What are we really teaching?

By the time I get to our office, lunch is already in full swing. I catch bits of at least three different conversations as I walk past the large table and plunk my things at my desk in the corner. Backpack, Chromebook, tea mug. Then I plop myself into my chair and take a deep breath. For a few seconds, I just sit and breathe, sit and listen.

This doesn’t last, of course. Time is an educator’s most precious commodity, and even lunchtime is limited. I grab my lunch bag and make my way toward the table and my colleagues. As I sit, I hear one teacher exclaim to another, “Right? He’s soooo rude. The other day he called me a [very bad word for women]. I couldn’t believe it. I mean, I ignored it, obviously, and I reported it, but of course nothing will happen.”

The second teacher nods along, sympathetically, then adds, “Does he do that thing where you say something to him and he flat-out ignores you, then he asks the male teacher and gets the same answer? And then he does whatever the male teacher said and sort of smirks at you while he does it?”

“Of course he does.”

They are laughing now, comrades in arms, relieved that this experience is not theirs alone. The stories continue.

My heart has dropped. They are talking about the young person I wrote about in my last blog post, the same young person who I’d hoped I was beginning to understand a little better. I start to tell them that I have *just* written about him, that I think there is a way forward, but I hesitate. 

I think about the wariness the two girls displayed last week when they encountered him. I think about the way I felt last year, the way he treated me. I think about what I am hearing now in the lunchroom.

I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what we should do. What are we responsible for teaching? English? History? Math? Yes, of course. But educators talk, too, about the “whole student” and the “hidden curriculum” and the things schools teach based on what we accept and don’t accept. I wonder if my decision to lean into his “humour” – which is so often rude – is actually harming him? Perhaps those of us who have worked to “meet him where he’s at” need to hold him to a different standard? And if we did, would anything change? How much influence do we have anyway?

In the office, the conversation swirls and the topics change. The bell rings, everyone heads to classrooms, and the rhythm of the school day subsumes my moment of doubt. Periodically throughout the week, I wonder and even worry, but there’s never a moment to find another teacher to sit and talk through the larger implications of these questions. Mostly, my thoughts remain my thoughts.

*****

This morning, he walks by my classroom carrying a large box. “Christmas lights!” he calls out delightedly. And even though he has interrupted my class, even though he is too loud, and he shouldn’t be in the hallway, I call back, “I love it!” and I give him a big smile.