Hopeful

I haven't written about teaching yet; I have tried several times to write a post about something that happened in my classroom, but by the time I get to the end of it, the meaning and depth of the story somehow gets lost in translation. I don't know why it is so difficult for me to express. For many of the moments or stories, you really just had to be there to understand.

This time, however, I found one worth sharing.

Right before Thanksgiving break, our school invited some speakers to come and talk to the student body. They were wonderful; they brought the message that we make a choice every day in how we respond to the world around us, and to the situations we are exposed to. One component of the message had to do with the word "Stupid." Their point was that there are no stupid people; that is a term that we accept and use to define us. They challenged us to view our mistakes as learning experiences, and not to let those mistakes define who we are. Good stuff, and they modeled it really appropriately for 7th and 8th graders. It was a lovely way to spend the last day before break, working on ways to improve our life experience.

Heart, happy.

I was sitting behind a row of 7th grade students. I teach 8th grade, so I haven't had these particular kids in class yet. I don't know their names or their personalities, so I was mostly planning to just manage and supervise, and make sure everyone behaved themselves. Throughout the presentation, however, we were asked to break off into small groups and have discussion over the topics. I found myself leading a very spirited group of kids. I had forgotten how fast 7th graders bond to you; I had about 9 best friends in 15 minutes. These kids were eager to talk, and to share, and to ask me a million questions.

Heart, full.

I admit my mind was already on Thanksgiving break; I was listening with half an ear to the lecturers, and also mentally planning my grocery shopping list when I saw the boy in front of me getting kind of wiggly and agitated. I tuned back in to hear the lecturer say, "What if you are called "stupid?" That doesn't mean that  you are stupid, because stupid doesn't exist." And the boy turned around and said to me, "I don't get it. What does he mean, stupid doesn't exist?"

I was caught off-guard, and I didn't have a stellar answer ready to go, so I just said, "Well, nobody is stupid, we just make mistakes and have to learn from them. Just because someone might call you that, doesn't mean you are. Does that make sense?"

I could see he was still skeptical. I assumed that someone had definitely called him this before, so I followed up with, "You just know in your heart that you aren't stupid, and you have to let those words other people say kind of slide off your back. You know? Just decide that it isn't true, and you don't have to believe it when people say it."

And then this boy, with big blue clouded eyes and brown curly hair frowned at me and said, "Yeah, but what if your dad calls you stupid? Then you are, right?"

Heart, broken.

Did you feel that? That little pinch in the stomach, that lump in the throat? I don't know if I can tell the story in such a way that you can feel what I felt right then. I am sorry to say I was speechless. I was not expecting him to say that, and I had no response. I just kind of blinked at him. I mean, what can you say to that?

As he turned back around in his seat, and slouched down into it, low, my heart broke into a million tiny little pieces. I don't know this kid yet; I don't know his dad, I don't even know his last name yet. But I do know that he is carrying around a heavy little rock in the middle of his soul.

Now, to be fair, I have no idea what makes him feel that way. As parents, we are all guilty of speaking carelessly. It could be that one careless word or remark could have stuck, and maybe there were no intentions at all in undermining the confidence of this young man. But somewhere along the line he took hold of that message. I want terribly to undo it.

This one moment prompted me to do a lot of thinking over the weekend, and I will say I have been more careful in the way I temper my words with my own children. I sent up a couple of prayers, too. One, that this young man can feel his worth and value, and that people be placed in his life who can guide him and lead him. And two, that I never make that mistake with my own. Please let my words come carefully; let me think before I speak, let me look at them always like I am their biggest fan and not their harshest critic.

Today we returned from break. As I was walking down the hall to my classroom, I heard someone shout, "Hey! Ms. Gudahl!" I turned and spotted Mr. Blue Eyes himself as he was weaving his way through the crowd to get to me. He said, "Hi. Good morning!" and then buzzed right on past like he was on a mission. I'm looking foward to having him in the room next year...and I'm going to try my level best to give him something good to carry with him when he leaves me.

Heart, hopeful.