Caring is contagious

There are lots of kids out there who have never felt that a teacher understood them or liked them. The teacher who treats a student like a human being, giving them the benefit of the doubt (along with the space to mess up) is a teacher who will have a fan for life.

I'll never forget one moment with a student -- let's call her Anna -- where I saw this clearly. After traveling to the mountains of Tennessee for our fall retreat, the students and teachers of The Little Middle School had unloaded the bus and were throwing everyone's bags (and all of our musical instruments, of course) into a giant pile so that the bus driver could be on her way before we settled into our cabin.

We had a number of students who took the initiative to then help move all of the bags into the cabin. One of them was Anna.

Now, Anna had had a bit of a rocky educational program. She didn't fit in at public school...and the private school she transferred to wasn't a good fit, either. It was the kind of place where you get in trouble if you are too close to the wall when walking down the hallway. She started at The Little Middle School with a cynical worldview and a lot of difficulty trusting adults. For awhile she wouldn’t talk to us…and when she finally did, she would say stuff like, "You have to pretend to care, you're a teacher," and so on.

It was quite an undertaking to convince her that no, we really did care. But we had to show it with our actions, not just our words.

We gave her extra chances when she turned in work late. We sat down with her to make a plan so she could reach her goals. We walked slowly with her through the land of scary math. We sang Bowie together. We laughed at her jokes.

Little by little, we were winning her over. And this scared, lonely, withdrawn kid had become the life of the party — brash, passionately geeky, and devoted to her friends. So when we noticed that Anna was schlepping bags instead of relaxing with her buddies (or making fun of the kids who were schlepping bags), it seemed significant.

As the pile dwindled, I put aside a couple of bags and said to Anna, "Those are my own bags...you don't have to worry about those. I’ll get them later."

When I stepped inside shortly after that, my stuff was there. Anna had grabbed my bags and hadn’t just brought them into the cabin — she had placed them gently next to my bunk.

Some moments bring tears to your eyes because they are little gestures of loving care. That was one of them.

People always tell you that the kids you pour your heart into — whether they are your own or someone else’s — will thank you one day. They don’t always, and that’s fine. That’s not why we do the work we do. Sometimes they say it, sometimes they show it, and sometimes their gratitude becomes a gift they give to the next person. When you look for it, you’ll see it everywhere.