You can’t walk around looking like a pushover. Erlene taught me this. Bullies picked on her. And to keep them away from me, I watched Erlene and did the opposite. I kept my shoulders straight, faced up to every look, and walked like I had places to go.
And this worked, mostly.
I thought of reaching out to Erlene, being her friend, suggesting that she stand tall and square up. But my fear of the bullies kept me away. In the middle-school jostle for position, my own dignity mattered more than Erlene’s. And I was remarkably incurious about her life.
This is one of my deep regrets.
I wish I had bothered to learn more of her story, more than what happened in the school cafeteria and hallways.
I had no gifts for Erlene, but she brought good to me. Without knowing, Erlene schooled me early in how to carry myself. And throughout my teaching career, I took what I learned into daunting places— through a yard of inmates on my way to the prison classroom, around a gym supervising several hundred middle school kids, and across platforms to speak to audiences.
In addition, guilt about my one-dimensional view of Erlene led me to be more open to the stories of others and less consumed with my own, which is maybe my favorite definition of humility.
There’s more to the story, I’d tell myself when students disrupted a class. And I tried to shift focus from my story—the annoyance of a lesson gone awry—to their stories.
What happened? This, I found, is the best question, the one that makes it come tumbling out. Life sucks. No friends. Kicked off the football team. Always someone on my back. Bad at writing, worse at math. Choir stinks. Not enough money. Too much homework. Not enough food. Too much bickering. Dad knocks Mom around. Can’t sleep. Mom’s leaving Dad. Bullied in the cafeteria for wearing Walmart shoes. Life sucks. All of it.
To teach without getting eaten alive, you can’t be a pushover. You’ve got to walk around with assurance in your step, show some dignity. To teach with compassion, you’ve got to ask questions. And listen, really listen, in a learning kind of way.
Self-assurance and humility. Same coin; two sides.
So, to Erlene—my thanks. And my deep-felt apology.
Apple to Apple 