BY: Quyen Thai
You block your dream when you allow your fear to grow bigger than your faith.
~Mary Manin Morrissey
Sixteen kindergarten students scampered in at a quarter past eight. Their little eyes stared up at me. "Substitute teacher," I heard them whisper.
After their little backpacks were neatly put away, they started doing something that wasn't in the substitute plan. They opened their folders and began reciting their spelling. Mothers and fathers were sitting at the short tables, helping their children learn their spelling lists, and I felt like an outsider, which I was.
Suddenly, it was five to nine and it was time to gather on the carpet. But the parents didn't move and the kids remained at their desks, their lips moving quietly. Big heads and little heads, focused on a small piece of paper that was obstructing the flow of my day.
I was only a novice teacher then, and I didn't really understand the concept of being flexible. All I knew was that I had to follow the daily plan. Then I looked across to the other classroom (we were in a shared space), and I saw that the teacher next door was already taking attendance. I was supposed to be doing that too.
Suddenly I was compelled to have the whole class on the carpet; I needed them in a neat small square where I could see them. Years later, I learned that gathering the children on the floor was a great way to control the classroom when everything was out of control -- gather and focus. The difference was, this class wasn't out of control; and it just felt that way to me.
After five long minutes, I had most of the children sitting quietly on the carpet. Except one.
A mother with scraggly brown hair was still working with her daughter.
I approached the wooden table, very aware that the rest of the kids were sitting down waiting for me, feeling that at any moment they would start scrambling around looking for things to do. With a burning face, I spoke to the woman.
"She has to go. I'm sorry," I said as my face flushed red again. I was upset that they were affecting my progress.
"She has to finish her spelling," said the woman, with her hand on the child's green spelling book.
"Well I'm sorry, but I was instructed to have her on the floor at this time," I said, feeling apologetic and upset at the same time.
The child stopped practicing her spelling and looked up at me, her eyes mirroring the accusation in her mother's eyes.
Unsure, I finally told the mother to continue. I felt my authority vanish. I felt unsettled.
"It's too late now," the mother declared. "You've upset her and she doesn't want to spell anymore." I was scared. Her lips were downturned and her tired eyes darted accusations at me. I felt like I failed. I didn't want to upset her, but somehow I did.
She walked out the glass double doors, the sun illuminating her outline as she left. I was left with her daughter. Part of me wanted to go after her, persuade her that I did the right thing. I wanted to show her the plan, see... the plan proves me right.
Instead I said, "Go and sit down Stephanie." I half expected her to refuse. Luckily she went calmly to join the other kids.
The day went by quickly. Reading, writing, lunch, math and recesses came and went... but I felt uneasy.
I spent the day treating her daughter like china. "Stephanie, how are you feeling?" or "Stephanie, what would you like to do now?" Of course the girl loved the extra attention that I was giving her.
As it approached three o'clock, I kept thinking about how afraid I was of doing the wrong thing. I was afraid of not following the plans properly, I was afraid that I was going to look bad in front of the other teacher. Now I was afraid that I might have upset a parent.
Finally, I realized that being scared wasn't helping me, and I decided to ask myself what I would I do if I wasn't afraid. The answer came to me instantly.
That afternoon, as I was bidding the children goodbye, I approached Stephanie's mother with my heart pounding again.
"Mrs. Cosmos, I would like to speak to you," I said looking her straight in the eye.
Her face was stiff and she had her hands on Stephanie's shoulders.
"I'm sorry for what happened this morning," I said, my face flushed again, but this time with relief.
"I know that all you want is the best for your child, and I should have listened to that," I said, and I realized that I believed what I was saying.
In that moment, the woman in front of me transformed, her shoulders sagged and she looked at me earnestly.
"You have no idea what I have to go through. I have six children and I try so hard to come in and help." Suddenly, it all made sense: the desperate need to finish her daughter's spelling, the abrupt change of her mood when I asked her to stop. As a mother, she worked so hard to be there with her daughter each morning, and although it strained her to do it, she did it anyway.
"I'm sorry," she continued. "I know it must be hard if you don't know the school and if the instructions aren't complete."
I stopped breathing, because in less than a minute this mother was telling me her problems when before she could hardly talk to me.
I realized that teaching was not just about getting the lesson plan right, but it was about making a difference to the people I would be working with, and that included both the students and the parents.
Most importantly, I realized that if my teaching was guided by my fear, I would also impart a sense of fear to my students. Once I realized that, I suddenly saw the children and parents for what they were: human beings, with hopes, dreams and hearts that wanted to achieve many things in their lives. Like every human, I recognized that they might have fears of their own... just as that mother did. So I made a choice that day. I chose to stop listening to my fear, and to teach with courage and love. And by making that choice, I had the privilege to make a difference to these precious people, simply by being a teacher.
So these days, the classes I teach usually go as planned, but when they don't, I understand that it's still okay.
http://www.beliefnet.com/Inspiration/Chicken-Soup-For-The-Soul/2010/02/Teaching-from-Courage.aspx?source=NEWSLETTER&nlsource=49&ppc=&utm_campaign=DIBSoup&utm_source=NL&utm_medium=newsletter
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