Goodness

When posed with the question, "What do you do for a living?" I, of course, respond, "I am a middle school teacher." Inevitably, the reaction from young and old alike is a cringe followed by, "Eew, how do you do it?" I often reply, "I just teach them. I don't take them home." This usually breaks the ice and the conversation train gets rolling again.

Without a doubt, middle school students can be a strange and curious bunch. One minute a girl is all giggly and hair twirly with her friends and the next minute she is sobbing in the bathroom because she just broke up with the only boy she will ever love. Boys jostle through the halls, making sudden leaps into the air as they prove to each other they can touch the top of door jambs (a conquest, indeed). Two best friends on one day become mortal enemies the next. Clothing choices and hair colorations test the waters of acceptability. Quirky rituals such as finger flapping, bottle flipping and taki eating gain cult followings. (Don't worry if the prior sentence makes no sense. The rituals make even less sense to teachers.) Student sizes range from diminutive to towering. Chatter is about who is going out with whom, who is mad at whom and who is getting back together with whom.

Blessedly, middle school is also filled with moments of sweet kindness. A few weeks ago, I was teaching a riveting lesson on the nitrogen cycle, root nodules and symbiotic bacteria. As I finished my lesson, I noticed Betsy holding a kleenex to the nose of Ella. While the rest of the students finished their written assignment, I asked the girls if anything was wrong. Betsy replied,  "Ella has a bloody nose and I am helping her stop it." I asked Ella if she needed to go to the nurse. "No, I get these a lot. I will be okay." Betsy nodded, "I think she is better now." With that, they both returned to their work.

What struck me about their interaction is that the two girls come from very different worlds. Their skin color is not the same. They travel with different circles of friends. Betsy comes from a stable, comfortable home. Ella comes from a home with many challenges. One is usually calm. The other is often restless. It would not have surprised me if Betsy chose to work on her assignment rather than help Ella. Something as intimate as a bloody nose usually calls for the intervention of a close friend or adult. Betsy chose otherwise.

I often share with parents that I can teach students science but I cannot always teach them kindness. Certainly, we promote helping others and we praise caring actions. But, the heart of a child is profoundly molded by watching others. Betsy's gesture of tenderness sent a bold message to all those around her, including me. I confess that I am beyond weary with the political vitriol of recent months. I needed the actions of two young girls to remind me that there is hope for the future.

Kindness wields the sharpest sword.