by Brad Cohen
Later, I taught Jacob’s sister, Rachel. The Singer family often invited me for dinner, but I declined, feeling the need to stay in my teacher role. I did agree to tutor Jacob when he was in middle school, though, since I knew I was a natural for the job. It takes one to know one—I knew Jacob’s learning style well because it reminded me so much of my own.
The year Jacob started middle school, Teri Singer got a phone call from a newspaper reporter who was writing a story about me. The reporter asked her what, if any, lasting impression I might have made upon her children. She replied, “He taught my children that it’s okay to color outside the lines.”
When I read that in the newspaper, the words seemed to perfectly describe the fundamental task of educating Jacob—he was an outside-the-lines kind of kid. But when I arrived at his Bar Mitzvah, I was taken aback by my former student’s progress—namely his poise and his good manners. He still had that silly streak, but he had matured enough to know when it was important to rein it in and be serious. It was great to see him, and after a huge hug we talked for almost five minutes—a long time when there are lots of people to see.
At the reception, Jacob’s family had posted photos for friends and relatives to see. Everyone gathered around the display, pointing at photos of Jacob as a baby and as a little boy. I overheard several people talking about a particular photo of Jacob with one of his teachers. “He did amazing things for Jacob,” said one guest. When I got close enough to the display, I immediately recognized the picture of interest—there was Jacob with his baseball cap turned backward, and I was standing next to him in the tuxedo I always wore on meet-and-greet nights. We both wore huge, mischievous grins, and I proudly realized that the teacher the people were talking about was me!
One of the most important parts of a Bar Mitzvah is the candle lighting ceremony. It usually takes place at the reception and is a tradition used to thank the ten most important people in the young man’s life. Jacob described each person before he called his or her name, telling the crowd why that person had such a big influence on his life. One by one, Jacob called up his parents and other relatives to light a candle with him. Then Jacob said he wanted to bring up a person who was a huge influence on him, a man who was his hero. He explained that this person had helped him mature and learn leadership skills, and had given him confidence and self-esteem when he had none—and then he called my name. I was shocked and thrilled and totally surprised! I never in my wildest dreams thought I’d be part of this very important ceremony. I excitedly made my way to the front and Jacob and I hugged. Then we lit a candle together while the attendees applauded like crazy. That remains one of the proudest moments of my life.
“I wanted to recognize Mr. Cohen because as a teacher he pushed me to do things I didn’t think I could do,” said Jacob later. “He never would accept anything less than what he considered my best from me. Mr. Cohen was a major influence on me and I felt that I owed him a public acknowledgement for all that he had done for me, and one way I could do that was to recognize him at my Bar Mitzvah.”
I’ve heard some teachers say that students like Jacob make us earn our money. I don’t see it that way. For me, Jacob was and is what teaching is all about. It goes so much deeper than simply teaching kids to read and write; the real challenge is finding ways to show them how to make the best of what they have—and then convincing them that they can succeed with what they have, no matter what. Until Jacob’s Bar Mitzvah, I never knew how much influence I had had on his young life. Teachers never really know all the lives they touch and in what ways. Sometimes, as with Jacob Singer, they get to find out in the most unexpected of ways.
As the days and years pass I realize how lucky I am to be a teacher. I never get tired of it—and how could I? There are always new ways to help kids learn. And there are always new and outrageous things that kids are sure to do and say. Still, I knew early on in my teaching career that I wanted to keep moving forward. So, it wasn’t too long after I received my master’s degree in 1998 that I began, yet again, looking ahead. As much as I enjoyed teaching, I felt a pull to a position I once never dreamed I could aspire to. I wanted to be a principal.
By this time it was making sense to me that I wanted to head an entire school, because I have always loved taking on leadership responsibilities. As a principal I could work to create an atmosphere in which every child in the whole school is loved and valued, treated as an individual with his or her own personality and learning style.
So I went back to Georgia State, this time to get a specialist degree in education. A specialist degree, one step above a master’s degree, was the first step in moving out of the classroom and into administration. As in my graduate program, I was one of the youngest people in my class. After earning the specialist degree, in 2000, I thought about forging ahead to my doctorate, but decided to wait because I was so young. I knew I would appreciate and get more out of a doctoral program when I had a few more years of classroom experience under my belt. But the specialist degree would allow me, at some point, to move into administration.
So, with the goal of leading my own school, I started to think about leaving the comfort of the school where I’d had so much success, to try teaching at a different place. Jim Ovbey, my beloved principal, had retired. And Hilarie, my number-one fan, had been transferred to a new school. Without the friendship and support of those two, Mountain View had less of a personal hold on me, especially in light of the fact that I needed a wider variety of teaching experiences if I were ever going to become a principal.
At least the job hunting was easy this time. Principals at two elementary schools interviewed me, and each offered me a job. I chose a school called Stripling Elementary, situated in an industrial area of a different Atlanta suburb. Of course, I brought my constant companion with me to Stripling Elementary. Tourette syndrome keeps right on inviting itself to the party, anytime, day or night.
