Some days at school are simply a blast - we learn a lot and have fun doing it. Like the other day, when in the middle of a great discussion about argumentative writing, a student decided it was vital to ask me my favorite food. I, in turn, felt it was also vital to let that student know that my favorite food is bean and cheese burritos - to which another student replied, "Burritos are the best." After some chitter chatter about whether each student liked burritos or didn't, I said, "How can you not be happy eating a burrito?" We all chuckled when another kid quickly replied in all seriousness, "I'm not happy when the burrito comes back for revenge" at which I immediately started laughing harder than I had in a long time. These types of days are good days....no, they are great days. These are the types of days that I really enjoy my job.
Then there are the days that leave me feeling angry and defeated, sitting at my desk wondering what I was thinking when I decided to be a teacher. The stacks of papers that need grading seem to endlessly continue to grow and the mess that never leaves my desk is infuriating and eats at my OCD. Lesson plans need creating, bulletin boards need updating, valentines need to be made, messy closets need rearranging, and the to-do list never ends. But instead of doing anything I walk out of my classroom, lock my door, go home, climb into my bed, and then say a little prayer that my students will be perfect tomorrow or that my attitude will do a 180 and I will be the cheerful, loving, happy teacher every child dreams of.
And somedays, not often, my day at school ends in a broken heart and a longing for understanding - understanding of why some kids face the problems they do, why some of them have to experience things they should never ever know anything about, and why some kids have heartbreaking lives that they never chose to have. Endless questions that can't be answered, and a heart that I don't think can handle the things that I have learned. Today was one of those days.
I live in Provo, Utah - a wonderful little city often referred to as "Happy Valley". It's a well deserved name that often has negative connotations associated with it. But Provo is a great place to live and "Happy Valley" should be said with pride. Not many other cities house the types of citizens we have - always willing to help, positive attitudes, extremely talented individuals, and overall just happy people. Because Provo is such a great place, it always seems to surprise me when I learn about the injustice that many of our students and kids face. Some situations are less traumatic and may not have life long lasting effects, while other stories I couldn't even imagine in my worst nightmare and are sure to leave that child feeling hopeless, alone, and lost as to where their life will lead.
As a teacher, I often ask myself, "What is my role in the life of this child?". I ask this question about all of my students and the answer always seems to be the same. Some students cause me to ask this question more frequently, but again, the answer doesn't change no matter who the student is or what situation they live in.
My role in a child's life is to provide them with a safe environment where they feel welcome and at home. To be available when they need help - whether that's after school math tutoring or a shoulder to cry on when their life comes crashing down. My role is to teach - not only providing them with an academic education which will prepare them for the years to come, but to also teach them to be contributing citizens both in our classroom as well as the real world. My role is to teach them the skills necessary to mature and grow into responsible adults who are capable of making educated and well thought out decisions. But my very most important role? To love.
It may seem inappropriate to say that my most important role is to love my students. But it's honestly how I feel. I tell my students every day how much I love them. I want there to be no doubt when they leave my room that they know someone in their life cares about them, wants them to succeed, and loves them unconditionally. And when they mess up, like all kids do, I let them know that I am disappointed. Sometimes I even let them know I am angry. But I always say, even if I am disappointed or angry, do I still love you? To which they reply, "Yes you always love us!". Somedays they can sense that I am frustrated and they respond to this without provocation, "Sorry we're making you frustrated. But you still love us right?" To which I always say, "Of course. I will always love you." It's cheesy and over the top, but it's how I feel about my students and they need to know it.
Which is why when those rare, heart breaking days occur and I feel helpless beyond belief wondering how I could possibly make a difference to this struggling child, one little word pops into my mind: LOVE. It's a fine line learning how to love wholeheartedly while realizing that there may be nothing I can do to improve the life of this child. I can't take them from their situation, "Men in Black" their memories, and provide them with the picture perfect family situation that seems like it would make everything better. I can't take away the pain or the anger or the heartache. I can't fix it and that's tough. But I can love. And on the days when nothing else could help that child, nothing could make it any better, I know my role is just to love.
Tonight as I fall asleep I will most likely be thinking of all the things I didn't get done, of all the things waiting for me when I get to school (most likely late and just a few minutes before the bell rings even though I try and try to be there earlier). I will think of each student and their specific needs and how I can meet those needs to better serve them academically. I'm going to wish I would have stayed up later to make my valentines but didn't because my eyes just couldn't stay open for one more second. But then I'll remember that I love my students - each and every one of them - and I'll let myself feel just fine about that. Because I know when it comes to my role as their teacher, there is something I can do right.
I can love.
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