I asked, but that he bought these supplies, put in the time, and didn't forget about me. I couldn't have been more grateful. A while after he left, I saw the back:

"Teachers like you should rule the world..."

I will never forget this young man (now in the Marines, married, and a proud father of two)- one of thousands I've served as a teacher over the years. But I can assure you - despite the choices they sometimes make, they are sweet and they want to please. They are all good people who need someone to believe in them and to be there for them. They will bring you apples, cupcakes, chips, sodas, lattes, whatever - but mostly, they bring you joy and laughter. They remind you of the parent your own children need you to be, and if you're going to brave the classroom - they remind you of the teacher you need to be. So many of my students marveled at the fact I tuck my children in to bed at night, and so many of them couldn't imagine eating together as a family. Most of them had never been read to before I read to them, and I have personally taught young men to tie their ties and iron their dress shirts. They need mentors and role models, not strangers who despise them. I taught by a particular mantra: The kids who are the least lovable need love the most. Dearest reader, I know you may not be a high school teacher - but I'm guessing you work or interact with a few younger individuals -- be a light to them. Think of those people in your life who never gave up on you and the difference they've made in your life. Don't forget where you come from, and help others along the way.

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Ironically, and scary to some, they really will go on to rule the world; I don't know about you, but I'd much rather these individuals be poured into while we can, and taught the values we want to see around us, if, for no other reason, then for our own children and - because it's the right thing to do.

-Jennifer