Let me tell you a little more about the condition as I experience it to this day, and how I assume I’ll experience it the rest of my life. As you know, my tics come and go. We call it waxing and waning. Even now, when I’m nervous, under stress, in an uncomfortable environment, or thinking about Tourette’s, I’ll tic more. When I’m comfortable, concentrating on something, focused, relaxed, or sleeping I won’t tic as much. But on average, I might make several noises per minute. Actually, I’d even say several in a one-second time period. Tics vary. A headshake might happen a few times a minute. (This tic has actually helped my neck muscles get stronger.) Sometimes I call it my “no” tic because if someone asks me a question and I do my head tic, my head shakes back and forth. It looks like I’m saying no. But then I answer the question with a “yes” and the person gets confused. So I call it my “no” tic.
What is it like when I need to tic? I can’t stop until I do the tic the right way. It’s weird; I must do the tic the right way or else I will do it a few times. Think of a mosquito bite. You keep scratching it until the itchy feeling has been relieved. It’s the same with a tic; I do it until it feels right. It’s also like a yawn or a sneeze, in that I can feel it coming and I can’t stop, but it doesn’t hurt—at least it doesn’t when I make my noises.
Other tics, such as the neck jerks, do hurt. My muscles get sore, and sometimes I jerk so hard and so often—as I described after the worst interview of all—that my skin is rubbed raw from hitting my shirt collar. That’s why it is so difficult for me to have all the buttons buttoned on a shirt. My neck twitches start up and then my neck gets irritated. I enjoy open shirts far more.
There is no doubt that the tics take an emotional toll on me. When I go to bed, it doesn’t take me long to conk out. My body is physically tired from all the tics. Imagine yourself making thousands of noises and body tics all day. My friend Richard Cohn tried it once. We were on a long road trip to Memphis, and he asked why I don’t read more. I told him I don’t enjoy reading because it is so hard for me. I showed him what I was talking about as I told him to
read one page of a book, making dog barking noises—like me—every five seconds, jerking his head every ten seconds, sniffing the paper every five seconds, and then jerking his arm out to fix his hair every twenty seconds. I told him to not only read but also comprehend what he read, and then I would give him a test. Richard said that it was virtually impossible; after just one page he was emotionally drained. When I told him to try it for the entire book, he said, “No way!”
Many times when people see me making tics, they look at me and then look at people they are with. Some people start mocking my tics—they shrug their shoulders, jerk their heads, and make noises. Other people just ignore me. Some people seem to feel bad for me; in a restaurant or a mall, they might wink at me or place their hand on my shoulder, although they don’t know me at all. If they speak to me, they may change their voice, as if they are talking to a two-year-old.
Every now and then tics I have had in the past come back. When I hear others with a cough, I get a tickle in my throat and I begin coughing, reminiscent of my froggy days at Camp Sabra. When I go to the dentist, my teeth-chomping tics come back. (When I had braces on my teeth as a child, my rubber bands often broke as a result of the tic.) I also blow out of my nose when I get a cold or hear others sniffing. I don’t need a tissue—and many people ask. I really don’t have a cold, but I let others think I do because it makes it easier for me. I don’t feel I need to explain, and sometimes I just don’t want to explain, even to my friends.
When I tic, I know others see me differently than I see myself. I hate watching myself in a mirror or on video or TV, or hearing myself on tape. Others have gotten used to my strange behaviors, but I haven’t gotten used to seeing myself from their perspective. I don’t stare at myself in front of the mirror on a regular basis, so I really don’t know what I sound or look like to others. Consequently, on the rare occasions that I see myself tic, it looks weird and makes me feel uncomfortable. I feel better about myself when I don’t see the tics. It’s too hard to imagine myself from both perspectives, so I’ve learned to stick with my inner perception of myself and not worry how others perceive me.
As I’ve mentioned, although I was never diagnosed, I also have tendencies toward obsessive-compulsive disorder. Of people who have Tourette’s, 40 to 60 percent also have OCD. My OCD makes me extra sensitive to some stimuli. For example, I feel the tags on the backs of my shirts a lot. Bright lights also bother me—that is why I use halogen lights in my classroom. Fluorescent lights bother me because I hear them; they have a buzz that distracts me. I hear many things that others usually don’t—such as air conditioners running, refrigerators humming, and clocks ticking. In some ways my OCD is useful. It made me a better student in college, and it makes me a better teacher and a better organizer for events such as Relay for Life. I want everything organized, and I often run details through my head and visualize the big picture to make sure it happens. I am an over-achiever—a perfectionist—and my slight OCD patterns help me achieve my goals. I have to know what’s going on at all times.
Fifty to 70 percent of people with Tourette syndrome also have attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD). But I am among the minority when it comes to that.
Many people with Tourette’s do not attend college. But I did, and to me, that’s big. I am one of the 50 percent of people with Tourette’s who have trouble learning. Richard’s experiment on our trip to Memphis shows how difficult it can be for me to study. That’s why my college and graduate degrees mean so much to me. Because of Tourette syndrome, I had to work much harder than most people to achieve them.
