Former Student: "I'm Sorry"

The first run as a student teacher was an unpleasant mess- worse than a trial run.

I did what I was told, even when the advice was conflicting, at the second site that I was assigned to, yet I cannot say that I really deserved to pass. In some ways, I think I got through on pity, incompetence, or sheer sentiment.

Back to my first student-teaching ordeal. I had some unruly elements who faced and chewed me down every day.

Students who loved to talk back, to fight back, to ignore me at length, to cheer for the mentor teacher whom they loved and admired, in large part because he let them get away with everything.

I did not stand a chance. I was a real legalist, going out of my way to assert, or rather aggress, my authority. I did not know how to work with young people who did not think that they had to listen to me.

I remember one couple, Tiff and Jude. They were a goth-type of couple, always wearing black. They were lovey-dovey in a crude kind of way, touching each other in class. I put a stop to that really quickly.

Tiff was uncooperative to no end. When I asked students to take out their notes, to get pencil and paper, she just snidely retorted, "I don't take notes."

When she brought a hand sculpture for everyone to admire, I told her to put it away. Even when I had asked to see it, she brusquely took it away from me.

The boyfriend, Jude, was nothing but rude and attitude. He would mock me right to my face, he would yell at me when he did not get his way on anything. Once, when he told me to shut up, I called security and had him sent away. The mentor teacher gave me nothing but a hard time about that. I was actually expected to put up with such insolence. Apparently, the mentor teacher thought that tolerating such blackened failure was acceptable.

After six trying weeks, I was summarily let go. I should have seen it for the blessing that it was, but at the time I simply was not used to failure. Then again, I do not think that any teacher could have done adequately in that program, simple as that.

Two years last, two long years later, I was in a parking lot near that same high school. I was waiting in the car before someone was supposed to come by so I could take the person home. Then all of a sudden, Tiff ran up to the car.

She was not wearing as much black as she had in high school. Two years later made her a recent graduate, or not. She had done so little work in class, I would be hard-pressed to believe that she did receive her diploma.

She seemed frantic, even panicked a little bit, as if she had been looking for.

"You were a student-teacher at the high school nearby, right?" she started out by asking me. I told her yes.

" I was in your class, and I need to apologize," she then told me, almost gasping for breath. "It was my fault! I did everything that I could to make your life miserable. I never ever tried to cooperate. I was out to get you gone as soon as you showed up. And I'm sorry."

I think that she was trying to work a ninth step for a recovery program. She seemed like someone dazed and confused from drug use.

"I forgive you," I told her. "Next time you have a teacher, you do the best that you can to make things go smoothly for that teacher, because teaching is a hard job, and we need all the help that we can get."

She nodded toward me, then walked away.

At first, I was really impressed with how someone had remembered what she had done, and wanted to make amends.

In hindsight, in a way, I owe myself an apology of sorts. I did not realize that teaching was just not for me, and that I could not blame myself exclusively. The students, more often than not, were interested in gumming up the works, doing everything in their power to make things difficult for student teachers, and even for substitutes. She did herself a favor more than she had done anything for me, simple as that. Such apologies turn out in the end to be completely self-serving.

I remember a few year later, trashing a kid with unrepentant vehemence for the culture of disrespect which he had evinced toward me a year before. These kids were hurting themselves, as I was hurting myself, trying to push my round self into a square peg. Such nonsense was never acceptable, but I was so untrue to myself then, so out of step with the inside, no wonder I struggled as much as I had.

The world was not willing to give me anything to work with, either. "I'm sorry" was all that she had, but had she really learned anything about herself, about how much she had cheated herself, the other students? Of course, my lack of preparation may have done more than enough to dissuade me fully from ever stepping into a classroom.

"I'm sorry" is fitting words for one who understands how he failed and now is succeeding. Now I can say the same words to myself and to the whole mess of public education that I tried to make work in my own efforts.