For the Love the Children

Work consists of whatever a body is obliged to do. Play consists of whatever a body is not obliged to do.

— Mark Twain, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer

Teaching is a public service. Teachers choose the profession to share their love of learning and support children. Few, if any, have ever decided to become a teacher for the money.

As a public-school teacher, mornings produced excitement thinking about the possibilities each day might bring: a hug from a struggling teen, a compliment from a parent, a gestalt moment when a light bulb of knowledge made a student aware of possibilities, or a moment collaborating with a peer when we discussed the success of a new approach to an old idea. A desire to explore new experiences with people who inspired me turned my job into my passion.

Each day working in public education provided new rewards and challenges leaving me physically exhausted, however, spiritually invigorated.

“It’s not enough to have lived. We should be determined to live for something. May I suggest that it be creating joy for others, sharing what we have for the betterment of personkind, bringing hope to the lost and love to the lonely.” — Leo Buscaglia author of The Art of Being Fully Human states,

I remember my first year of teaching 37 years ago. Entering the classroom, I feared my youthful appearance would be a barrier to gaining respect, so I created a sophisticated style that I hoped made me look older. Dressed in a conservative skirt, collared blouse, high heels, and pantyhose I hoped to broadcast the message, I am an adult. In reality, I was a kid, not much older than the students, dressed in high heels.

My journey through the first year proved difficult, riddled with boulders that tripped me up and stood in my way — probably because of those heels. Years later while drinking coffee with the school counselor from that time, we laughed as she shared her memories. “You were a shitty teacher that first year.” Wow, the truth hurt but it remained the truth.

Back then, at the end of each day, I allotted time to pick up the scraps of paper on the floor, peal the spit wads off the walls, and remove the pencils from the ceiling. For the naïve reader, let me explain. Students threw pencils in the air to see if they could stick them. Like playing darts. Somedays the ceiling resembled an acupuncture patient. It amazed me how students caused so much destruction while I stood beside them; it’s not like I sat at my desk drinking coffee. In fact, the evidence of blisters on my feet proved I seldom sat down. Damn high heels!

“Grace is love that cares and stoops and rescues.” — John Stott

Eight years of my educational career, I served as a middle school principal. This quote guided my daily interactions with students reminding me of the opportunities that exist with a giving mindset. With a goal to bestow grace, my typical day in public education revolved around the children. From the moment the custodian unlocked the doors, I started running. Thank goodness by then I had ditched the heels.

The front doors to the middle school opened into the cafeteria where the day officially began for many of the students who ate breakfast and greeted friends. Andrew, as required, met his teachers just inside the doors to be searched and observed. Searched to confiscate non-educational contraband and observed to see if it would be a good day, or not so good.

From his morning greeting, “I hate that fucking bus driver” or “Hey, Mrs. Steele” he established the mood — kind of like Jell-O. Everyone was aware that if things heated up, Andrew melted down. Except for his colorful vocabulary, this young man embraced a heart of gold and the mind of a toddler encased in the body of a 278-pound teenager. He responded positively to food and humor but revolted against requests and requirements. He needed him the grace of tolerance.

On any given day, after shedding my purse, coat and storing my lunch, I walked through the halls greeting students with a high five, and questions about their previous evening. Each had a story to tell. Anthony dressed in a red and white striped shirt, tight jeans, carried a backpack and wore black-rimmed glasses. Restraint and concern that students might pick up my chant restricted me from exclaiming, “Where’s Waldo!”

In the Eye Spy books, Waldo was forgetful and lost. He roamed the book and with each page turned dropped a personal belonging. Much the same, Anthony roamed the halls. Because of his impulsiveness, teachers repeatedly asked him to put his cell phone in his locker, and he often required redirection to slow down and keep his hands to himself.

When I returned to my office, a list waited for consideration. I knew as the day unfolded priorities would demand my attention and the list would grow; it seldom diminished. Often the list held an inventory of names, students whose misdeeds needed addressing. Through empathy, consequences, and dialogue, I worked beside them building relationships, plans, and problem-solving skills.

