YOUR ACTIONS ARE NOTED
Every now and again I have to remind my students that they’re not invisible. “I can see you rolling your eyes!” I tell them. They think this is funny—usually. And it is—usually. But the other night I was reminded of how easy it is for kids to forget that their actions are, indeed, noted.
I was attending the upper-school play at Beecher Prep and took a seat next to the mother of one of my former students, whom I’ll call Briana. This was a sweet, bright girl who had experienced some difficulties with a group of mean girls in middle school. Briana was shy and a little awkward, so I was surprised when her mom told me that she’d been cast in the lead role of the play. Her mom was so proud! She said that her daughter had really come out of her shell in upper school, due largely to the recognition she’d gotten for her singing and acting talent.
When the play started, the moment Briana came onstage, I understood what her mom meant. Gone was that awkward little girl I remembered from fifth grade, replaced by a very confident leading lady who could easily have been mistaken for a young Nicole Kidman. “Good for you, Briana!” I thought to myself. But no sooner had she finished singing her first verse than I noticed, sitting a couple of rows in front of us, those same three girls who used to taunt her in middle school. None of them even went to the school anymore (they hadn’t been accepted to the upper school largely because of the school’s strong anti-bullying commitment). These girls snickered the moment Briana came onstage. They whispered to one another behind open hands. I’m sure they didn’t think anyone was noticing them, but I could see out of the corner of my eye that Briana’s mom saw everything as clearly as I did. I can’t even describe the look on her face. It was heartbreaking.
I waited for Briana to finish her solo. The moment the applause started, I leaned over the seat in front of me and tapped the shoulder of one of the girls. She turned around and started to smile when she saw me, but then she noticed my expression as I mouthed the words Shut up! The other girls saw this, too.
I think the shock of seeing Mr. Browne, their formerly mellow English teacher, so angry, using language that he had never used with them before, had its intended effect: they were quiet as church mice for the rest of the first act. During intermission, they quickly disappeared and didn’t come back for Act Two.
By the time the play ended, I had almost forgotten about those idiotic girls amid the thunderous applause. I turned to Briana’s mom to congratulate her on her daughter’s truly brilliant performance. She was smiling, but there were tears in her eyes. I don’t know if they were tears of pride or if there was a trace of bitterness over the fact that those girls had marred what should have been a completely joyful night for her. All I know is that my memory of those girls will be forever altered by their thoughtless behavior that night. I’m sure they didn’t mean for Briana’s mom to see them, but it doesn’t matter. Your actions are noted, kids. And remembered.
—Mr. Browne
WE ARE STARDUST!
I have to admit, I love getting postcard precepts in the summer. Some of them come on real postcards. Others come as part of longer letters, like this one:
Dear Mr. Browne,
Here’s my precept: “If you can get through middle school without hurting anyone’s feelings, that’s really cool beans.”
I hope you are having a super-nice summer! My mom and I went to visit Auggie’s family in Montauk on July 4th! They had fireworks on the beach! PLUS—there was a telescope on his roof! Every night I got to go up and look at the stars! Did I ever tell you that I want to be an astronomer when I grow up? I know all the constellations by heart. I also know a lot about the science of stars. For instance, do you know what stars are made of? Maybe you do because you’re a teacher, but a lot of people don’t. A star is pretty much just a giant cloud of hydrogen and helium gases. When it gets old, it starts to shrink, which kind of creates all these other elements. And then when all the elements get so tiny they can’t go anywhere, they explode and send all their stardust into the universe! That dust is what forms planets and moons and mountains—and even people! Isn’t that so awesome? We’re all made of stardust!
Love,
Summer Dawson
Yep, I sure do love my job. As long as little kids like Summer keep reaching for the stars, I’ll be here to cheer them on.
