Recently, a teacher was struggling with a difficult decision. Help another, or help herself. Without much deliberation, she chose to help another.
"You okay?" I asked.
"No." She said, "But it's the right thing to do." And then, with a smile on her face, she accepted the burden that was not hers to bear and went about her day.
This short interaction encouraged the hell out of me. It also reminded me of a situation that happened a few weeks ago with two of my struggling students.
One student (let’s call him Shawn) spent an hour or so walking around my table, purposefully pumping into and kicking my chairs, and generally being pissed off. When he finally sat down, I tried talking with him. He wanted no part of it.
“You only get this way when something is bothering you,” I said. “So what happened?”
He said nothing.
“I heard you had a rough weekend,” I continued, “You wanna tell me about it?”
He started to speak, in half sentences, sharing about the weekend he had at a distant relative’s house. “She was so mean,” he said, speaking of his cousin, but he couldn’t really articulate why or how. He did, however, begin to get worked up again. Until another student joined us in my office.
When little Timmy (not his real name) entered the office, I wasn’t shocked. He was a cute little kid with little structure at home, zero discipline, and was routinely off his meds. He had been in and out of my office all morning, but this time, I didn’t have time for him.
Shawn, however, did.
“I need to go help in the cafeteria” I said. Which was true. We were down several aides that day and we needed extra hands and eyes on the kiddos as they ate their lunch. “Shawn,” I said, “I need you to watch over Timmy.” Which was not true. My secretary and the counselor were nearby and could easily have taken over. But I had a plan.
“Shawn,” I said again, grabbing some books, blank pieces of papers, and a few crayons, “I need you to read or draw with Timmy so I can go help in the cafeteria. Can you do that for me?” He didn’t really answer, just grunted, and moved towards the table. I left.
Over the next couple hours, I checked in on Shawn and Timmy but didn’t interrupt because they were doing great! Shawn even worked on his homework as he helped Timmy draw and color. You could hear their laughter throughout the whole office.
Then, after bringing Timmy back to his class, Shawn was finally ready to talk.
Shawn didn’t need to sit and focus on his needs, on how he was hurt and frustrated. Nor did he need me to remove tasks and responsibilities from his day. He needed to get outside himself, to consider another, and to get to work. He needed a bigger purpose.
When we’re only thinking about ourselves we only think about ourselves. But when we consider others, when we see beyond our pain and sorrow and frustrations we see that there are others who are in need. Helping them gives us purpose and a better more clearer perspective.
“No,” my teacher said, knowing full well what the extra work and stress was going to mean for her. But she also knew would it would mean for the one she was enduring it for. “It’s the right thing to do,” she said, truly joyful.
Because it was. Because it is.