I Know You Love Them, But...

Working at a school, very early on I decided the teachers’ lounge was not for me. It seemed like a negative place, and I took issue with the way some, not all, of the teachers spoke about students and the school. When a teacher came up to me and, unprompted, felt the need to tell me, “I know you love those boys, but they suck,” seemingly expecting me to join in and banter with her, I didn’t know how to react. I didn’t understand how she expected them to respect her, or put forth effort, when it was clear she was not offering them the same in return. I also wondered if she knew what she was missing. In my eyes, the relationships are the BEST part of working with students. I felt my enthusiasm was often being undermined like this by some of the veteran teachers. It was often labeled as naïveté. I felt judged for caring. With my students, I felt this enthusiasm was appreciated. I honestly felt that the more I cared, the more my care was reciprocated, even if they acted too cool for it sometimes.

This concept of caring, acting beyond the traditional nature of my role was instinctive and authentic for me, so I didn’t engage in it in a performative way. I knew my best chance at impacting my students was to develop positive relationships with them and empower them. What I have learned since is that there are both theoretical and cultural foundations to this school of thought.

According to Suarez-Orozco and Suarez-Orozco (2017), a “child’s sense of self is profoundly shaped by the reflections mirrored back to her by significant others” (p. 98), and I have seen the positive effects of holding up a compassionate, metaphorical mirror.

In the This American Life podcast, “The Problem We All Live With,” I noticed a recurring theme: care, or the distinct lack thereof. A day in the life of a student in the non-accredited Normandy School District is characterized by the question of care, with teacher turnover, no subs to cover classes, and long-term subs who don’t teach. All of these situations send a message to students that they are not worth the effort of adults or the school system. The students at the receiving end of these messages are overwhelmingly students of color, and school is just one of the systems contributing to their oppression.

Culturally, “from an African American perspective, the helper and the helpee are not separated from one another but are bound together both emotionally and spiritually. The Euro-American style of objectivity encourages separation that may be interpreted… as uninvolved, uncaring, insincere, and dishonest” (Sue & Sue, 2013, p. 118).

Looking back on my interaction with that teacher, and other incidents in which I felt judged for building relationships, doing things outside of my job description, or self-disclosing, I feel bolstered by this new knowledge.

References

Hannah-Jones, Nikole. (This American Life). (2015, August 7). The Problem We All Live With

[Audio podcast]. Retrieved from https://www.thisamericanlife.org/562/the-problem-we-all-live-with-part-one.

Suárez-Orozco, C., & Suárez-Orozco, M. M. (2001). Children of immigration. Cambridge, MA:

Harvard University Press.

Sue, D.W., & Sue, D. (2013). Systemic oppression: Trust, mistrust, credibility, and worldview.

Counseling the Culturally Diverse: Theory and Practice 5th ed. Hoboken. NJ: Wiley

(chapter 5)