Ah, blogosphere! I've missed you!
I finally decided to catch up on some blog reading and found the most fantastic entry by one of my College/teacher friends ( can I say that Regan?) Annyywayy, she wrote about a convocation speech she had read recently that resonated with her.
This year at my school we are starting a campaign called "Not at my School" in an effort to prevent bullying. It's amazing how mean kids can be! Not to mention teachers...sometimes it just happens people! We're not perfect! 160 kids all day long is sometimes more than the most patient teacher can handle!
Last year my last month of school was tainted becuase I exhibited a "failure of kindness", I guess you could even go so far as to say I was plain mean to one of my students. It was not on purpose and it was in reaction to something potentially dangerous, but that's no excuse. This entry helped me remember that I must be the example of kindness to my students if I am to expect kindness from them.
the story-
Here’s something I regret:
In seventh grade, this new kid joined our class. In the interest of confidentiality, her Convocation Speech name will be “ELLEN.” ELLEN was small, shy. She wore these blue cat’s-eye glasses that, at the time, only old ladies wore. When nervous, which was pretty much always, she had a habit of taking a strand of hair into her mouth and chewing on it.
So she came to our school and our neighborhood, and was mostly ignored, occasionally teased (“Your hair taste good?” – that sort of thing). I could see this hurt her. I still remember the way she’d look after such an insult: eyes cast down, a little gut-kicked, as if, having just been reminded of her place in things, she was trying, as much as possible, to disappear. After awhile she’d drift away, hair-strand still in her mouth. At home, I imagined, after school, her mother would say, you know: “How was your day, sweetie?” and she’d say, “Oh, fine.” And her mother would say, “Making any friends?” and she’d go, “Sure, lots.”
Sometimes I’d see her hanging around alone in her front yard, as if afraid to leave it.
And then – they moved. That was it. No tragedy, no big final hazing.
One day she was there, next day she wasn’t.
End of story.
Now, why do I regret that? Why, forty-two years later, am I still thinking about it? Relative to most of the other kids, I was actually pretty nice to her. I never said an unkind word to her. In fact, I sometimes even (mildly) defended her.
But still. It bothers me.
So here’s something I know to be true, although it’s a little corny, and I don’t quite know what to do with it:
What I regret most in my life are failures of kindness.
Those moments when another human being was there, in front of me, suffering, and I responded…sensibly. Reservedly. Mildly.
Or, to look at it from the other end of the telescope: Who, in your life, do you remember most fondly, with the most undeniable feelings of warmth?
Those who were kindest to you, I bet.
It’s a little facile, maybe, and certainly hard to implement, but I’d say, as a goal in life, you could do worse than: Try to be kinder.
So please try and be a little kinder this week will ya?
