Give a little - get a lot...

“We make a living by what we get.

We make a life by what we give.”

– Winston Churchill

Alijandra (ah-lè-hondra for you Gringos out there) is a student in my anatomy and physiology class. After a lab on the digestive system this week, she handed me a paper on her way out the door.

Why she was there…

Ali, like a lot of other kids, takes classes at one of the local community colleges. They work to get a couple of years of low-cost higher education credits before transferring to a four-year university where they finish their matriculation. At least that's the plan. Some move on…others do not.

At the beginning of the semester, I tell my students about my work and education background then ask them to call me Ted. This generally makes them feel awkward. Some default to calling me 'professor.' I let these young people know that referring to an instructor as 'professor' is like calling a second lieutenant, ‘general.’ Others don’t call me anything.

I understand the difficulty. Most of my students come from a Hispanic culture that respects elders. They are not used to calling an older person by their first name. It takes a little time, but before long and with gentle reminders, they become comfortable with the idea.

They know I am not their peer, nor best friend, but in time they understand I want them to feel everyone is part of the learning adventure. I just have a different function. Of course, this approach doesn't work for every student, nor all teachers nor cultures. But in the classroom, in the American Southwest, it works well for me. And as you will see, there is a pay-off.

Déjà vu?

The return to teaching has been challenging. Long ago, in what seems like another universe and a different era, I taught exercise science at the university level. As memory has the habit of doing, time and gravity softened the mental images of bygone days into comforting earth-tones. Ah, yes, the classroom…the students…the opportunity to impart hidden knowledge to smiling faces and unwashed minds. All of it was warm and fuzzy.

Hit the brakes!!! Smell the coffee!! Take a cold shower!!

As it turns out, class preparation and delivering five hundred pages of content dense material in sixteen weeks was quite different from those 'soft around the edges' memories. Yes sir, as the rubber hit the road, I discovered teaching was not as warm and fuzzy as I had remembered.

However, after a year-and-a-half back in the classroom, things are smoother, dare I say more comfortable.

Returning to Alijandra…

Where was I? Oh, yes. Leaving the lab, Ali handed me an eight by eleven sheet of paper folded in half.

“I wanted to give you this,” she said. “I covered it in plastic so you could keep it longer.”

It had been taped shut from the inside. On the front of the note in huge multicolored color script were the words: “Thank you.”

How we got there…

Ali is one of those students who, in spite of being bright, was failing my class. A couple of weeks earlier, I had a conversation with her expressing my concern.

"You are smart and can absolutely be successful in this class," I had said. "You engage me in class. You seem enthusiastic, but your grades are awful. Is there something I can do to help you get on track.”

I learned in my working years that spending energy on low performers is a waste of time and sucks the life right out of you. On the other hand, there are those folks who just need a little encouragement to ‘find the path.’ Our conversation was gentle, but frank. I wanted her to understand I was ‘kicking her shins’ because I cared and knew she could do better.

When we were done, she thanked me and committed to trying to work harder. And that was that, or so I thought.

The note…

When Ali handed me the paper, I was shutting down the computer and putting things away after the lab. I wasn’t really paying attention as she passed by on her way to the door. At first, I thought she was giving me a late assignment. But then I saw the words on the front of the paper. She paused and stood in the doorway as I fumbled to open the thing.

The note turned out to be a full-page hand-written letter, which in part said,

“I want to thank you for being you…You are a star in the darkness and…I want to thank you for disciplining me, because outside of class no one does that for me…I feel like you were brought into my life for a reason, as an awakening for me. I realized that I am enough, which is something that I struggle with internally. I needed a wake up call…You are the person I needed in my path for me to listen to when I withdrew. I’m sorry for not giving it my all in class...I see you as like my grandfather. Thank you for advising me. I thank life for guidance because when I asked for it, you were there…Thanks for making…all of us students feel safe and comfortable. You always make us smile.”

I was stunned...speechless!

“Don’t look at me, or I’ll cry,” she said glancing my way then at the floor. By then, of course it was much too late. Both of us were teary-eyed.

I had had a cold for several days and lost my voice the day before. It was a cover for not being able to speak. It took a moment to gather myself.

“I don’t know what to say,” I half-growled in a whisper. She looked back with an awkward smile and nodded. We shared a quick and knowing glance, and she was off.

On the drive home, my heart was full. It had taken the hand of a struggling student to remind me from where those warm and fuzzy feelings of yesteryear had come. It was never the classroom, nor the course content. Those were nothing more than a vehicle.

It was always the Alijandra’s.

- ted