A teacher's journey to empathy

Sheefa V Mathews Miss Perfect walked regally into the staff room. Her saree was neatly pinned and pleated perfectly. She wished everyone good morning and sat down at her desk. Opening her bag, she took out her prepared lesson plan. A quick scan showed her that the lesson had been planned perfectly. She had a very good opening attention grabber, and every aspect and every theory was explained perfectly. She allowed herself a little smile and complimented herself for sitting up late the previous night to make it perfect.She tried to push out of her head her teenage son who had wanted some money which she refused. He wanted to go out with his friends for a film after school, but she told him to return home and study for the next day. He had gotten upset and had shouted, telling her that she was a terrible mother. “You only care about the students you teach. What do you know about me? Do I have any friends? You only want me to excel at the new subjects I’ve taken. I hate it. I hate you!” He had stormed out, refusing to eat breakfast, and though she wanted to call him back, she also wanted him to learn a lesson that being stubborn will not get him his way.All the teachers were setting up their bags and picking up their books. Just next to her was Sir Earnest. He was mumbling his lesson and going over some main points in the text. Ms. Perfect’s lips curled, and she tried to hide her superior smile. Some people were just not cut out to be teachers. Miss Perfect did not change how she did things. She followed what should be taught, and her subject knowledge was supreme. She knew that the children appreciated her knowledge and respected her.The bell rang, and she picked up her books and walked into her classroom. All the students stood up, and her eyes swept over the sea of faces—her pupils. She wished them briskly and said, “Now, open new books to the new chapter,” as she plugged in her laptop and projected the visuals that would show them how the concept was applied in real life. She could see that they were all interested, and she asked them a few questions and started explaining, writing relevant points and important details on the board.Just as she was completing a very intricate calculation, some twitter and noise alerted her, and she turned back to the class just in time to see Young Too Cool trying to sneak past her to his place. “Stop right there!” she shouted. “Where do you think you are going?” “Sorry, Miss!” he replied. “I missed my bus and had to find my own way to school, so I got late.” Miss Perfect felt her anger rising—that boy was smiling and actually chewing gum! The nerve of that child! He was not sorry! He was laughing at her. “You stand here and write everything in this lesson five times and do not go home till you are done!”Miss Perfect was annoyed to see that he was still smiling as he walked lazily to his place, picked up his books, and walked to the door, carrying them. Many students were trying to return his smile when they thought that she was not watching. She felt rage rise up in her, and she shouted at him again. She couldn’t help wondering where and how things were getting so out of hand at home and at school. She had always done what she thought was right. She was always up to date on all the latest teaching methods and parenting styles. She was well-read on all the developments in adolescent psychology.Young Too Cool kept grinning and writing. His mind was in his house; he was worried about his mother, who seemed to be getting sicker. She had been on chemotherapy for more than six months. His father was tired, trying to hold it together, so now he hardly came home. He left in the morning and returned after everybody was in bed. There was always plenty of money; his father saw to that, but his mother had no one. He was late because he just wanted to see his mother eat breakfast before he left. The nurse had told him that she was hardly eating, so he tried to be there when she ate. He had only finished writing the lesson once, and he knew that if he did not finish all five, he would be in trouble, and if he stayed back to do all five, he would not be there for his mom.The bell rang, signaling the end of school, and Miss Perfect trudged back to the classroom to supervise the detention. That wretched child grinned at her as he kept writing his imposition. The school quieted down as it emptied of all inhabitants. The weariness of the day was catching up.“Tell me, boy, why do you keep grinning like that?” asked Miss Perfect. Young Too Cool was exhausted; his guard was down. “I grin so I won’t cry, Miss! I still have five more pages to write, and Miss, my mother is sick…” As she heard his story, the perfect façade cracked, the flood gates opened, and tears started flowing down both faces. “I’m sorry, son, I was so busy being a good teacher that I did not see the people I teach.” “No, Miss, you are the best teacher, a little strict, but we all respect you.” “Go home, Son, be with your mother, and forget about this silly imposition. Try to be on time tomorrow!” she admonished, with twinkling eyes. “Thanks, Miss,” said Too Cool as he raced out with his bag.Miss Perfect decided that she would also go home and spend real time with her son. Perfection was for AI. Love and kindness were what made a great teacher. Understanding and empathy will be my way forward, she decided, and now it was her turn to smile. Another perfect teacher was born…The author is a teacher at St. Joseph's Boys High School.