Rodrigue drove me nuts. He stood too close and talked too much. If his hand was raised and I didn’t call on him, his face would contort and he would put his head down on his desk. He answered questions with a “know-it-all” tone that the other students (and I) found obnoxious.
I was usually diplomatic and resisted the temptation to express my frustrations with him publicly. Instead I kept him after class to talk. We would discuss how bragging makes other people feel bad, is not a sign of maturity and doesn’t tend to help you win friends.
He would typically acknowledge this, and promise to strive to improve. Some days were much better, but many were the same. Since other students felt animosity toward him, verbal spats became commonplace. I quickly reassigned him to a seat by himself. Calling Mom, who was ill, didn’t seem to help. Rodrigue continued to be difficult with me and flip-flopped between not wanting friends and feeling lonely and excluded.
As exhausting as this was, I knew he was a delicate child. I struggled to find a balance between defending him and giving him the tough love I felt he needed to grow. When he did something wrong, he got the same consequence as anyone else would have, but I was on the lookout, listening hard, for anyone who was giving him grief. If I ever heard anyone say anything insulting to Rodrigue, I was sure to make that person’s detention public knowledge.
I was dealing with it in the best way I could, but sixth period with Rodrigue was always a challenge. Sometimes I felt like I wasn’t doing it right. I wasn’t doing him justice. I just didn’t know how to do better.
At the end of the year I had my class write letters. They could be congratulatory messages to themselves, reflections on the effectiveness of their work or attitude during the year, thanks to their teachers or to their classmates. For me, Rodrigue’s letter was one of the most poignant.
It read simply: Thank you to all the teachers. You made it not so bad. Thank you for helping so it wasn’t as miserable as it could have been.
What was so powerful for me about this letter was that even though I felt like I wasn’t doing a particularly good job, Rodrigue could tell I was trying. And even in all his teenage angst, even as he remained the class pariah, he felt gratitude toward the teachers who had tried their best to make school safe for him. It was a meaningful reminder to love and nurture each and every one of my students, even those that are thorns in my side.
Craven is a middle school English teacher in Louisiana.