—Mr. Browne
FRESH STARTS
Sometimes people surprise you. You think you have them figured out, but they’ll do something that makes you realize just how fathomless the human heart truly is. To that end, and because the heart of a child is still such a work in progress, no one can surprise you more than a child. This happened to me over the course of a recent email exchange with a former student. This kid did not have a great year in fifth grade. Most of it was his own doing: he made bad choices. He was something of a bully, and the tide turned against him, as it should have. He found that his small-minded dislikes weren’t as universal as he thought, and that he was alone in his prejudices.
However, I always suspected that there was a little bit more to this boy than that. His personal essays betrayed a more feeling heart than his actions implied. At times, it was hard to reconcile the boy who could be so hateful with the boy who wrote the essays. So I held out hope for him. And when I got an email from him over the summer, I couldn’t have been happier.
To: [email protected]
Fr: [email protected]
Re: My precept
Hi, Mr. Browne! I just sent you my precept in the mail: “SOMETIMES IT’S GOOD TO START OVER.” It’s on a postcard of a gargoyle. I wrote this precept because I’m going to a new school in September. I ended up hating Beecher Prep. I didn’t like the students. But I DID like the teachers. I thought your class was great. So don’t take my not going back personally.
I don’t know if you know the whole long story, but basically the reason I’m not going back to Beecher Prep is . . . well, not to name names, but there was one student I really didn’t get along with. Actually, it was two students. (You can probably guess who they are.) Anyway, these kids were not my favorite people in the world. We started writing mean notes to each other. I repeat: each other. It was a 2-way street! But I’m the one who got in trouble for it! Just me! It was so unfair! The truth is, Mr. Tushman had it in for me because my mom was trying to get him fired. Anyway, long story short: I got suspended for two weeks for writing the notes! (No one knows this, though. It’s a secret, so please don’t tell anyone.) The school said it had a “zero tolerance” policy against bullying. But I don’t think what I did was bullying! My parents got so mad at the school! They decided to enroll me in a different school next year. So, yeah, that’s the story.
I really wish that “student” had never come to Beecher Prep! My whole year would have been so much better! I hated having to be in his classes. He gave me nightmares. I would still be going to Beecher Prep if he hadn’t been there. It’s a bummer.
I really liked your class, though. You were a great teacher. I wanted you to know that.
To: [email protected]
Fr: [email protected]
Re: Re: My precept
Hi, Julian. Thanks so much for your email! I’m looking forward to getting the gargoyle postcard. I was sorry to hear you won’t be coming back to Beecher Prep. I always thought you were a great student and a gifted writer.
By the way, I love your precept. I agree, sometimes it’s good to start over. A fresh start gives us the chance to reflect on the past, weigh the things we’ve done, and apply what we’ve learned from those things to the way we move forward. If we don’t examine the past, we don’t learn from it.
As for the “kids” you didn’t like, I do think I know who you’re talking about. I’m sorry the year didn’t turn out to be a happy one for you, but I hope you take a little time to ask yourself why. Things that happen to us, even the bad stuff, can often teach us a little bit about ourselves. Do you ever wonder why you had such a hard time
with these two students? Was it, perhaps, their friendship that bothered you? Were you troubled by Auggie’s physical appearance? You mentioned that you started having nightmares. Sometimes fear can make even the nicest kids say and do things they wouldn’t ordinarily say or do. Perhaps you should explore these feelings further?
In any case, I wish you the best of luck in your new school, Julian. You’re a good kid. A natural leader. Just remember to use your leadership for good, huh? Don’t forget: always choose kind!
To: [email protected]
Fr: [email protected]
Re: Re: Re: My precept
Thanks so much for your email, Mr. Browne! It really made me feel good! Like, you really “get” me. And you don’t think I’m a bad kid, which is nice. I feel like everyone thinks I’m this “demon child.” It’s nice to know you don’t.
