Teachers and their role in bullying

by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . April 3, 2011 . 1:18AM

As I taught my classroom full of teachers, I looked around the room and my heart grew heavy. Often, my classroom deviates from the class lesson to discuss practical application of our learned principles and today I had to discuss something that bothered me on a personal level. I was teaching my students about the development of the young minds that they would help shape and role model behavior at impressionable ages and they far outnumbered me, the new teacher of two years. Frankly, few things intimidate me, but I was going to call them out in advance on something that they needed to learn now, before they did something that could hurt someone tremendously and I wasn’t looking forward to a potential negative response. However, fear has never stopped me from saying what needed to be said, especially when I had the opportunity to use it as a teachable moment and I wiped my hands on my jeans and turned to them.

“You all want to be teachers. We’ve talked about bullying, but what you probably don’t realize is that some of the biggest offenders of bullying in schools are the staff. That’s right. I’m pointing my finger at all of you and telling you now to be careful how you conduct yourself because your actions can be just as, if not more, harmful than the actions that these students deal with in their peers. I recently read a study that told me that teachers instigate bullying on a regular basis. The ways they do this are by ignoring children that are “dumb,” laughing at the jokes children make at another child, feeding into the relational aggression ala Mean Girls by taking sides or allowing it in their classrooms, lunch rooms, gymnasiums and hallways, or, what I consider to be most hurtful, going into their teacher’s lounge and commiserating about children and actively working against the better needs of the child by making the child a pariah amongst the adults as well. They also do this by writing intentionally vague and negative comments that stay in a child’s report card file until they graduate high school. This is all BULLYING and YOU are going to buy into it…unless you consider it and stop yourself now. You can do this with self-awareness and the knowledge that you will NOT be that kind of teacher and that you are teaching to make a positive impact and not crush a child’s will.”

By this time, I was gaining momentum. The room was completely silent. I have my class write journals and I knew that some of them had been bullied by teachers. One of the ways I teach my students is to share stories with them about my experiences both as a student and as a teacher. Now was the time for me to wince and share some of my personal experiences. Earlier this semester, I’d had them do an experiment on assumptions and write a journal about it. One assumption they made about me was that I’d never been bullied. It’s not true. I’d been bullied by a few students, but what really impacted me was the way some of my teachers treated not only me, but my fellow students.

“When I was in high school, I was pretty naive. I thought that teachers always had your best interests in mind and that they could be counted on to act like adults. I’d had an experience in junior high where I’d made the mistake of acting like I was going to throw my basketball at my coach. She flipped out, screamed at me in front of my team and shamed me. I didn’t play much that season and I never tried out for basketball again. Looking back on that behavior as an adult, I’m appalled and curious as to why no one thought that behavior was irrational at the time? However, in high school, I had this idea that everything was going to be different. New friends, new classes, new teachers, a new start and that things were going to be ok. I was wrong.”

“See, adults still do the petty things adults do, even when they teach. Professionalism is key. An English teacher lost her cool and called an entire sophomore class “a bunch of bitches.” She later apologized, but I don’t remember her getting into any real trouble for something that, as a parent, I would take serious issue over. We weren’t acting like a “bunch of bitches” that day. She was having a bad day, we were all working on projects and we weren’t moving quickly enough is what I remember. I was surprised and vaguely concerned that she’d lost her marbles. She also put on the school’s musical. I was helping with sound and when a tape was played improperly she went berserk. It heavily defined my high school years. Not only did she go crazy on me for what another person admitted was that person’s fault at having not rewound the tape earlier in the evening, but she didn’t bother to defend me to an angry cast of people. She walked out of the auditorium and left a freshman to deal with something that was beyond her control. I dealt with the fallout from that for not days, not weeks, not months, but YEARS. I still have nightmares about that. As adults, you are responsible for YOUR responses and for helping to calm the responses of others.”

As I spoke, some students began to look nervously at their hands and what I realized is that they weren’t bored. They weren’t uncomfortable with my story. My story had triggered their stories. I went on.

“Around that time, because of the issue with that teacher, I began lying about things to look better. I was miserable with life. I felt like I had no support and that people weren’t listening when I’d defend myself with the truth so lies were better. Because of that, when I auditioned for something that meant a lot to me, I didn’t make it. When I went to talk to the new sponsor for that activity, it ultimately boiled down to my not being able to be in the activity because a couple of the guys in that activity couldn’t get beyond it and they were short on guys. It wasn’t my lack of talent. It wasn’t that I wasn’t capable. It was that the guys couldn’t get beyond and they couldn’t lose them. The teacher had not only allowed the bullying, he’d promoted it. He didn’t help their growth and he shattered my self-esteem.”

I took a deep breath and sat down at my table in the front of the room.