I appreciate my current position at Stripling Elementary, where I am the technology lab instructor, for the same reason: I know how hard I worked to get here. My job at Stripling is to figure out creative ways to teach reading, math, and other subjects using computers and technology. Stripling is different from Mountain View. Many of the kids live in apartment complexes instead of stand-alone houses, and they move often. I won’t see many children go all the way through Stripling the way I did at Mountain View. Many students here come from homes in which English is not spoken as a first language, so these children’s parents are less able to volunteer in the classroom or help with schoolwork. Many parents work and can’t get away to come to conferences. The deck is not stacked in our favor here.
But kids are kids, and I know I can apply my teaching philosophies at Stripling as well as anywhere else. Like me, many of these kids have experienced ignorance and rejection, so I have something to teach them beyond reading and math. I want to teach them how to take the negative words and actions others inflict on them and make something positive grow from their experiences.
For that reason, I have created what I hope is a fun learning environment in my classroom. One of the first things kids see when they enter my room is a sign that says, “IT’S OK TO BE DIFFERENT.” My classroom consists of twenty-eight computer workstations, so I call my room the “Disk-O Lab” and I regularly play disco music when the students are doing their work. It’s a lot of fun to see the kids tapping their toes or wiggling their bodies to the music as they work. The overhead lights are usually off. A window lets in plenty of light, and that, plus the light from the monitors and a few small lamps, provides a great working environment. From the ceiling, I also hung a lot of old CDs that catch the light and slowly spin with the air currents in the room. I had to leave a beloved rocking chair at Mountain View, so I bought a new one for my new school, and a friend volunteered to paint it with a wild mix of colors, stars, and other shapes. The kids love it. And, of course, I often still wear hats from my eclectic collection.
The real challenge to me now is that I teach kindergarten through fifth grade, and I have each group of kids every day for forty-five minutes for thirteen days, twice a year. It’s hard to learn who all the students are in that short time, but my other activities help me with that. I work with the student council, which gives me a great opportunity to instill leadership abilities in these students. And, since I teach virtually every child in the school, all the students know me and often approach me in the lunchroom or in the hallway to tell me the important—and the little—events in their lives. Sometimes I’ll have eight or ten kids hanging on me or following me as I make my way down the hall.
I tie my lessons in with the curriculum of their regular classes. If the kids are studying explorers, we’ll make a timeline of important explorers and when they made their discoveries. During the Summer Olympics in Greece in 2004, each student did a computer chart on history and events pertaining to the Olympics. I encourage the kids to add art and other elements to their work to make it “theirs.” In a computer lab, it is easy to motivate students by letting them play educational computer games if they finish their assigned work early. What kid doesn’t like computer games?
Twice, I’ve had the honor of being nominated as one of three outstanding Teachers of the Year for my school. These nominations are not, obviously, for a first-year teacher, but include every teacher in the school. It is a benchmark for me to be nominated, as it tells me that the other teachers and the administration think I am doing a good job. And that’s what it is all about: doing a good job of educating our children.
Contrary to the belief of the twenty-four principals who would not hire me, Tourette syndrome is not a problem in my classroom or in my work. The kids don’t even blink when I insert a series of woops in the middle of a lesson, or when I scoot up to them on my rolling chair in the middle of some facial grimaces to check their work. Instead, because my Tourette’s is so relentlessly persistent, it keeps me determined to focus on the task of showing my students that the impossible can be truly possible.
I look at life this way: I choose the road I’ll take. Do I choose the straight road, that is, the easy road? Or do I choose the curvy road? I have decided to take the curvy road. I feel successful when life is more adventurous and challenging. For me, the curvy road builds character. It’s my path and I don’t regret it for an ins
tant. We all have our individual circumstances. We all play the hand we are dealt, and we all choose how we’ll live.
I hope that reading about my path has inspired you to seek some curves in your own road. I hope you’ll find time to learn about your own circumstances—whatever they may be—and educate others about them. And I wish with all my heart that you will find time to look to our youth. They are our future. They are wonderful, loving people, and they need our encouragement. Just think what a fantastic place this world would be if every child reached his or her fullest potential. You, like me, can help make that happen, one child at a time.
EPILOGUE
WITH DUE RESPECT to “nature or nurture,” I believe most people turn out to be who they are largely because of experiences they encounter while growing up. Although I was often considered immature, Tourette syndrome actually forced me to mature early in some areas. I learned quickly that to survive challenges presented by society, I had to believe in myself and prove to others that I could be successful, regardless of the obstacles and inconveniences posed by Tourette’s.
My experiences reaching my goals taught me that many adults don’t understand Tourette’s because their own experiences are so different. It is difficult for them to understand how a kid could really be making his or her noises and jerks involuntarily.
As a kid, adults pulled away from me, but since I still needed attention I turned to other children to get it. Children look at life through a different pair of lenses than adults. Children see the world and say “what if” and “I will” while adults often see the world as a frustrating mixture of “I can’t” and “I don’t know.”
