As Only a Teacher Can

Every so often someone you know, someone whom you really know, surprises you. In my case it shouldn’t have, but it did anyway.

I’ve known my wife for half her life now. We’ve been married for most of that time, and we’ve two impulsive and inquisitive daughters to show for it. However, this past week I saw a new aspect of her I’d never known before, one I might have seen had I been a co-worker maybe. Well, maybe it was less about knowing, and more about understanding.

My wife is a teacher. A good one too. She’s one of the ones that not only puts in her 40 hours a week, but once our girls are in bed, takes out her laptop and starts working again. She’s the one that opponents of school budgets don’t tell you about, they know what a deal they’re getting with teachers like her.

I’ve always known how hard she works, and not only how many hours, but how many quality hours. I know how much she inspires her students to succeed and how she cares about them and their families. It’s this last bit, though, that I didn’t quite grasp the extent of.

Let me explain, my wife is an early childhood and special educator. She works with young students, most of whom are the same age or younger than our youngest daughter. One of those students, one whom she’s championed, advocated for, and supported for almost two years, passed away. The news, and the resulting heartache, are things she never could have prepared for, steeled herself to. The loss of this student has hit her profoundly.

I watched her this weekend, expecting to see her hovering more about our own kids than usual, but I also observed the effect this loss has had on her as a teacher. This was her “little guy” whom she would talk about at dinner, not in too much detail, but about challenges – and more often than not – his successes. She cared for this boy, and maybe not as a parent, but as only a teacher can.

Teachers see our children for, in my case at least, more waking hours during the week than I do. When my daughters average 11 to 12 hours or so of sleep a night, and spend about seven hours in school a day, that leaves me about five to six hours. These professionals, who spend so much time and energy on our children, care for them deeply. It’s a part of who they are, not something they can switch off or ignore. It’s why they went into teaching in the first place. They are passionate about education, about children, and brightening their worlds.

So, what I realized is this, when I gripe about her working late, or working after hours when she’s home, it’s not something she can easily let go of. Her students’ successes are hers, their setbacks and challenges as well. She can no easier let them go than I can let my daughters’. It’s what drives her to be a better teacher, so she can do better by her students. Why when she’s not working extra hours, she’s taking courses and workshops to further her professional development.

These are our children’s teachers. Their students aren’t just office co-workers or even colleagues. They are children. Malleable and impressionable little people who look to their teachers to define their little worlds for them. And from the teachers I know, they do not take this responsibility lightly. Teachers have been much maligned of late in the media as greedy and lazy. Wanting higher pay for less hours and no accountability.

Except, here’s the thing, of all the teachers I know, none of them fit that demonized bill. Granted, some teachers are better than others, and while some are exceptional others are much less so. However, there are very few who are not passionate about education and children.

I should have known this, after all I fell in love with an idealistic, education major a long time ago. I should have seen it then, or even picked up on it once she got her own classroom. However, I think – like many of us do – I took its inevitability for granted.

And so, once again, my teacher has taught me that educators are not just assembly line workers cranking out smarter kids by the year, but an amalgam of roles from parents and mentors to friends and confidants. They are that emotional surrogate at school when our children are away from home. And when they lose one of their students much too early, much too young, they feel that loss as only a teacher can.


About markfreeman

This blog is the result of when a geek and dad has a penchant for writing.
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10 Responses to As Only a Teacher Can

  1. Donna says:

    Beautiful…..thank you!!!

  2. Linda says:

    this is great. i’m sharing it.

  3. Kyla Turley says:

    I too will share this you have glimpsed the heart of a true teacher!

  4. I work with your wife and you have told it true. She is an exceptional teacher and a valued peer.

  5. Nice job, Mark. As a school board member, I am sharing this with the rest of my board.

  6. Dig this… I teach Elementary Music and deal with a set of severe special needs students as well as dealing with 700+ other students in the day to day. I love each and every one of them even when they push my buttons on a regular basis. I think I especially care for those who can’t realize their potential or the people around them can’t realize their potential. Tell your wife that I’m sorry for her loss and please remind her that the child she lost as a student knew that they were cared and loved for by her and that made a difference.

  7. Melissa Ramsey says:

    Thanks Mark! It’s no nice when someone who isn’t a teacher actually understands. ~Melissa

  8. JRaboin says:

    Beautifully written, Mark!

  9. Sarah Howard says:

    As the mother of the beautiful boy in this blog post, I can attest to your wife’s love and caring for “her” kids. We were always impressed by her obvious devotion to her students and her pride in our son’s success.

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