“Why am I telling you this? Do I need you to feel sorry for me? Absolutely not. I am less than a year from getting my doctorate and I have no idea what path my life would have taken had I not developed the resolve that those experiences gave me. I’m telling you this because every single action you take as an educator COUNTS. Every minute of every day, every smile, every frown, every word, every shrug. It all counts. When you take actions to make your everyday life easier at the cost of hurting a child, you have no idea what the repercussions may be or how long-lasting. I remember those teachers. Let me tell you what else I remember. I remember the fourth grade teacher that wrote to me for 2 years after I moved because I was lonely. I remember the high school communication student teacher that taught me how to be a confident speaker. I remember the band teacher that gave me a chance to learn an instrument when all of the other students had been playing for years. I remember the community college professor that listened to what I wrote and proclaimed it brilliant. I remember the undergraduate professor who still writes me to tell me he’s proud of what I’m doing. I remember the masters professor who comments on my accomplishments with such happiness that I smile to know that she genuinely cares. I remember the doctoral professors who cared enough that in some dark days they cut me a real break when I needed it. I remember ALL those teachers. The good and the bad. What kind of teacher will you be? Whatever kind it is, you will be remembered. But HOW will you be remembered?”

I closed my eyes, shuffled my papers and waited. My students are insightful and this sparked discussion as to the experiences they had and the problems that they’d encountered. Those aren’t mine to share. As we grow up, we forget what it is like to be a child. We forget that people aren’t always nice and those that are supposed to protect us, advocate for us, don’t always do their job. Hopefully, I reminded them and they take it with them. If they don’t, they can always email me and I’ll give them advice.

It’s my job.

As the child grows…

by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . November 11, 2009 . 10:49AM

When AJ was little, he had mad empathy. When other babies would cry, he would wail like crazy. This has never left him and I’m inclined to believe it’s part of his temperament. He’s always been the caretaker in this house, and I think it’s because he sees that when one of us is sick, we all take care of that person. It is how we handle sickness or sadness or stress. Since he was very tiny, he would play the nursemaid when Leon or I was sick. I still remember him fetching me lukewarm water in the bathroom cup when I was nursing a migraine because he’d seen Leon bring me water for my aspirin. I believe he was as young as 3 when he started.

When Leon or I am sick, he hates to go to school and when he is here, he will bring ice packs, aspirin, wet washcloths and as many hugs, kisses and cuddles as we will take. There are many nights that he went to bed on a Friday night at 7:30 because I was sick with a migraine and laying there. He would lay next to me, patting my hand, and would eventually drift off.

There is a certain sense of guilt that comes with having chronic pain–that burden that you place on the people around you. The feelings that you may have of feeling like less of a person some days often express themselves at the weakest moments and not always in the best of ways. They often present in anger, misery or irritability. AJ is immune to that when someone is sick.

This isn’t to say that he doesn’t have his egocentric “me me me” side, because he certainly does, but it has never been as strong as I expected. And I’m watching him shed it rapidly and sooner than the developmental scales predict and I wonder about the kind of man he’ll become, and how quickly it will happen. Will I ever be ready for it? People keep telling me to have more children. My guess is that they recognize that there is so much love within me for this little guy that it breaks me.

I worry less about it when I see that I haven’t done an awful job and that my health issues haven’t affected him so dramatically. As he was going to bed tonight, he kissed my cheek, hugged me tightly and said, “I hope you feel better tomorrow, mama.” Then, he gave me the dimpled grin that melts my heart and he and his hoppy little weiner dog went to sleep.

Somehow, I think we’re all going to be alright…

One of the teachers who changed my life

by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . August 20, 2009 . 10:40AM

Back in high school, I had a teacher who changed my life. How often have you heard that line? How often have you said it? For me, I’ve been lucky enough to say it aout more than one teacher. I’ve been lucky enough to say it about elementary school, middle school was something of a bust, high school, community college, undergrad, and grad school. I’ve also had life teachers that have changed my life outside of the school setting. My mentors in life have been truly amazing.

This story, though, is about a high school teacher who did something extraordinary in a moment of frustration.

I was either a sophomore or a junior in high school and taking a required history course. I’ll call my teacher Mr. Smith, but he has an extremely distinguished name and he has done so much for the small community that I grew up in, that if you googled him, you’d find him. I’m not sure he wants to be found. He’s a small treasure to be sure. But this is my memory, not his memoir and so he is Mr. Smith.

Every day, Mr. Smith came in and tried to teach a room full of students, who were taking a required course, that history is fundamental, important and interesting. For the record, history is interesting to me, but I was 15 or 16 and had other things on my mind. However, I did look forward to Mr. Smith’s class every day. His personality was such, that you felt like you were in on some secret knowledge by listening to what he had to say.

However, our environment wasn’t the best. We didn’t have air conditioning in the school and we had old school radiators in the classrooms. Often, in the summer, it was sweltering and in the winter it was freezing. It was hard to concentrate and when the school had big events, like homecoming, prom, or big sports events, students had a hard time focusing on their education.

The day I’m thinking of was one such day. As usual, Mr. Smith had poured his heart into his class, and, for whatever reason, we couldn’t focus. I remember feeling more tired than usual and being irritated that the class wouldn’t be quiet so I could zone out a bit. After 15 minutes of attempting to gain our attention, I saw something that I had never seen before and I never saw again.

