What We Don't Know, Can Hurt Them

This time last year, one of my student's fathers was in the hospital dying. He had been in the hospital since Thanksgiving. A total of zero teachers had any idea this was happening--including me. Sometime in early December, I sat down during guidance period to review progress with each student. I noticed that her grades had taken quite a dive. She'd been absent a few times, like many other high school seniors in winter. I asked her point blank, what was up, and if she had a plan to get her grades up. She gave me a friendly, but "I want to avoid this conversation" answer. This was a girl who always smiled, always had perfect liquid eyeliner, and who never failed to ask me how I was doing. Something was off.

My next step was to go speak to the theatre and dance teachers who were in charge of our winter production--one in which this student was playing the lead. Together we figured something out: she was missing school, but attending rehearsal. She was spending the days and late nights visiting her father, and making it to rehearsal so she wouldn't let down the cast--- opening night was so close.

Fast forward to some hard conversations, and the revelation of some truths: her father was sick. He needed more than what doctors in Vegas could do for him, and was waiting to be air lifted to a specialist in California. He had Leukemia, and was in the hospital the same time last year. She was trying to handle it "like an adult" and do everything herself.  In the meantime, this 18-year-old senior was without her sole parent and provider. She wasn't eating, she needed a refill on her asthma inhaler, her grades were tanking. She needed support.

This isn't about how I was the only one who noticed. I noticed because I have her in my guidance class and was able to have a one-on-one sit down with her. Every teacher on my campus does this with 20-25 kids. It makes a difference. With class loads of up to 200 it isn't always easy to get time to talk to kids individually. What shocked me more than my colleagues and I letting her slip through the cracks this long, was the reaction to the situation once everyone became aware.

We had a couple of weeks until Winter Break and two weeks after break until finals and end of semester grades. This gave kids a window to catch up if needed. I took the lead, with her permission, and shared her situation with my colleagues. Responses were mixed. Some never replied to my email. Some were shocked, and ready to help her out. Some were glad to be in the loop. I had to take it a step further, and walk to everyone's classroom so we could talk face-to face about her situation and how, as educators, we could rally together to get her through this difficult time.

My decision for English was to excuse her missing work and let her start with a clean slate. She was a strong student with a great track-record. She had shown mastery of content, and could afford to let a few assignments go.  She was waiting for college admissions letters and hoping to qualify for a hefty amount of scholarship and financial aide. She needed some leniency right now in order to keep on track. That was my decision. I began thinking about this girl's "after." What would she do after high school? What would she do after her father passed away? What would she do after scholarship money ran out?

My colleagues were all over the map. Many made concessions, offered one-on-one remediation and time to make up work. Some did business as usual, despite her circumstances. When I checked in with her after the break, she had made up some work, and felt somewhat prepared for finals. She attempted to complete the packets she was given by some of her teachers. Her dad was still sick, she was still alone. Her dance teacher made sure she was with friends on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day--the entire cast of the winter production left her a gift under the tree at her friend's house. My English department and I pooled money and got her some small gifts and gift cards.

She made it through the semester. She made it through the year and onto graduation. She's still going strong, making it through all that life dishes out. Her dad is still fighting.

She made me think about the "afters" of all of my students. As educators, there's so much we don't know about our student's lives--past, present, future. We will never know everything, but we need to remember that the student with the wide smile and contagious laugh may be hurting just as badly, or even more than the one who wears it on the outside. We need to be compassionate, flexible, and empathetic to all of them, whether we are privy to their struggles or not. At the end of the day, education is important, but people come before papers.

The teacher I am today sees the world differently then I used to. Maybe it's the trauma I've seen my students endure, or my own life experience. I still believe that education is powerful, but I understand that sometimes, especially in the life of a child, it has to take a back seat when life is chucking lemons at you like a pitching machine. Lemonade isn't as easy to make as we all think.

What we don't know can hurt them, even if we don't mean it to. It's a delicate balance of juggling the buzzwords: rigor, proficiency, achievement, while standing on one leg, blindfolded by the unfair world that some of our students come from. All we can do is try our best.

I've made sure to send my student's home this semester knowing that they can reach out to me, that they are not selfish for practicing self-care, and that they are loved. It matters.