Joan Moser
October 7, 2011
I recognized him immediately as I approached the check out line, dark sparkling eyes, wavy hair, though the face was a version changed by 16 years.
As my husband and I reached the counter, this young man whom I'd adored as a student exclaimed, "Miss Moser!" Then he introduced himself to my husband, adding "Your wife was my all-time favorite teacher. She made me feel like she truly liked me and I really needed that."
I was wondering what he meant when he turned to me and asked, "How come you liked me so much when I was in your third grade class?"
It was true. I had liked him; adored him, in fact. He was small in stature, yet giant in heart, energy and humor. He was always the first to extend a kind word to another student and to cheer me on in my transparent work of refining my math instruction. He had been moved to my class after school began. The only thing I was told was that the first class hadn't been a good fit.
His question about why I liked him so many years ago piqued my curiosity, so I asked what he meant. The memories he recounted were as clear as if they had happened yesterday. He had been in the other classroom for a small number of days, but he remembers the teacher scowling at him repeatedly, being ignored when his hand was raised, being reprimanded over and over to sit all the way down in his chair, stay in his chair, put all the legs of his chair on the ground, etc. He remembers the requested parent meeting which he attended with his mother, and hearing the teacher say he was not welcome back into her classroom until he was put on medication.
Definitely not a good fit. How lucky for us both that he was moved to my room.
His eyes clouded with pain at the recounted experience. I followed up with the vivid, positive and warm memories I had of him. The grin returned, and his hearty "Thanks" doubled as goodbye.
Since running into Andy, I have thought of him and all the students in our care. Some are easy to like. Some are not. I don't believe the first teacher intentionally meant to hurt him, but she did...and the injury left scars that are visible today. It is critical that we build relationships with those kids we might deem to be hard. With laser like focus, we have to seek out and celebrate the gifts, talents and interests that make them unique, no matter how deeply they seem to be buried. Andy's weren't buried to me, but his story reminds me that the power we carry is formidable. We must wield our verbal and nonverbal communication with care.