The Taming of the Child (through a profuse usage of exclamation points)

 

 On Thursday after my students boarded their buses for spring holiday, I sat down to call some families.  I was making a list in my head all week of students who were doing a great job as of late.  I made three phone calls, each showing success in different areas:

• A boy who was failing due to talking, playing, and general tomfoolery had been more focused and engaged in his work this week
• A girl who is prone to emotional outbursts made it through the week without a tantrum 
• A boy who often gets angry and confrontational with kids made it through the week without threatening anyone

I called the guardians (an uncle, a mom, and an older sister) and spoke positively about their student's positive behavior improvements.  The guardians were pleased by the report and I was able to make a connection with the adults at home-letting them know I was invested in their student and that they were having success at school.

After I hung up the phone, I left the building in route to pick up my own kid and perhaps if I wasn't sitting in traffic for thirty minutes I wouldn't have had time to have an existential crisis on the matter.  Yet, as I sat squished between cars in the 5:00 standstill, I scanned the radio twice before settling on silence and began to mull over the conversations.  I put myself in the role of the parent of one of my students.  Thinking about the type of call I just made and I felt it hit me.  Like a ton of freaking bricks.

We tame our children. 

We turn them into versions of people that we think will have some likelihood of surviving in the environment around us. 

We (teachers) try ceaselessly to help all the kids who walk through our door find academic, social, and emotional success.  So our kids who are wildly emotional (passionate), our kids who are loud and silly (humoristic), and our kids who are hostile (distrusting until proven otherwise) are molded into schoolable kids.  Do they become less passionate as a result?  Does some part of them disappear?  Does their sense of carefree wonder get stifled by our projections of what success look like? 

I am a human who conditions other humans to fit in a sort of box!  (At this point I am freaking out in the car). Forget test scores, reading levels, knowledge of science, or math, or history-I shape 10-year-olds into who they are as people!  WHAT MAKES ME QUALIFIED?!

As my heart started to pound in my chest, I remembered, I am their teacher!  I am their advocate!  I am there to be there for them!

And suddenly I remembered how I feel when the other kids shy away from these passionate, verbose, and high-strung kids.  
I remembered how I feel when these kids are reluctant to trust me. 
I remembered how much I care about them.

My heart settles on a thought-I don't think I could or would do anything different.

Then I started thinking about my kid.

I tame my child. 

I attempt to turn him into a version of person that I think will have some likelihood of surviving in the environment around me. 

I (parent) try ceaselessly to balance my child's natural wildness and the social norms of society on him from the start.  I know how I feel when my kid is knuckle deep in his nose at church and screams like a banshee when I try to intervene.  And I also know how I feel when I see him tromping most triumphantly through the over grown weeds, wielding a stick, and giving loud commands to his imaginary crew of followers.  

I feel the weight of all of this. I want my child to be free in his mind and free in his spirit.  I want my kid to have healthy relationships with other people.  I want my child to know how to navigate different situations with ease.

I want him to be happy.



Really, I just want to not screw him up.




For more on my teaching adventure see:
Reflections on my first year of teaching at an urban school