Tears

Two days ago, I made three of my students cry. This was in a class with six students, so I made 50% of my students cry. In my defense, it was for being understanding and asking them how they were doing and wanting to hear more about their hopes and their stress. (At least I hope that it was an OK reason to make them cry!) To be fair, and bless their hearts, I could probably make them cry based upon their English skills. Honestly, it hurts to read some of their assignments.

There was “Jessica”, whose mother is battling cancer and who feels that she needs to be perfect. There is “Eleanor”, who feels overwhelmed and stressed with the amount of work she has to do, and feels that she will never be able to be the student she thinks she should be. And there is “Jennifer”, who is abysmally failing math, and she has two older brothers who did well in math. She feels that if she has to succeed, and puts so much in the idea that she’ll fail and not be as good as the were, that she actually does fail.

I did my best to comfort and reassure them. I found myself saying things that I wish I could have been told. Telling Jessica that her parents already think she’s perfect, and so she doesn’t have to worry about anything. Eleanor was told that as long as she keeps working day by day, she’ll get to where she wants to be. And poor Jennifer, I asked her what she was good at that her brothers weren’t. She said she’d never thought about it.

My brothers were very good at athletics. Brother A at track and cross-country and Brother B at football. I was not, to say the least, gifted in sports. I found it absolutely appalling to have to touch someone else’s sweat, so I wasn’t good at basketball. Running just plains hurt, so cross-country and track were out. Yet I ran cross-country and track all four years of high school. I kept trying, but not with any real passion for it.

I’ve gone back to running and working out on my own, and I can run as fast, if not faster, then I did in high school. Not because I’m in any better shape, but because it’s something that’s now mine. And I’ve matured enough to know that it’s going to hurt, there’s no looking past that. But, since I’ve actively chosen to run, the hurt is OK.

When I was in college, I remember a young teacher, who must have been a PhD student doing teaching, asking me if I was OK, at a moment when I knew I was on the verge of tears. And I didn’t feel comfortable enough with myself to be able to talk about my worries.

They seemed to respond well to what I had to say; though, I hope that it wasn’t simply because I was a teacher, and they’re used to saying yes to teachers. I hope that I’ve helped them. I hope they know that my heart breaks, because I can see so much of myself in them. Scared, uncertain, yet determined.