"They may forget what you said
but they will never forget how you made them feel."
but they will never forget how you made them feel."
- Carol Buchner
Furthermore, I was there to teach kids poetry, not just any poetry, but poetry the way I saw it. And the way I saw it, poetry was a form of expression, poetry was a creative way to share feelings with others on paper, poetry was a way to tell people how we see the world. Poetry, to me, was about being your real self, and being able to show this self to others in words. More than the details of how to use metaphors or rhythm or various poetic structures, I wanted to impart to the students that poetry could be as individual as they were, and poetry could be used to celebrate this individuality.
That's how I stumbled upon my idea for the front cover of the poetry book I was creating with the kids (see Why Teaching?- Part 5). I decided that I wanted the cover to be simple, fun, but also clear in illustrating what my poetry classes were for, what poetry meant to me, and hopefully, what would be represented in the poems in the book.
And so the cover of the book ended up revolving around this acronym I had created:
Phreedom
Of
Expressin'
The
Real
You!
I wanted the students to see, through the exercises, discussions and lessons, that poetry was within all of them, in their daily lives, and that they did not have to reach out to some far away place to get it. It was inside them, and they just needed someone to believe in them, and bring it out in them, just as Professor Johnson (See Why Teaching?- Part 1), Wordsworth (See Why Teaching?- Part 2), and Robin Bundy (See Why Teaching?- Part 5) had done for me.
But this meant really opening up, opening up about feelings and experiences. And I thought it only fair that if I was asking them to be and share their real selves in their poetry, in the lessons, then I should do the same; I wanted to also be my real self around them. So when Roxy (See Why Teaching? Part 5) addressed me as Taz in the letter she gave me (Why Teaching?- Part 5), I let it go, because, well, Tasleem is who I am.
I read on, and in the letter, Roxy explained how she felt truly sorry for making things difficult for people around her. She seemed particularly upset for making her mother's life harder by not listening or being what she felt was a bad daughter.
I had no idea what Roxy had done to believe this about her self, nor did I know much about her experiences growing up. But I knew that it was a huge deal for her to share all this with me. Her letter mentioned how she felt like she was a trouble maker in school and in class, and that sometimes, she just felt like she was a burden to everyone around her, so she had considered taking pills, to end her life.
Of course I considered that some of what she had written could have been exaggeration in order to get attention. But I also knew that a cry for help was a cry for help, and I if there was a chance that any of what Roxy was saying was serious, then I was not about to make light of it.
I read further into the letter, and in the middle of it, Roxy had written a poem. It was about how she didn’t want me to go back to Canada, how she never had huge aspirations in her life, nor did she connect to many teachers. She wrote about how she didn’t know teachers could be like me, and that now, after meeting me, she thought that she might want to grow up to be a teacher.
I didn't know what to say, but I knew that I needed to talk to Roxy in person. So I pretended to need to speak to her about one of her poems, and she and I went into another room to speak privately. I tried to think of where to start, but it turned out that I didn’t need to.
I think it was almost immediately that she started crying. Before I could think of what to say to comfort her, she started telling me about some of the reasons she had been expelled or gotten in trouble in the past. I seem to recall her telling me a story about her stealing things, like apples, from the school. Some of incidences she admitted were her fault, and others she described as if teachers assumed that it was her doing, because they had given up on trusting her because of her behavior previously. I didn’t know what was true or what wasn’t. I mean, I tried to keep in mind that there are always two sides to a story, and that I’m sure the teachers had their reasons for treating her the way they did. But that didn’t seem to matter to me anymore.
Looking at the pain and hurt that that little ten year old was obviously holding inside her was enough to make me see that she needed someone. And I appreciated her choosing me to shed some of her feelings with.
I wanted her to know that I was there for her, so I assured her that if she ever needed to talk, I was not too far away. I told her she could call me anytime. And then I don’t know what got into me, but I gave her my phone number. It was the number for the phone that over fifteen or so of us shared at the college dorm. The phone hung in the kitchen of the dorm, and any one of us students on that floor could answer it. But it was the only local number I had to give her, so I did.
She thanked me, or maybe she looked at me in disbelief? Either way, I knew that I needed to get her back to her class. She returned to her seat with the rest of her peers, and I gathered up my stuff, tucking her letter safely into my purse before exiting the school.
That night, I couldn’t sleep. I had this frenzy of guilt building up in me, and I worried about the stupid move I made- giving Roxy my number. I guess now, looking back, I know it felt like I was doing the right thing at the time. I know that’s why I did it. And I don’t know if I would have changed a lot about it if I had to do it again. But I was concerned about whether it was the right thing according to other people. I worried about Robin’s reaction and imagined what would happen if the other teachers found out.
I felt like I had overstepped my boundaries but was also torn by the knowledge that I might have regretted it if I HADN’T given Roxy my number, or had shared the information with her regular teacher first. In that case, I would have worried about Roxy feeling I betrayed her confidence, or I would have felt guilty that she had reached out to me, and I didn’t do anything to offer her help.
It must have been the following day, or a couple of days later, when one of my flatmates ended up telling me there was a phone call for me. I expected it to be a friend or my mom, calling from overseas, but instead, I heard this little British voice on the other end. It was Roxy. As far as I can remember, we talked for awhile but not about anything too serious. Now that I think about it, I wonder if she called just to test out whether I would stay true to my word, whether I would really take the time to talk if she needed it. Or maybe she just needed a friendly voice to hear on the other line. I think it was a fairly short conversation, but I was glad to have been able to chat with her and impressed at her courage and initiative to actually make the call.
It must have been the following day when I went to see Robin. I was scared to face him, because I knew I had to tell him what happened. I didn’t want to see the reaction in his face. He had believed in me so strongly and trusted me to make the right decisions up to that point, and I felt as if I were going to let him down with the news of what happened over the course of the previous few days.
Before Robin could even ask me how things were going, I said, “I did something really bad.” And in my mind, I was thinking that I would completely understand if he kicked me out of the course, or thought me unfit for this whole teaching thing.
I related back to him the story about what had happened with Roxy, and for what felt like a few minutes, he stared at me. My stomach started to twist up in knots the longer the wait, frightened by the silence, but also frightened about which words he would choose to break the silence.
And then he asked, “Did she call you?”
I said yes.
And just as I began to say, “Sorry, I didn’t know what I was thinking, and I know that I went overboard,..” Robin cut me off and said, “Tasleem, I couldn’t have handled it better myself.”
This time, it was my turn to turn to be silent. I tried to say something, but I couldn’t find the words. I think my mind was still trying to register what Robin had just said. And slowly, the tension in my face loosened, and I relaxed the grip my teeth must have had on my lower lip. And I actually started smiling. Robin smiled too.
As I let out a breath, relief spread over me, but also a rush of strength filled me up. I felt overwhelmed by how much Robin believed in me, and it reminded me of the faith that Professor Johnson expressed in me in his comments on my essays.
In such a short time, Robin had shown me what the kids could achieve with the help of my support and guidance, and what I could achieve under an inspiring mentor such as himself. Again, the power of good teaching was being revealed to me, without me consciously being aware of what a big role I was going to play in it. But at least I was getting closer.
*Note: The name Roxy has been used in replacement of this girl's real name for the purpose of her privacy.
