Crash Course: The Life Lessons My Students Taught Me - Hardcover

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Kim Bearden is the cofounder, executive director, and language arts teacher at the Ron Clark Academy, an internationally-renowned middle school and educator training facility. She resides in Atlanta with her husband Scotty and daughter Madison. 

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Crash Course

1

CHEMISTRY

COURSE DESCRIPTION

In this course, you will learn the importance of building relationships.

Freddie was a jolly seventh-grade boy who exploded into my classroom every afternoon at 3:02. His hoarse, booming voice would signal his arrival several moments before he appeared with books, papers, and disheveled articles of clothing swirling around him. Whenever I walked by his desk, I could feel the electricity coming from his body—perhaps this was why his unkempt blond hair always stood on end. Full of one-liners that would go above many of his classmates’ heads, Freddie was adept at disrupting the classroom environment and seemed to miss social cues from others. He was the kid who would fall out of his chair for no apparent reason; he was the kid who always seemed to need to go to the bathroom, sharpen his pencil, throw something away, or find any other possible excuse to get out of his seat.

Many teachers and students thought Freddie was highly irritating, and he knew it. He was quick to tell me about their distaste for him, and although he would say it with a chuckle, I could read the sadness behind his bravado. I certainly understood the others’ frustrations. Freddie was scheduled into my last-period language arts class every day and he was quite a handful. I could tell within the first five seconds of class whether it would be a good Freddie day or a bad one. However, despite his antics, I knew that there was goodness within him. I saw that Freddie could be clever, creative, and incredibly funny. I embraced his exuberant spirit whenever possible, although I was often required to issue him silent lunches and detentions for misbehavior. Somehow, I just had to teach this kid how to temper his bold personality in order to reach his potential.

One Friday afternoon after my classes, I was called to the front office for an important phone call. I was stunned to discover that I was a finalist for a major teaching award. As I was just trying to process the information being relayed to me, the representative from the Georgia Department of Education explained that seven judges would watch me teach at 3 P.M. on Monday.

My mind began to race. Seven judges? Not a problem. Three o’clock? Huge problem. Three o’clock meant Freddie. So, I did what any logical person would do—I tried to figure out how to get him out of my class. I entertained several scenarios in my mind as I meandered down the long hallway. When I entered my classroom, I sat down to take it all in. Maybe it was a coincidence, but as I reflected, I saw that I was sitting at Freddie’s desk. Guilt washed over me. I realized that I would be the world’s biggest hypocrite if I tried to create a false sense of nirvana in my classroom just to impress a group of judges.

As I continued to process the situation, I considered what my class must be like from Freddie’s perspective. And then I thought about what every day must be like in his world. Freddie must have seen impatience, frustration, and irritation when others looked at him. I wondered if he saw that in my eyes as well.

Over the weekend I struggled to create the perfect lesson plan that would amaze all my guests. But I felt hollow, exhausted, and uninspired. It was a stressful time in my personal life—I was dealing with a broken marriage and my impending divorce, and quite honestly, I just didn’t think I had it in me. I wanted to curl into a ball and sleep for a month. Somehow, I found the strength to reevaluate my situation and recommit to my calling to be there for my students. Who cared what a bunch of judges thought?

On Monday morning, I visited the homerooms of my students to tell them that some important people would be in my classroom that afternoon. I told the students that I knew they would do a great job. I winked at Freddie and smiled to show him that I believed in him. He nodded, knowing that I was speaking directly to him.

By the time three o’clock came, I was ready. My classroom had two doors—one for entering and one for exiting. As I was standing at the entrance greeting the students and the judges, I looked over my shoulder to what should have been empty desks. But to my surprise, Freddie had snuck in through the exit and was the first child in class. His hands were tightly folded on his desk, and his knuckles were white. A frozen smile covered his face, and his eyes and cheeks bulged like a blowfish. Have you ever tried to push a basketball underwater? When you let go, it will fly up into the air. That is the best way to describe Freddie at that moment. It was as if there were an invisible horde of angels there on my behalf, holding him in his seat. If those angels let go, I knew he would just hit the ceiling. But the lesson went beautifully. The students were highly engaged and Freddie was abundantly eager. Throughout the period, I could see the students glancing at him and then at me as if to say, “What is up with Freddie?”

At the end of thirty minutes, the judges were to go to a conference room on the other side of the school to complete their evaluations. When we were finished, I asked the class, “Who would like to escort the judges to the conference room?”

Freddie shot his hand up like a missile and waved it back and forth. I scanned the room to look for a more suitable escort, but there was no denying his zeal, and the judges all smiled adoringly at this boy who had been so very charming and perfect throughout the class period. Freddie speedily led them out of the room, causing them to quicken their pace as they left.

To this day, I don’t know if he ran with them to that conference room or if he stopped halfway there and pointed them in the right direction, but I do know he came back to my class way too soon. The door shot open and hit the wall, and Freddie burst into the room as only he could do.

“THAT WAS THE LONGEST HOUR OF MY LIFE!” he shouted while holding his head as if his brain would spontaneously combust. It had only been thirty minutes.

We all burst into contagious laughter. Tears streamed down my face, and the whole class couldn’t seem to stop giggling. Finally, after composing myself, I looked at Freddie and said, “You were so wonderful today. I couldn’t have asked for a more perfect student. Thank you.”

His response? “I had to be good today. I just had to. I just love you so much.” I was completely undone.

As with every challenging child, Freddie had made me a better teacher. He wanted to be a good student—the one who would sit perfectly, answer perfectly, and behave perfectly. However, it took every fiber of his being to be that child for just thirty minutes on one day. Maybe those angels had really been whispering in Freddie’s ear, telling him that I believed in him and saw the goodness in him.

Since that day, I have often found myself alone in my classroom, sitting in the desks of my students and pondering better ways to develop the relationships that are necessary in order to teach them all well. I don’t always find it easy to love some students, but it is something that I actively strive to do. I think about those children who challenge me the most, and I meditate on all that is good within them. I think about their gifts, their talents, their hearts, and I remind myself that they, too, are God’s children and that He has a purpose for each of them.

I wish that I had truly understood this before I started teaching. If I had, things might have gone differently with Mitchell.

I taught Mitchell my very first year in the classroom, and when he entered each day,...