This happened way back in December 2008, but I'm reposting it here from another blog because I like how it makes a good story.
Tonight was the Holiday Craft Night at my student teaching school. I ran the foam reindeer and Christmas tree station. It was fun.
And then, during a lull in the waves of students passing through my station as they glutted themselves with cookies and hot chocolate (remember when hot chocolate was the most awesome thing to happen on winter days? I relived that tonight), a couple parents stopped by to make reindeers.
One was a middle aged man with an Indian accent. His son is in second grade. The cafeteria was loud, and full of voices, and it was a little difficult to hear clearly. But I'm pretty sure as I was patiently showing him step by step which tiny pieces of foam to glue, like he was in kindergarten, that he said,
"I learn more English by speaking more. And I want to speak more to you because you love me."
Needless to say, that startled me. I most certainly did not do or say anything that would warrant that kind of remark. I was only being professional - I'm a teacher, and he needed someone to teach him, so I taught him just like I would any other student of any age.
Right at that moment, one of my own first graders jumped on to the table between me and the parent and demanded that I show him how to make a reindeer. I (rather thankfully) turned my attention to my student, and the parent eventually wandered away.
Having some time to ponder and get over my initial reaction (creep-o-la; I mean the guy had also asked if I was married or had kids, and which days I worked at the school, and where I lived, and where I was a student at and what I was studying; of course this could all be a cultural thing, some cultures think nothing of asking for your weight or salary), a second reaction slowly entered my mind: pity.
This parent revealed quite a few things to a total stranger (he was unemployed, didn't know a lot of people, etc). He must have felt comfortable enough at the school event to be like that. To think that the teachers not only cared for the children, but the parents as well. That school is a safe haven of community in the middle of a pile of crap, and more crap.
And, as with most things, I compared it to my own life. How lucky I am. That laid-off parent struggling to make ends meet, but for the grace of God, could be me.
One of my professors (to be honest, I don't really like her class) said the other day that, with perhaps the exception of medicine, there is nothing with loftier ambitions than the profession of teaching. I never really thought of it that way, although I've heard it before. It certainly isn't the reason why I chose to be an educator. But I've grown to like this side effect. In more than one case in any given lifetime, the teacher is literally the only positive influence on a child's AND the parent's lives. When someone is at rock bottom, it's reassuring to know the school is still a "clean, well-lit place."
At the end of the night, the parent purposefully found me again and shook my hand, thanking me, and hoping to see me again. The surprising turn out (100+ adults, so probably 200-300 people including students) was happily chatting and filing out of the cafeteria, paper bags full of crafts and cookies to take home. My students hugged me as they left the warm room for the cold outside. I told them I was see them on Monday. They turned back for a last wave and look at the teachers busily cleaning up as fast as they could (the neighborhood around my school isn't the best, but I guess that's obvious from this note).
On the off chance the dude is a nut job, well, at least I had the presence of mind to keep quiet about myself and turn the conversation back about the students.
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