My favorite teachers growing up were the ones who cared about me. I didn’t know anything about their personal lives. I didn’t even know their first names until much later. But I knew they cared about me.
Mrs. Spargo understood that the playground wasn’t my favorite place. Instead of forcing me to go outside for recess, she let me stay in her classroom and grade papers.
Mrs. Brumbaugh knew something was wrong the very first time I got a migraine in seventh grade. I didn’t know what was going on; I just knew every sound and every bit of light made me want to throw up because of the pain. She let me stay in her room with the lights off and taught me about the pressure point by my thumb that helps alleviate some headache pain.
Mrs. Brumbaugh also knew I loved English and she let me teach the lesson on adjectives. I had never been able to do that before and it was amazing.
Mrs. Guediche was amazing and sometimes let me nap during my senior year French class because I was the lead in our high school musical and first period classes were rough after a practice that lasted until midnight.
Mr. Atwood could see where I was uncomfortable when it came to acting and he worked with me to be the best actress I could be in high school. He gave me a chance when not many others were willing to do so.
None of these things are out of the ordinary for teachers who love the art of teaching. I believe, though, that over time we can lose that stream of love for our students.
I write this post to remind you: it’s okay to love your students. It’s okay to care about them. Sometimes, the care we show our students helps them to be better human beings.
You never know the impact one smile or question can have on an individual.
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