She was the official class greeter, tour guide, and messenger – all jobs that let her interact with others (and frequently took her out of the classroom so I could get a little breather). She liked learning, as well as sharing her own knowledge, opinions, and experiences. I looked for her strengths.Įmily was an extrovert who wanted to be helpful. We would discuss it throughout the week while I let her help me with little classroom tasks. Then I tried to watch at least a part of one every weekend. I’ve never had much interest, but I asked her for a list of her favorites that were available through streaming. I made an effort to connect.Įmily loved musicals. My colleagues raved about Emily’s ability to show up at school, keep a positive attitude, and be motivated to learn despite the hardships she dealt with at home. Learning more about her background allowed me to focus on the whole child instead of the behavior. I learned Emily had a very rocky home life, and child protective services had been involved. Her parents hadn’t been responsive to my many requests for a conference about the incessant chatter and early school drop off, so I asked past teachers, the principal, and the guidance counselor for insight. Why should it be any different with a student? Giving myself permission to let go of the guilt and shame took a huge weight off. We don’t always click with people we meet. It’s okay not to like everyone you encounter. Here’s how I turned my least favorite student into my favorite student. And in that very moment, my heart softened and I vowed to find a way to appreciate Emily and connect in ways we both enjoyed. What? Me? How was I the favorite teacher of my least favorite student? I was sure I visibly cringed more than once when I heard her shriek my name, running to tell me about the show she was binge-watching or what she had for breakfast. Then I overheard Emily telling a classmate I was her favorite teacher ever. The mere thought of her on the weekend would put me in a bad mood that was hard to shake. When she remembered to raise her hand before blurting out her opinions, I still fought the urge to roll my eyes. It annoyed me when she corrected other students. I could hear her tapping her nails on her desk from across the room, even though no one else could. The frustration built in me until everything she did drove me crazy. I tried everything to get her to be quiet – gentle requests, reprimands, consequences, bribes. But I’d never had a student get under my skin as much. I knew other teachers found Emily delightful. I’d had students with much bigger behavior challenges – those were defiant and aggressive. My least favorite student wasn’t even the one with the biggest behavior challenges. She kept talking, laughing, and giggling to herself anyway. And it didn’t matter if I didn’t respond or if her classmates ignored her. When she wasn’t talking, she was laughing or singing. She had opinions on everything and shared every thought that popped into her head stream-of-consciousness style. She’d start chattering as soon as I was in her line of vision, even if I wasn’t totally within earshot. No, it was all because of my least favorite student, Emily (not her real name).Įmily was always the first one through my classroom door – usually beating me – and the last one to leave. It wasn’t because of cranky administrators, long hours, hostile parents, or the heavy workload. I’d drive to work with a sense of doom even picking up a pumpkin spice latte couldn’t erase. There was a time I dreaded going to school every morning.
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