I Am a Teacher.

In times when you are judged by the company you work for, the position you hold, the number of people who report to you and by the money you make, I am a misfit.

I am a Teacher. Yes only a teacher.

I have never earned enough from this job to be able to run my home or had the benefits that come with a corporate job. I have also been told ‘ You could have been successful in a nine-to-five job, what a waste of your talent’, ‘Teaching, oh that’s an easy job with not much to do’, ‘How could you spend so much time in a class full of kids’ and many other things.

I could have continued working in advertising or the hospitality industry, where I worked earlier in my career and made more money and name but a quick turn of events landed me in a classroom of fifty six year old kids.

My first day was a disaster! A student fell down and got injured and I forgot to check on him. The students were smart and naughty enough to sense my discomfort and won’t be quiet. It seemed impossible to reach out to all fifty of them at once. By the end of the day with hoarse throat, swollen feet I was ready to quit. But I went back. And back again. And spent the last 22 years with schools and children of various age groups across many cities in various capacities.

 In India, unlike in many other countries where teachers are not given their due when people in top jobs/positions understate the work I do, I look up and say ‘Hey how many of your colleagues from two decades ago remember you?’

‘Have you ever experienced the joy of being introduced to person’s family as one of the biggest influences on them?’

‘Has anyone ever told you that what they are today is because of you?’

‘Has your work shaped minds and hearts together?’

‘How often have you been invited to major life events of people you haven’t met in almost last fifteen years?’

‘Is their role multifaceted enough to include being a resource provider, curriculum specialist, organizer, assessor, learning facilitator, participant, mentor, catalyst for change all at the same time?’

I thank each and every student of mine for making me stronger, forcing me to strive harder in class, to constantly update my skills, encouraging me to try and do new things in class and forming a strong bond for life which goes much beyond the clichéd student-teacher relationship.

Appreciation

One day a teacher asked her students to list the names of the other students in the room on two sheets of paper, leaving a space between each name. Then she told them to think of the nicest thing they could say about each of their classmates and write it down. It took the remainder of the class period to finish their assignment, and as the students left the room each one handed in the papers.

That Saturday, the teacher wrote down the names of each student on a separate sheet of paper and listed what everyone else had said about that individual. On Monday she gave each student his or her list. Before long, the entire class was smiling. “Really?” she heard whispers, “I never knew that I meant anything to anyone!” “I didn’t know others liked me so much.”

No one ever mentioned those papers in class again. She never knew if they discussed them after class or with their parents, but it didn’t matter. The exercise had accomplished its purpose. The students were happy with themselves and with one another.

That group of students moved on. Several years later, one of the students was killed in Vietnam and his teacher attended the funeral of that special student. She had never seen a service man in a military coffin before. He looked so handsome, so mature. The church was packed with his friends. One by one those stood there, those who loved him took a last walk by the coffin. The teacher was the last one to bless the coffin. As she stood there, one of the soldiers who acted a pallbearer came up to her. “Were you Mark’s math teacher?” he asked. She nodded, yes. Then he said, “Mark talked bout you a lot.”

After the funeral, most of Mark’s former classmates went together to a luncheon. Mark’s mother and father were there, waiting to speak with his teacher. “We want to show you something,” his father said, taking a wallet out of his pocket. “They found this on Mark when he was killed. We thought you might recognize it.” opening the billfold, he carefully removed two worn pieces of notebook paper that had obviously been taped, folded and refolded many times. The teacher knew without looking that the papers were the ones on which she had listed all the good things each of Mark’s classmates had said about him. “Thank you so much for doing that,” Mark’s mother said. “As you can see, Mark treasured it.”

Mark’s classmates started to gather around her. Charlie smiled rather sheepishly and said, “I still have my list. It’s in the top drawer of my desk at home.” Chuck’s wife said, “Chuck asked me to put his in our wedding album.” “I have mine too,” Marilyn said. “it’s in my diary.” Then Vicki, another classmate, reached into her pocketbook, took out her wallet and showed her worn and frazzled list to the group. “I carry this with me at all times,” Vicki said without batting an eyelash. “I think we all saved our lists.”

That’s when the teacher finally sat down and cried. She cried for Mark and for all his friends who would never see him again.