It came from out of the blue. I had no idea.
One of the nice things (it has many that aren't nice) about e-mail is that you can find people you haven't heard from in decades. You had no idea about where they went. Then suddenly--boom!--they show up.
It happened to me the other day. At Cedarburg High, we once had what was called the 9th Grade Colloquium, offered to Gifted and Talented students--rather, placed upon them more or less, which was one of its most controversial aspects. It had about 16-20 (I forget exactly how many) students, considered gifted in one sense or another (another controversial aspect; what is gifted?).
Some were Type A+, bent on making the best of the situation no matter how much extra energy it took (because they had to take a full slate of classes besides this). Some went along with it, paying some attention, coming up with a few brief moments of inspiration, but not "all in." And some objected all the way, rebelling passively or actively against their parents who had been ogres to make them to even burdened with work (although most in this group didn't pay much attention to their regular classes anyhow). They rebelled against a school that could do make them do this lousy gig--thus punished by rewards (a compelling intra-educational cliche'). They rebelled because they knew they could get away with it because they suspected that no matter how they acted, they couldn't get kicked out although they so desperately wanted to (they didn't know, at least at the outset, that being contrary in style and attitude gave them, ironically, more 'gifted,' so as a Catch-22, their objections and laconic, detached reactions to this new situation made them 'interesting,' and more inclined to meet the description than not).
I was one of the two teachers who were asked--kind of assigned--by our principal to come up with something of a "curriculum" for them, to inspire them to perform beyond themselves, and to show to somebody (most often their parents, some of whom were a little too willing to see themselves as 'gifted,' too) that at last, their gifts would no longer be hidden but flourish beyond the normal boundaries that normal classes proscribed.
One of the girls in this group, someone who had insisted that she wasn't gifted (ah, but she was; her answers in class discussion in my mainstream history class had shown an insight and sophistication that were way above just about everyone), contacted me through Linked In. She was thoroughly a member of the above latter group, polite but as passively resistant to what we were doing as much as those who were demonstrably rebellious. Someone had designated them as special, so they used it as a weapon to try to shape what we were doing. They had seething resentment about a plethora of things.
This particular girl wasn't nasty at all. But she had resisted. She sat with arms mostly folded, drifting off at times to be somewhere, anywhere else but there. We had tried several things to grab their attention--special readings, field trips and such--but in the end, the very system that had wanted to create a standout group kept its thumb on them to sufficiently rob them of the very energy that they would need to continue. The Colloquium lasted a few months, then dissolved.
I felt personally responsible, except I, too, had been also pulled into too many directions. I was never sure what my role was, and I, too, had my time eaten away when it should have been devoted to mainstream students. I was caught between the devil and the deep blue sea. The opportunities had been exhilarating at the start, but increasingly disappointing as everything developed.
I was badly hurt when removed from the situation, because I was convinced that if we could find a way through, it would serve as a fascinating offshoot of what education could really be. Eventually, I would write it off as an experiment doomed to failure by the inertia of the very system it had a chance to overcome. But I felt also that I had let the kids down.
So when I heard from this girl, now of course a grown woman working in social services, I was completely stunned. None of the students involved had contacted me--hell, very few have contacted me in any event. As the old basketball coach Rick Majerus would say, teachers are a "cup of coffee" in kids' lives, as he referred to anything or anyone who would just be passing through. This had been but a sip. I was thoroughly convinced that nothing we did had a dime's worth of meaning to them.
Her message accurately portrayed her attitude back then. She thanked me, though, for my patience with her recalcitrance. I thought that was very kind, and told her so.
Just to have someone in that woebegone group reach out to me, I thought, was astonishing. With them, I had thought my name was mud. Turns out one of them had thought twice about it, and had enough gumption to tell me so.
Teaching is like that. You not only have to be satisfied with delayed gratification, you must accept the simple fact of getting none at all. I have heard from former students, some of them quite gifted (though not identified as such), on Facebook, though, so I must say that that medium hasn't been all bad.
Message to those who read this: If there's someone in similar circumstances, send them an e-mail and tell them thanks. Tell them that they meant more to you as time went on. The very act of having done so will be gratifying to them beyond measure. You don't know the good it will do. If you send out good, good comes back. There just isn't any schedule.
Be well. Be careful. With some luck, I'll see you down the road.
Mister Mark
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