When you really care

That word “care” is something we throw around a lot, often giving it little thought.  We say, “I care” or “I don’t care” and let it stand.  Those statements are meaningless, however.  “Care” is an action word.  You either show it or you don’t.

As a teacher for many years, I always believed that I was part of a caring profession.  It was a calling, something I was destined to be.  True teachers recognize that calling.  Unfortunately, schools are filled with teachers and administrators who do not.

I remembered being thrilled when the middle school philosophy emerged in education.  For the first time, the needs of the young adolescent were being addressed.  There was a declaration that middle school students were not merely older elementary students nor were they young high school students.  They had unique needs.    I knew this intrinsically, but it was now being advocated in educational research and experience as a way to structure a middle school.

When I learned that my school was going to adopt the middle school philosophy, I knew that I was in the right place.  I read everything I could get my hands on about middle school students.  I studied books about cognitive development and about the social and emotional needs of the young adolescent.  I re-structured my teaching methods.  I was ready.

One vital aspect to middle school teaching which has now been extended to the high school level was the idea that every student in a school must have at least one adult that they could turn to as an advocate, one adult who cares.  In fact, the middle school structure includes an advisory program for just that purpose.  Research and experience show that decisions made by middle school students can have a long-term effect on their learning and their well-being.  Having a trusted adult to bounce ideas off or to confide in could result in averting not only immediate difficulties but perhaps even long-term tragedy.

I embraced the advisor role.  I never had to “fake” caring.  It wasn’t always easy.  Sometimes kids had built up a wall.  I was encouraged to press on by a poem by Edwin Markham called “Outwitted:”

“He drew a circle that shut me out —
Heretic, rebel, a thing to flout.
But Love and I had the wit to win:
We drew a circle that took him in.”

Many students sought me out as their caring adult.  As one of my rougher-edged students put it, “We know you give a shit.”  He was right about that.

It wasn’t long before the teacher became the student and was taught a hard lesson.  I learned the difference between words and deeds.  Too many others knew the words.  Deeds, however, were something else.

Leaders who proclaimed adherence to a middle school philosophy were woefully ignorant of what it meant; when they saw it in action, they determined to crush it.  These leaders had plenty of ill-informed followers.  In the end, hollow words trumped deeds.

Years later, I can still recall the students who sought me out.  Recently, I have learned about a couple of tragedies as well.  Those school leaders and followers who spoke the words without the deeds may well bear some responsibility.  Some might call it malpractice.

As for me, I am inspired by this poem by William Ernest Henley.

“Invictus

Out of the night that covers me,

Black as the Pit from pole to pole,

I thank whatever gods may be

For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance

I have not winced nor cried aloud.

Under the bludgeonings of chance

My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears

Looms but the Horror of the shade,

And yet the menace of the years

Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,

How charged with punishments the scroll.

I am the master of my fate:

I am the captain of my soul.”

One final thing expressed in the vernacular of that long-ago rough-edged student:

I still give a shit.

©2011