One of the things that the Administration at my school asks me to do is to stand by my door in the hallway during passing periods. In the shape of my days I can usually make it out for 3 of the 4 passing periods. This means that I stand at my door while students arrive to class, greet them and I can also help ‘supervise’ students in the halls. In the end I get to watch a few hundred teens hustle, hop, scamper and mope their way to class (my own included). It can be quite a spectacle because contrary to what the mass media and talk radio may be saying, teenagers are not all fat, clumsy, stupid or stoned. Nor are they all carrying guns, knives, disease, drugs or lice.
They’re a pretty mixed lot but, frankly, they look pretty much like your own sons, daughters, nieces and nephews or grandkids…they’re just kids. Sure we’ve got some experiments going on with hair color and style, piercings, gauging and make up, clothing or the lack thereof but, in the long run kids are kids. I just stand there and watch different flavors go by. There’s preps, jocks, stoners, skaters, goths (fading away), gangsters, wannabes, emos, neo-punks…the spectrum. By and large kids are just kids, a lot of the same non-descript shirts, jeans and shoes. I’m not saying that teens don’t test to see who they are and how you’ll react; I’m just saying violently different looks are the exception not the rule.
If you want have some fun just stare at the kid in with the chain from their nose to their eyebrow to their ear; If they ask, “What you looking at?” Tell them the truth, “You! Because everything about you says ‘LOOK AT ME’! I’m just following orders.” You might cushion that with a question about if it hurts to get pierced or ask if they’ve got their tongue done. Heck, you might find that you’re having a conversation with an intriguing teenager who’s straight up in the middle of an identity crisis. Even more interesting in the student who’s found who they are and takes ownership of their appearance. Kids often mimic a look. By dressing like something students believe they are that thing and simple association will lift their worth. That don’t work. Most kids make wardrobe decisions that are simply trying to borrow the glory and respect that they think a look should demand. Does a teenager with a hoodie up know that they look suspicious or threatening? Yup. That could be why they’re dressing that way, to their mind it makes them powerful.
Regardless of why a child dresses like they do I get to stand there and watch them shuffle past and I need some entertainment so I talk to them. Generally I make simple, safe observations because I don’t want to say something that’s going to offend anybody. Best bets are things like logo comments. You see a kid has a 49ers logo on them? That gives you an in. You nod and drop a simple “Boy, that new QB gives the Niners an offense to go with their defense!” A kid who’s wearing both a scowl and a jersey will snap their head up and you’ll get a response. When a young lady shuffles by looking weary and wearing fuzzy bunny slippers (yes, it happens) you throw out a “Cool shoes! I wish I had worn mine today!” and you’ll get a smile.
Watching unhappy, burdened, frowning students go by I have only two choices. Say something and try to brighten things up or shut up and let them go by. I just can’t let it go. Call me nosy or overly involved but if I see a kid looking like they’re really in a bind I throw them a bone. If I’m truly out of bullets I’ll simply say, “Hey! Happy thoughts–you know –puppies and kitties? Fuzzy little bunnies? Little yellow duckies?” and 9 times out of 10 you’ll at least get at least a smirk if not smile or giggle.
I’ve only been teaching a decade and I have two situations where I look back and smack myself on the forehead and think, ‘shoulda, coulda, woulda’ and honestly regret my lack of action. The first was in my first week of teaching. I was hired to finish out the winter semester because a teacher had quit. I had been working in the local TV market as a commercial producer/director at the local Fox affiliate and freelancing as a camera operator for college football games and rodeos. I did not have a standard teaching credential but was given a technical credential on the basis of my years of experience in the TV field. I became a Professional Technical Educator teaching Broadcasting. My oldest was going to start high school the next year at the same school where I had been hired.
This is an odd story because I remember how the school smelled, the floor was dirty and needed waxing. I was wearing running shoes which squeaked as I walked. And there was crying. Oh, there was crying. And there was berating. I walked in the door, smelled the chlorine smell of a clean school, noted my feet were squeaking, and heard a stern, harsh female voice giving someone the business and a female crying. I looked up and thought I was witnessing a parent emotionally brutalizing a sixteen or seventeen year old child. The adult back was to me. In a long empty hallway and I started dragging my feet to squeak as loud as possible hoping that this adult would realize someone was coming and maybe get off the throttle.
No luck.
Getting closer I suddenly realized that the adult doing the berating was another teacher. What do you do in that situation? If she were hitting the kid I’d have pulled her off–but she wasn’t physically touching this poor child she was emotionally pummeling her. Allow me this piddling defense: I have no sisters. I have one daughter. I had been teaching about 5 days and I had not been to “teacher boot camp” which I would attend that summer. I am an adult but I did not realize that in this situation I had a moral responsibility to intercede and simply ask, “Ladies–is everything OK?”
It was an epic fail and I carry a scar from it. What’s worse is a few days later made the same sort of mistake for a second time. I saw a crying child walking down the hallway toward me and I let her pass without asking, “Are you OK? Can I get you someone to talk to?”
Since those two events I pledged to never let a crying child pass me without talking to them. I don’t care if your whole posse has their arms around you or if you’re sitting in a dark corner sobbing I’m going to approach you and ask if you need some help. Kleenex or counselor I’ll get you where and what you need. I would expect no less for my child and every child deserves adults that care and act on it. It burdens my soul and force me to act because I failed to protect and I failed to investigate, I failed to inquire, to create that one moment in a bad day where someone cared enough to say, “Cool shoes!”
I’m not making that mistake again.
Teaching Anonymous 