The power of being seen
Today, two students stopped by my classroom after school. One was there to ask about missing work—which was quickly found…in her notebook—while the other was simply accompanying his friend. Both stayed to chat with me for awhile. I love that—the fact that past and current students actually like to talk to me outside of the class, and after last week’s trauma and sadness, their happy chatter and jokes was exactly what I needed.
It often makes me laugh when people find out I’m a teacher and gasp. Usually the gasp is followed by something along the lines of “I could never do that.” Or, especially after they hear I teach high school, “Are you serious? How do you stand it?” Well, let me tell you. I love my job. Working with teenagers is fun, fulfilling, and challenging. I think those are the best qualities for any job. Plus, who wants to go through life without ever being challenged? How boring. My students make every single day I am in that school, or out of it, interesting. (Their excuses for missing work, especially in email form, are some of my favorites!!) But honestly what gets my happy tears going and feeds my soul the most is when they appear truly happy to see me when we are out in public. That is absolutely the best because you know you’re someone special if these teenagers acknowledge your existence and affirm that they know you beyond the classroom.
I love walking through our local Mall or downtown or eating at a restaurant and have students call out to me, stop by my table, call my name and wave happily from across the street or parking lot, or sit at my table in the Food Court of the mall and chat for awhile, everybody pulling up chairs and telling me the tea. Some of which, I must admit, I didn’t really need to know; but my students, current and former, still seem to enjoy hanging with Ms. Johnson. Let’s be real, I enjoy it, too.
It also reminds me of the influence I have on them and the weight of that responsibility. They are fragile and strong, meek and vibrant. Individuals, who desperately want to fit in somewhere but stand out as well. I find great pride in watching them flourish and not because I arrogantly think I had anything to do with their success and growth. I genuinely feel happy watching my students find their voices and I truly hurt when they silence themselves. I think—or at least, I hope—that’s why I am good at my job. Why so many of my students take as many of my courses as they even if the subject isn’t their strong point or even something that interests them.
It makes me feel successful at my job each year when older students walk back through my classroom door for another year or stop and say hello outside of the school building or stop back by my room just to chat. Hopefully, I’m right and it’s showing me I did my job correctly. That I reached them in some positive way. That time in my classroom mattered to them. That’s how I measure my success as a teacher—in the smiles and waves and acknowledgment I receive from my students, former, current, and even future. They, to me, are all amazing.