Education, etc.

I used to tell my students that I was going to write a book called “Stupid Stuff Smart Students Say”. This was usually a comment intended to get a chuckle when one of them had blurted out something without thinking that they knew was not accurate as soon as it left their mouth. I would look at them, we would all laugh, and I would tell them that was going to go in the book. Or someone else would ask if that was going to make the book. It was a lighthearted way to encourage their participation and willingness to make mistakes, provided they learned from them. One day, a student asked me if Johnny would make the book, too. My response was, “Johnny will have his own chapter. I will call it, ‘Little Johnny’, and the first sentence will read, ‘His name really was Johnny, but he was not little. He was tall, athletic, and notorious for speaking before he thought.’”

I could sit and type out story after story of my interactions with Johnny. He was an expert in escape behavior. Suddenly the class would become quieter than usual, and I would realize Johnny had snuck out. This created a no-win situation for me. I could stick my head out the door and bring him back, thus ending the quiet moment in class. Or I could admit I lost him to the administration and probably end up in a conference about why he snuck out. One time he snuck down the hall to the assistant principal’s office 2 doors down, placed his head down on her desk, and sighed. When she asked him why he was there and what he wanted, his whining response was, “attention”, which he said without lifting his head. That summed it up well. Johnny needed attention, constantly.

At the time, I taught Honors Chemistry to 10^th grade students and AP Chemistry to 11^th and 12^th grade students. At the end of his 10^th grade year in my class, I saw Johnny in the hall, and he said he was signing up for my AP Chemistry course. This was not music to my ears. This was the kind of phrase that creates ulcers and acid reflux-based nightmares. I asked him why he wanted to take such a challenging course. In fact, I think I found a way to say how challenging it was at least 3 times in that one question. The honesty in his response stopped me in my tracks: “Because no one else wants me.” We laughed, I told him that was not true, and he went back to whatever class he had managed to escape for that moment.  Further down the hall I was stopped by another teacher who said they hoped that I was not talking Johnny into taking their class the following year. Before I realized what I was saying, I blurted out that he would be taking AP Chemistry with me. Heaven help me, my fate was sealed. I turned on my heel, walked back down the hall, and stuck my head in the classroom that held Johnny. I pulled in the hall and told him he could take the class, but I expected him to work diligently, and he would not be escaping class. He smiled, thanked me, and I felt the ulcer start to form.

In 2 Corinthians 12:7-9 MSG, Paul says, “Because of the extravagance of those revelations, and so I wouldn’t get a big head, I was given the gift of a handicap to keep me in constant touch with my limitations. Satan’s angel did his best to get me down; what he in fact did was push me to my knees. No danger then of walking around high and mighty! At first I didn’t think of it as a gift, and begged God to remove it. Three times I did that, and then he told me, My grace is enough it’s all you need. My strength comes into its own in your weakness. Once I heard that, I was glad to let it happen. I quit focusing on the handicap and began appreciating the gift. It was a case of Christ’s strength moving in on my weakness.” I did not realize it then, but I know now, Johnny was my thorn in my side, that weakness I would one day consider a gift.

Fast forward almost 2 years, Johnny and I made it through AP Chemistry, and I was teaching at another school district when I received an email asking me to come back for senior night and to escort a football player across the field at pregame. The email went on to explain that the teacher would not know which student chose them until the student presented the teacher with a small token of their affection just before escorting them across the field. I stood by the endzone gate, waiting for warm-ups to end, when a former colleague said, “I noticed you were here and I had to look at the list of seniors and wonder who would have asked you to come back, and then I saw Johnny’s name. Only you would come back for Johnny.” I would have come back for any of them who asked, but for Johnny, I would have moved mountains, traveled much more than across town, or hitch hiked, if necessary, to be there with him. I met his parents. They said he never wavered on who he wanted walking with him. He presented me with a small plaque about the size of a paper weight, engraved with his name and some other words about being a senior football player. It still sits on my desk in my classroom.

I think of Johnny and hope he is well. I am not in touch with him like I would like to be but when I think of him, I am thankful for that thorn in my side. That thorn reminded me that every student needs someone who will choose them, someone who will choose the ulcers and the acid reflux-based nightmares, someone who will look back and appreciate the times you wished God, or in my case, administration, would remove the thorn. I cannot help but laugh and remember his smile when he knew he was on my last nerve. I think it is safe to say, I love that thorn, and all the ulcers he gave me.

If you are a teacher, reading this blog before the beginning of a school year, I hope you have a Johnny every year, just like I hope I have one each year, although the original will always be a hard act to follow. It is the Johnnys of the classroom who push us to be our best self, who remind us to love the unlovable, and choosing the student others do not want. If you are a person of faith, remember that God has chosen you to teach that student, to make a positive impact in their life, to help them learn and grow. But God may have also chosen that thorn for your side so you can grow, so you can learn, so you can see the kid that needs you is worth the indigestion and the sleepless nights. When you get your rosters and you see Johnny’s name, remember Paul begged God to remove the thorn in his flesh three times before he saw the value, the gift in the thorn.

Thank you, Johnny, you taught me more than I can express. I hope you are well, and I hope you know, teaching you was worth the ulcers.