I am my only Hope!

The classroom was quite detached from the rest of the school on the first floor of the Primary section. Some parents walked in to drop off their children as it was a new school and a new environment altogether.

As “H” walked in I noticed that his mother was at his toes whispering and trying to assure him that it was going to be alright. The father greeted me and in that short dialogue figured out that we both were of the same country and shortly after that he motioned his wife to leave as he sweetly stated, “I’m not worried anymore,” translating his faith in me.

Quite soon I discovered that this tall genius was suffering from moderate symptoms of ADHD. A shadow teacher was arranged in view of pushing his performance and primarily to facilitate his completion of class work.

As a teacher, I’ve always worked on maintaining a cordial, motivated and inspiring learning environment for all the students in class. In order to achieve this, I made sure that every child in class was accounted for and enjoyed that celebrity status.

The discussions that often followed our critical thinking questions, were targeted around analysis, evaluations and creativity. I was happy to see the enthusiastic involvement of this child who always came up with the most unique perspective helping me understand that ADHD has nothing to do with the intellect which in these cases proved far more superior then others.

Like every other child in class, I applauded his deep thinking and tried my best to keep his spirits up. In a matter of a month, his essays began to indicate a dislike for the new school and class, particularly his classmates. Luckily at that very point in time, we were studying a reading story named “Going with the Flow” which taught about changes and what it takes to adapt to these changes.

He missed his old school in Pakistan immensely and wished to transfer back soon. I walked up to him one day and gave him some references from the story to help him accept this change in life and told him that his class mates were also very friendly and kind and he would settle in soon. As I looked across the class to win him some of their nods, I found the class response careless and cold. I thought to myself, “They probably need more time to sensitize themselves to this special needs child.” After all they were just 10 years old.

Term 2 was the hardest. The community revolted against a teacher who gave preference to children from her own community. I was called in by Administration on many occasions to give clarifications on being tagged unfair and unjust. I faced the hatred of some parents on meetings where they openly said that they would talk to the authorities to get me replaced.

This antagonism was tiring and there were days when I felt completed defeated. I loved these children a lot and strangely felt the strong emotion their side too, but it was controlled and cautiously monitored.

The essays of “H” began to resonate his dislike of the class with more ferociousness. He spoke about no compassion and no sense of responsibility. He created pictures of total chaos and anger. I reached out to the school councillor. She came in to the class room for a few observations. She spoke to the boy in confidentiality and reported bullying during break in the form of threats to hurt him and on certain occasions a push here and there.

Every morning during the home room period I spoke to my children about building character through adoption and practice of the different positive personality traits. That day, I decided to address this issue of bullying. When I questioned the students about the various incidents, I could clearly see the majority stand up for their community and deny any such occurrence. They spoke with insensitivity and a strong dislike for the boy. He on the other hand raised his hand impatiently to splurge his side of the story too. As I motioned him to speak, he said, “They have no respect for you or anyone. They push me and laugh. They don’t want to learn. They are never going to succeed in life. They are crazy and dangerous. That’s why, I don’t wish to stay here anymore. They will never learn. I really don’t know why you waste your time on them!”

The last sentence was a culturally sensitive one, spoken in sheer anger and disappointment. I calmed him down and explained to them as a class that we were a team and the survival of any team depended upon the commitment of each member to safeguard the rights of each other and feel safe and protected. On the front, the heads all nodded but I was still unsure of how to take the matter further.

The next few days were a little calm but then again, the childish wars began. Each time, I had no choice but to intervene and each time it was about standing by your community. The issue was beyond me and so I requested the school to handle it through their discipline policies.

Professionally I was somewhere and nowhere at the same time. I continued to work on their personal grooming addressing character traits the first 15 minutes of school every morning. I didn’t accept the swinging and talking during the National Anthem despite being labelled finicky and I didn’t give in to the pressure of becoming a little flexible with their nannies completing their homework. I crossed it with a zero and didn’t budge to change it otherwise.

My student grades escalated from Term 1 to Term 3 and the results I believed would be proof of my strong commitment to quality and progress for every child.

I was placed on a high pedestal as a teacher and there were strong indicators from management that I would be promoted towards planning and development to better structure the school curriculum. It made me happy as I felt that 12 years of teaching had given me enough insight to build on to plans that would help the children become independent learners and effective communicators of peace and tolerance.

Term 3 was eye opening. The class room stories of annoying him and her continued off and on and by now I could identify clearly the boy who created all this trouble. Sadly I knew there would never be a solution with the community rejecting anyone different.

I was called into the Admin office and informed that the pressure of the community was immense in regards to hiring a Pakistani teacher to teach an American Curriculum. There were parents sending in CV’s to replace me. They didn’t care about the academic growth of their child. They were not going to pay the high fee to have a Pakistani teach their child. I sat there trying to sink in the reality of the situation.

I was further informed that the ministry as well pressured the school in round about manners to hire native speakers to key positions and that pretty much summed up my entire year’s work for me. They felt I was an effective teacher and offered me the similar position for the next academic year.

I was deeply saddened by their stance on the discrimination. I had faced rejection on so many ends the entire year and I wondered if I had been a fool wasting my time on them as “H” had indicated.

 “They have no respect for you or anyone. They push me and laugh. They don’t want to learn. They are never going to succeed in life. They are crazy and dangerous. That’s why, I don’t wish to stay here anymore. They will never learn. I really don’t know why you waste your time on them!”

Somewhere I started to give up on this dream of believing in myself and my abilities to make a difference in anyone’s life. I felt it had all been a waste.

Engrossed in my thoughts I stood with my class in the assembly line watching these children laugh and jump around. Suddenly the bully of the class, a young local, pushed “H” hard and motioned him to move back so he could stand in front of the line. I reached out and warned him about using his hands or any physical contact. He showed his anger through glares all the way to the class. As soon as he entered the class he walked up to the chair of “H” and kicked hard.

I pulled him out in front of the class. It was the end for me. I asked him why he disliked the boy. He was timid in his responses and said, “There is no reason.” I faced the class. “Would you kick anyone without a reason?” There was a unanimous NO.

He quickly made up an excuse saying, “I was only playing with him.” Before I could respond to it there were a session of questions lined up by the children in my class for him to answer.

“Is pushing someone a game?”

“If you wanted him to play with you, couldn’t you ask politely?”

“You never play with him ever. What made you so kind today?”

“You always hit him and make fun of him.”

“Has he ever hurt you? He is kind, respectful and intelligent. You are jealous of him.”

It was a moment of accomplishment for me. The class had held a child from their own community accountable for his actions. They demanded answers from him and stood up with “H” who asked a simple question looking in the eyes of this local boy, “What did I do to make you so angry?”

The picture of this moment will stay with me a long time. I was a fool to give up on my dreams. And what was my dream? It was the entire episode that unveiled itself right through this testing year.

Change in attitudes is the most difficult battle to fight. But it remains the most important one in my life. For many, I may be a fool to return a teacher next year, but to me, I am my only hope!