Mr. Smith lost his temper. In a big way.

He slammed his book down on the desk and wailed on us. This was our education and we couldn’t be bothered to be present in his class. He’d put quite a bit into his work that day and this information was going to be on our next test. However, we were being rude and insolent and he’d had enough. So, he was going to sit down and he wanted to know which of us would be willing to teach the class, because he wasn’t going to do it.

There were crickets in that classroom. No one said a word. Mr. Smith had never raised his voice, let alone throw a temper tantrum.

I looked around and 2 things occurred to me: 1/no one was going to volunteer 2/I was just enough of a smart-aleck to do it.

I raised my hand, stood up and went to his overhead projector. I heard him say “Jillian, excellent. It’s good to see that someone is willing to step up for all of you. I look forward to hearing what you have to say.”

This is a fatal flaw within myself. I still do it to this day. If a teacher asks a question, and no one in the classroom will answer, I will try, even if I fail miserably. I can’t stand letting the teacher hang or letting the class hang. I’m working on that first-born responsibility mentality.

Honestly, I don’t know what kind of job I did that day. I knew the material and I did my best.
After class, Mr. Smith came up to me and said, “Jillian, that was impressive. Have you considered being a teacher?” I told him I hadn’t, but that I enjoyed it. He let me know he was impressed with my moxie and appreciated what I had done with his class.

I never saw him lose his temper again and the class was attentive from that point on. My self-esteem received a great boost that day.

Last Spring, I taught my first undergraduate class. I carried Mr. Smith’s words with me every day, especially on the hard ones. Most especially on the days my class was inattentive or the class was hot or cold.

Teachers…mentors…who has changed you life?

A spoon full of sugar is what kindness is to us

by Jillian @ http://blueshelled.com . May 7, 2009 . 2:13AM

One thing I’ve noticed is that we, as humans, understand abstract, but we want our proof in tangible form. When you ask people about God, they want to see Him/Her. When you ask people about love, they want you to prove it to them. When you stand accused, you must have a tangible alibi for why you are not guilty.

These things don’t change as we get older. When we hit about 12, Piaget, a development psychologist said that we begin to develop the capability for abstract thinking and moving beyond that concrete thought. I agree with Piaget because I have personally experienced this phenomenon and seen it with my eyes. I’ve taught it and shown it to my students and watched them be convinced of it’s truth. However, what I recognize is that the want and the need is still there to experience hands on proof for the things in life that comfort us.

If you feel attracted to someone, they want proof that you are attracted. How can I say this delicately? I don’t want you to walk up to me and show me your proof. Please don’t. You go to jail for those kinds of things. However, a comment as such is a good indicator of that unless it’s something like “Baby, dem clothes are looking mighty fine but dey be looking better on my floor.” I know you get my drift, here.

If you care for someone, they want proof that you care. A kind word or gesture is well received and I’m not talking a pep talk or false compliment. Something genuine that speaks to who they are as a person.

If someone feels insecure, they want to know that they can trust you. Trust is so hard because the question is, really, how do I give someone that in a tangible form? It’s so hard to earn because it’s a series of acts, rather than one act and a single act can negate all of the series.

My reason for bringing all of this up is due to my own feelings that came about after I received feedback from my students this semester. Finals were this week, May 5, and I had just given them an incredibly hard cumulative final. This was my first semester teaching undergraduates, which was daunting by itself, but I was also teaching Gen Psych. The thing about Gen Psych is that it is such a broad, diverse subject with so much material to cover that you never get everything in that you need to in a semester. Students often believe that you are an expert in the field when, in reality, I know alot about psychology, but I’m not an expert. I will be a lifelong learner.

Overall, my experience was astounding. I learned more from them than I believe they learned from me. I watched them grow and change in so many ways over the course of the semester. My worry about being a new instructor waned some as I drifted into my groove and learned more about my class. Every now and then, though, my doubts would come back to haunt me that maybe I wasn’t a good enough teacher and they would be better served by someone else. Just like everyone else, I needed that tangible proof that what I was doing was working and I was effective.

As I graded their papers, I hoped for strong grades and that they would all earn the final grade they wanted in the course. Overall, the majority of my students had As and Bs and I could not be more proud of them. My course was very, very challenging and I expected a lot from each and every one of them. They worked hard and they should be proud of themselves. After I finished my 4 hours of grading, I finally took time to savor my feedback. I was prepared for some nastiness after the final I’d just given them.

There was not a single bad comment about my teaching. There were some complaints about things that were beyond my control in the classroom setting, but overall, they rated me as “one of the best” teachers. There were so many edifying comments that, when I was finished reading, I was close to weeping. One said that he or she wished all of his/her teachers were just like me. Another said they would miss me, another loved the class, etc. There were more but I want to hold them in my heart. They feel too personal to share.

Yes, we all need something tangible, don’t we? I want to say that I’m so mature and comfortable in my own skin that I don’t need the reassurance, but it sure feels nice. Humans sure do respond well to kindness, don’t they?