Being a Good Teacher

Last week my grandchildren, Maddie and Jack, were in an out-of school production of Cinderella.  My wife, Maddie’s and Jack’s parents, and I were delighted and grateful that first grader Jack’s teacher came to the evening performance; a gift well beyond the call of duty.  He was thrilled.  She offered congratulations and hugged him warmly before leaving.

This generous gesture was in mind the next morning when I read a disturbing essay in Education Week titled, I Don’t Have to Love My Students to Be a Good Teacher.  The author is an eighth grade English teacher.  The Facebook responses to the essay were divided, but leaned toward agreement with her.   My response was, “YES, YOU DO!!”

The author’s tone struck me as somewhat cynical.  She went to needless pains to say that she reserved her love for her personal life - as though love is a finite resource to be prudently rationed or exists in only the familial variety.  Neither is true. Love is infinite and takes many forms.  

Her other main point, echoed by many responders, was that teaching is a profession, like any other, and that we don’t expect our doctors, lawyers and dentists to love us.  I fully understand the resentment or frustration teachers feel at the societal attitudes toward teachers.  I believe that teachers do work that is more important than doctors, lawyers and dentists and that they are generally underpaid and under appreciated.  But that suggests a false choice, as though acting like a dispassionate lawyer is the model of professionalism.  Perhaps doctors, lawyers and dentists should be more loving too.

In my head of school days, prospective parents often asked me what credentials or experiences we looked for in teacher candidates.  I responded, “First, they must love kids.  Second, they must love kids.  We look at life experiences that indicate curiosity and passion.   After that, teaching experiences are helpful.  Educational experience that indicates intellectual curiosity and creativity matters far more than credentials.  And did I mention that they must love kids?”

Back to the essay . . . Some teachers commented on the difficult (unlovable) kids they had to teach.  That further dismayed me.  Many years earlier I learned that “difficult” and “lovable” are not antonyms.  

Starting in 1970, I worked with children, mostly boys, who were institutionalized because they were “emotionally disturbed.”   The “disturbance” was most often the consequence of abuse or neglect at home.  Their behavior made students in “no excuses” public or charter schools look like Eagle Scouts.  

I loved these wounded children with all my heart.  When I left the place where I first worked with these kids, I sobbed uncontrollably.   I loved Bobby, who swore like a sailor at age five and destroyed his bunk bed.  I loved Mark, who once tore up linoleum floor tiles in the “quiet” room with his bare hands, cutting his fingers to shreds.  I loved Ken, who called all liquids “juice,” including milk and gravy.  I remember every single one of them, 50 years later.    

I’m not naïve.  Love is not all you need, despite the Beatles’ claim.  Kids who swear like sailors, rip up tiles and destroy furniture sometimes need to be restrained from hurting themselves or others.  

11 year-old Mark, the tile remover, was subject to uncontrollable rages, yet was sweet and loving between the squalls.  On a sunny spring afternoon he was sweet enough that we dared include him on a trip to a boat museum on Belle Isle in Detroit.  I was to keep an eye on him.   

About halfway through the tour of boat models in glass cases, I saw Mark’s affect change.  A storm was brewing.   To Mark, the glass cases were like a rabbit in front of a greyhound.  The race was on.   I caught Mark just before he got to the first one.   When a volcano of rage erupts in a boy like Mark, there’s nothing to do but avoid the magma and wait for it to subside.   I carried him, kicking and screaming, out of the museum and sat on the curb, fully enclosing him in my arms.  We had done this dance many times before.  He spit, tried to scratch me, and knocked my glasses off.   The strength of a raging child is quite remarkable.  

I knew it would be 15 minutes or more.   I tried to soothe him.  I told him I loved him.  Nothing worked, although I knew it wouldn’t, at least not in the moment.   As I restrained him a woman rushed over screaming, “Leave that boy alone!!!!  I’m going to call the police.”   I tried to explain that I was a caretaker, that Mark was very angry, but that it would all be fine.  She screamed, “Let him go!  You’re abusing him.”   I tried again, pointing to the institution’s van, saying we were on a field trip and he was having trouble controlling himself.  She persisted.   I said, “Please, then, call the police if you must.”   

She didn’t let up.  

Finally I said, “Listen, ma’am, you clearly don’t understand.  I am left with no choice but to actually let him go if you don’t leave us alone and I really don’t think you’d like that.”  Mark, at that point, was literally frothing with rage.  That did the trick. She left, shaking her head.  

On the ride back to campus, Mark sat with me, crying quietly, until I reminded him about the woman.  He smiled.  “You should have let me go!”  We had a good chuckle. 

Back to the essay once more. . . The essay typified a traditional, mechanistic approach to teaching: follow a curriculum, deliver doses of “content” through “instruction,” and assess the absorption rate.  This traditional schema persists despite mountains of evidence to the contrary.

Human relationships are the medium in which real learning flourishes.  Every child knows whether a teacher cares about her - and it matters.   Human connection is a prerequisite for cognitive development.  Love is comprised of many complex elements including empathy, compassion, kindness and unconditional acceptance.  A teacher should feel and express them all.  

In my 19 years as a school head, I loved all students and most intentionally loved those who sometimes seemed the hardest to love. 

I hope that my love and the love they received from their teachers had an effect on their lives.   That may be unknowable - but I do know the effect they had on my life and they will not be forgotten.

Nor will Jack soon forget the teacher who loved him enough to come to his theater debut.