On one day, a secretary announced the first arrival, Tadd. He never seemed to have control over his lanky, 12-year-old body. His reputation preceded him; his fingers stole an iPod; his hands gestured improperly; his arms threw a bolt down the crowded hall; his head repeatedly sported a forbidden hat, and his body performed a victory dance in the middle of class. I granted him the grace of encouragement to build responsibility.

After his departure, Jenny entered my office, her dyed hair, black clothes, and dark attitude released a gust of sadness that enveloped the room. A concerned shadow circled her eyes reflecting rebellion with a hint of longing. The daily point sheet, if it had been picked up at all, was returned unsigned by a parent, not because of defiance but the knowledge that attempts to get signatures required energy she didn’t possess.

By being tardy to class she prolonged the negative and remained in the fellowship of peers; her refusals to comply masked her failures while declaring her independence. Her proclamation of bi-sexuality granted inclusion by both girls and boys. The bulge of her notebook provided evidence of banned notes as a similar bulge in her pocket confirmed the presence of a cell phone; both provided her assurances of approval.

Upon opening and reading the emails, I added Johnny’s name to my list. His new school requested more information about him. What could be said about the school’s adopted child? After eating the school-provided breakfast, he brushed his teeth with a toothbrush his English teacher stored in her desk drawer.

Jonny wore donated clothes once worn by the science teacher’s son, and the history teacher investigated steps to gain foster care licensing. With his absence, my wash loads decreased but he remained in our hearts. In response to the email asking about strategies to support success, I replied, “Give him love. Keep him safe.”

At the end of each day, I walked towards the buses wondering how a thousand students exited a building, boarded buses, and disappeared in five minutes. Outside the buses, students loitered with friends, so strange there was now no hurry to leave the place they had hated and cursed all day. Boys and girls hugged goodbye in a manner that activated memories of watching soldiers leave wives and children as they depart for a tour of duty. Students, who experienced their “first love” of many to come, learned about future relationships through the gift of experience.

The vignettes shared are true stories about students I connected with as a middle school administrator. Names are changed, but these students are representative of all the teens who walk the halls of public education. Standing beside them provided the opportunity to develop compassion and learn the art of being fully human.

A career in education reminds me of playing the video game Mario Kart. Each year the latest trends and technological advancement, societal changes, parental concerns, and legislative mandates force teachers to race around to discover how to stay ahead of the game. I lived through the spit wads, survived No Child Left Behind era, adapted to Common Core, practiced lockdowns, and evaded the helicopter parents. From pencil darts to the killer cough, the ride has been swift and bumpy, maneuvering around distraction and manipulating negative personalities. With the lyrics of background music playing in my head “It all pays the same” and the reminder that the reward is not the money but the opportunity to teach the children how to play the game of life, I feel lucky to have found a calling — my work in education.

When I entered the profession, teachers had to decide if they could dedicate their life to teaching the children, but now teachers must decide if they are willing to give their life to protect the children. If I had to live life over again, yes, I would teach. I would do it for the children. I have always lived by the words of Mark Twain and thus, have never worked a day in my life.

Who was it who said, “Blessed is the man who has found his work”? Whoever it was he had the right idea in his mind. Mark you, he says his work — not somebody else’s work. The work that is really a man’s own work is play and not work at all. Cursed is the man who has found some other man’s work and cannot lose it. When we talk about the great workers of the world we really mean the great players of the world. The fellows who groan and sweat under the weary load of toil that they bear never can hope to do anything great. How can they when their souls are in a ferment of revolt against the employment of their hands and brains? The product of slavery, intellectual or physical, can never be great.

— Mark Twain, “A Humorist’s Confession,” The New York Times, 11/26/1905

My name is Brenda Mahler. Working in public schools allowed me to support youth daily. However there comes a time for retirement and my time arrived. Now, I share stories so adults - parents and teachers - can gain understanding of what occurs inside the school walls.

Educators and guardians working together provide support for the children and impact the generation of the future.

Read what students have to say in my book, Lockers Speak. The paperback can be delivered to your door for less than $10.00 and the Kindle version is free to Kindle Unlimited members.