Most Teachers Usually Don't Like Me

It's that time of year when I start getting feedback from my students about their experiences in my classroom. I want to share one comment with you today, not to toot my own horn, but illustrate the incredible need we human beings have for loving, true affirmation.

Tammy (not her real name) wrote this to me yesterday:

Thanks for everything you have done for me. You have taught me some stuff that I didn't think I could do. You made me feel comfortable in here. You understand me and most teachers don't. You are one of a kind. I wish there were more people like you. Really I do. I really like you for all the weird times and fun things we did. You made this class way easier for me and most teachers usually don't like me. So thank you again. I will miss you.

I finished reading Tammy's note with tears in my eyes. Yes, she said some really nice things about me. And I think I can accept them as true about me. But what hit me the most was her line that most teachers don't like people like her.

Tammy learns differently than the traditional student (actually, I've yet to find anyone who learns optimally in the traditional way, but that's another post). Her learning issues are strong and go very deep. In grade school she was continually picked on by her peers because she couldn't read well. Her teachers would force her to read aloud in front of the class and when she couldn't perform well the torture continued far beyond the classroom walls. She began to act out -- who wouldn't? And so the very people who could have and should have protected her as she was learning to learn became the enemy.

When she entered my class, I encouraged her to write about her experiences with learning. As she shared with me her anxiety through her writing, I began to write notes back to her, affirming what she was doing well. I pointed out any creative idea. I showed her where her ideas connected in very unique ways. You see, Tammy has an incredible mind. She thinks about life in a way that so many of us would benefit from. But no one had shown this to her. The simple act of showing Tammy where she was doing well freed her up to explore her abilities in other areas. She wrote incredible papers for me . . . filled with the typical spelling and grammar errors that normally would have given her failing grades. In my class, I helped her fix them. I showed her strategies for getting help. I told her that writers who publish books have editors to fix these things and that she could look for editors as well to help her writing be readable to her audience.

But most of all, I loved this young woman. We were able, in our small little class, to create an environment of grace where love could flow and be accepted. This was the victory in that classroom for me. The things that I learned about my students this semester made me love them more, not less. Their weakness, their odd little habits, their frustrating behaviors . . . I loved them for those. And in turn, they trusted me to teach them something.

This is the power of love to heal deep wounds. This is what was given to me by a few dear people. They loved me when others did not. I learned to trust and then I began to mature. It still amazes me how God's love flows out of me. The change in my teaching came not from a clever technique or seminar that I went to. It came from being able to accept the love of God and others.