Hopes and dreams: Stories about teaching (#1).
I started this post a month ago, but I never ever got down to completing it, not till today. I guess, in a way, I had accumulated quite a number of experiences throughout my short teaching career thus far, and it’s really time to release some of these stories out from the deep ends of my heart.
***
Sometime around 14th July.
Today, a student of mine was caught smoking outside of school.
You see, this boy – while he has always not been paying attention in class, not really listening in lectures and all that, he has never been an outright troublemaker. True, he was tardy with his work, he never studied for his tests, but he never exuded any instance of stress.
Yet it was only till much later from today that I would finally find out the amount of problems that a young kid of 17 like him was facing. Or maybe “amount” wouldn’t be the right word – it wasn’t exactly the quantity, but instead the magnitude and sequence of events that kept hitting him one after another.
Then comes the question – why didn’t I discover this earlier? Had I, in some way or another, given up on him some time through my teaching? Did I, purposely or accidentally, let him slip out of my radar, till he was just a meaningless blip on the corner of my mind?
Perhaps I did.
And perhaps we all do.
***
I remember, at some course one day a month or so back, somebody who was conducting the course asked an entire class full of teachers, “What’s your favorite kind of student?”
It was that kind of question that I, personally, found difficult to answer. There’s of course the easy way out – smart, hardworking, hands in work on time, answers questions in class, participates actively in discussion, blah blah blah.
I mean, why should I even want to define the criteria for favoritism? Back then, I gave my response from the bottom of my heart – I don’t have a criteria, I treat them equally, and nobody should be denied my attention because someone else performs better academically or in any other ways. We’re responsible for getting all of them to university.
Let’s just say my response eventually got brushed aside.
***
Yet a month on, I had let some people slip under my radar – the very people that I want to get promoted to year two, the very people that I silently and fervently promised myself that I would get to university.
The elder and more experienced teachers would probably know the statistical impossibility of even achieving the first goal completely – that teaching really isn’t that easy, that some students will inadvertently “fall through the cracks”, and eventually spending an extra year of revision to get back on track.
But that doesn’t erase my guilt, does it? The responsibility that I promised myself?
***
Perseverance is a strong word. When I was in secondary school I learnt it during my CCA as something called “fire”. Eventually that evolved into something called “fighting spirit”, which is something slightly more tangible. To a 14-year-old, that is.
Of course, as I grew older and as my vocabulary expanded, I finally understood the whole spirit thing as simply perseverance. But the good thing was that I had long understood its meaning before I actually understood the word, which made something seemingly bombastic easy to comprehend, and perhaps, execute.
So I look at myself today, in the role of an educator – I must be the one to persevere, for it is only when I do so, then can I in turn be the one to impart this value to the very people that I am responsible for.
I still forget, yes, sometimes, the promise that I have made myself. It’s so easy to forget. But I shall remind myself, and I will.
***
He’s much better at his work now. He’s actively getting his studies back on track, and his effort is becoming visible. I’m talking to him more as well, but no, the credit really isn’t mine, sadly. During his darkest period, I wasn’t the one who stood by him, but I was instead quick to criticize.
On hindsight, I was obviously in some wrong. But that’s common, isn’t it, to always look at things in retrospect and express regret? So it’s but crying over spilt milk, lulling over what cannot be undone.
Yet the more important thing is not what cannot be undone, but what can be done. And one thing still remains for sure – I can still persevere.
And when I do, so will they.
