Lately, I’ve found myself deep in thought, a natural response when navigating significant changes in life. Reflecting on the past, I’ve been considering the choices I made and how they shaped my current path, both positively and negatively.
Memories from my years as a high school teacher frequently resurface. I spent a couple of years teaching at a Catholic high school, and while the story of how I arrived there is lengthy, let’s just say it happened.
Catholic Classrooms: A Unique Environment
Catholic classrooms are intriguing environments. We donned our formal attire—ties, plaid skirts, charcoal pants, and crisp button-down shirts—to signify the importance of learning. Yet, often, only one individual in the room truly believed in this symbolism at any given moment, and it wasn’t always me.
I focused on morality and social justice, but I eventually realized that the most significant moments in my classroom had little to do with memorizing facts or dissecting principles. They weren’t quantifiable or even always provable.
The True Rewards of Teaching
Contrary to popular belief, the most rewarding aspect of teaching isn’t when students finally grasp the material. It’s those authentic interactions. Instances when I transitioned from being “Mr. Teacher” to simply Jordan, and they became more than just grades; we became two individuals truly listening to one another. Achieving this level of connection in a classroom is no small feat. Teachers educate; students absorb knowledge. We might begrudge each other’s shortcomings or celebrate successes, but to genuinely listen takes immense trust.
It’s challenging to be sixteen with an adult controlling everything from bathroom breaks to grades that will determine your future college. It’s just as hard to listen when you’re in your twenties, earning a living based on how well you can prepare teenagers for exams. And let’s not forget the reality that a quarter of those students might attempt to cheat on that very test. It’s a difficult environment to foster genuine communication.
Yet, when it happens, it feels miraculous.
Memorable Moments
I recall a girl who passionately debated me for an entire class on the topic of premarital sex. She disrupted my lesson, argumentative and, honestly, a bit rude. I tried to maintain my composure, resisting the urge to turn the conversation into a competition. It wasn’t until after school that she approached me to confess she didn’t believe what she was arguing; she wanted her best friend to hear my responses. Her friend, witnessing my patience and understanding, was finally open to a discussion.
Then there was a student who initially disliked me but eventually received the award for best student in my class. The shock on her face when she learned I had chosen her was unforgettable. Our conversation about the transformation of her feelings towards my class revealed much about her life before she turned seventeen. She had a complex relationship with faith, but she learned to trust me enough to share her story. Tragically, she passed away shortly after graduating, but I’m grateful that we found common ground.
I also remember a couple of students who respectfully corrected me during a lecture, pointing out an ad hominem fallacy in my discussion about gay marriage. While it didn’t alter the church’s stance on the issue, it certainly shifted the tone of our discourse. Later, a boy confided in me that my lecture had deeply hurt him, making him so angry that he refused to participate in class for months. When I apologized, we were able to reconnect and truly listen to one another.
Reflections on Missed Opportunities
Sadly, not all students felt brave enough to confront me. It’s disheartening to think that I would need to use the word “brave” to describe their hesitance. What about those who went unheard because I was too busy lecturing? I often wonder where they are now. Have they stopped reaching out to educators, feeling unheard? I was so focused on conveying a black-and-white narrative that I neglected the rich gray areas of individual experiences.
Once a year, youth ministers visited our school for a retreat. They consistently stated that our students were the least engaged, claiming they just didn’t listen. Reflecting on my own shortcomings, I recognize that if I rarely listened to them, why would they learn to listen to anyone else? I was their daily teacher, yet I failed to foster an environment of mutual respect.
Growth and Change
I’ve changed significantly since those early days of teaching, when I would roll up my sleeves and emulate Robin Williams in “Dead Poets Society.” Over time, I’ve learned to listen. My perspectives on those earlier conversations have evolved dramatically. I’ve even come out as gay and live with my partner, which has further broadened my understanding of diverse experiences. Life has eroded the rigid ideologies that once confined me.
I’ve discovered that knowledge is not static. Perspectives shift, and the only way to foster healthy growth is to create a space where everyone can share openly and honestly. When someone has the courage to share their story, it’s essential to listen without judgment.
An Apology
To the students I failed to listen to, I sincerely apologize. I wish I could turn back time and approach things differently. My role was not just to teach but to nurture a deeper connection, and I often fell short. While it was my responsibility to assign grades, ultimately, I was the one who failed you.
I hope that one day, you might feel comfortable reaching out to share your story with me. It’s worth listening to. No uniforms, no lesson plans, just honest hearts.
Resources for Your Journey
In your journey toward parenthood, you might find helpful resources on couples’ fertility journeys. For those considering home insemination, Cryobaby’s home kit is a trusted option. Additionally, WebMD offers valuable information on IUI success rates.
Conclusion
In summary, my teaching experience has been a journey of growth and reflection. I’ve learned the importance of listening and connecting with students on a personal level. To those I didn’t hear, I regret my shortcomings and hope for the opportunity to learn from your stories.
Leave a Reply