Making Heavy Hearts Glad

Miss M, my teaching assistant, disappeared after lunch yesterday. She is conscientious and thoughtful and superb with the kids, so I was puzzled and disappointed by her apparent irresponsibility. She could have at least let me know that she’d be gone for the rest of the day.

My disappointment turned into smoldering resentment as the afternoon progressed and the 6th-graders became more and more surly and unruly. It was obvious that they, too, missed Miss M—but they are not articulate, so they acted out.

It wasn’t until after the students had been escorted to the buses that I learned that Miss M had rushed home at lunchtime after someone had spotted her dog in distress and called her to come quickly.

She was too late. By the time she got home, her beloved pet was dead.

Today Miss M was back in my classroom, a shadow of her usual exuberant self. She was red-eyed and sniffling, but the same children who were surly and unruly yesterday were gentle and solicitous today.

“What happened to your dog?” one student asked.

“We left him on the deck and he decided to jump,” said Miss M, “but his leash was too short and he broke his neck.”

“Was he a good dog?”

“He was a very good dog,” Miss M said, “a very, very good dog.” Her voice faltered as she wiped away tears.

Several of the children told Miss M how they had lost beloved pets to various tragedies.

As they spoke, an ancient proverb seemed to spring to life: “Heaviness in the heart of man maketh it stoop: but a good word maketh it glad” (Proverbs 12:25, KJV).

By sharing their stories of loss and grief—which are, mysteriously, “good words”— healing began, both for the children and for Miss M.

The hearts of children of poverty, the children with whom I work, stoop with heaviness. Unimaginable things, unspeakable things, happen in their homes and to their families every day.

That’s why it’s so essential for me to be lavish in giving out good words. I want to be a teacher who makes heavy hearts glad.

A Twelfth Chance

Once upon a time (which is where all good—and even bad—stories begin) in a district far away, I failed a CPR course. Don’t ask. It was ugly. Even though the instructor gave me a second chance, I failed again.

So when our special ed director mandated that every special ed teacher in our district take first aid and CPR training, I was mortified. The memory of my previous failure still haunted me.

Today’s training, however, was far different from the one that left me feeling shamed and humiliated. The instructors were kind and patient. Their goal was to make sure that no one failed. After watching an informative video, they gave us lots of time to practice what we had learned. At the end of the day, everyone—including me—passed.

As a teacher, I need to remember the most important lesson I learned today: A second chance may not be enough. Sometimes it takes a third, a fourth or even a twelfth chance for a student to succeed.

Patience, Magical Mystical Teacher. Kindness.

Then stand back and watch your students blossom.