I had begun to read your email and my grandmother saw me smiling so she asked me to read it aloud to her. Grandmère is French. I’m staying with her in Paris for the summer. So I read it to her. And we got into this whole long talk after. Grandmère’s old, but she’s still kind of with it. And anyway, guess what? She totally agreed with you! She thinks maybe I was kind of mean to Auggie because I was a little afraid of him. And after talking to her about it, I think maybe you guys are right. The thing about the nightmares I was having is that I used to get bad nightmares when I was little. Night terrors. Anyway, I hadn’t had one in a long time, but the first time I saw Auggie in Mr. Tushman’s office, I started having them again. It sucked! It actually made me not want to go to school because I didn’t want to see his face again!
I know I would have had a better year if Auggie had never come to Beecher Prep. But I know it’s not his fault that he looks the way he does. My grandmother told me this long story about a boy she knew when she was a girl, and how kids used to be mean to him. It made me feel so sorry for him! It made me feel bad about some of the things I said to Auggie.
So anyway, I wrote Auggie a note. I don’t have his address, though, so can I mail it to you so that you could mail it to Auggie? I don’t know how much the stamp costs, but I’ll totally pay you back. (It’s a nice note, btw! Don’t worry!)
Thanks again, Mr. Browne. Seriously. Thanks!
To: [email protected]
Fr: [email protected]
Re: Proud!
Julian, I can’t tell you how proud I am that you’ve taken this big step! I would be honored to mail that note to Auggie for you when I get it (and you don’t have to worry about paying me back for the stamp). Looks like you’re really living up to your precept. Good for you, Julian!
Look, the truth is, it’s not easy coping with fear. In fact, it’s one of the hardest things human beings have to face. That’s because fear isn’t always rational. Do you know the origin of fear? It goes back to the dawn of mankind. When we were pre-humans, we developed fear as a mechanism to survive in a tough world— poisonous snakes and spiders, saber-toothed cats, wolves. The instinctual response to a perceived danger would trigger adrenaline inside us, and we could run away faster, or fight better, in response to that perceived danger. It’s a very natural instinct, Julian. To be afraid is one of the things that make us human.
But another thing that makes us human is our ability to deal with fear. We have other traits that we rely on that help us cope with our fears. The ability to be courageous despite our fear. The ability to regret. The ability to feel. The ability to be kind. These traits work together, along with fear, to make us better people.
Next year is going to be a great year for you, Julian. I can feel it. I have faith in you! Just give everyone a chance and you’ll do fine. Best of luck to you!
Sometimes, all a kid needs is a little push to have a revelation. I’m not saying I was that push. I think Julian’s very wise grandmother was. The point is: everyone’s got a story. The challenge with some kids is to be patient enough to listen.
—Mr. Browne
GLITTER
Kindness can spread from person to person like glitter. Anyone who’s ever introduced glitter into any kind of art project at school knows exactly of what I speak. You can’t shake it off you. You pass it on to the next person. Its sparkling remnants linger for days. And for each tiny dot you find, you know that a hundred more have seemingly vanished. But where did they go? What happens to all that glitter?
I had a boy in my class last year whose name was August. He was quite special, and not because of his face. There was just something about his indomitable spirit that captured me (and a lot of the people around him). The year turned out to be a raging success for Auggie. I was very glad about that. Now, I’m not naive enough to think that a happy ending to a fifth-grade year will guarantee him a happy life. I know he’ll have more than his share of challenges. But what I gleaned from his triumphant year was this: he has what he needs inside of him to stand up to life’s challenges. Auggie will have a beautiful life. That’s my prediction.
I got an email from him the other day that kind of validates this prediction.
To: [email protected]
Fr: [email protected]
Re: The postcard
Hey there, Mr. Browne! Long time no speak!
I hope you’re having a great summer! I sent you my precept last month. Hope you got it. It had a giant fish on it. From Montauk.
So I’m writing to thank you for sending me Julian’s note in the mail. Whoa, I did not see that coming! When I opened your letter I was, like, what is this other envelope? And then I opened it and I saw the handwriting. And I was like, no way, is Julian sending me mean notes again? You probably don’t know this, but Julian left some really mean notes in my locker last year. Anyway, it turned out that this note wasn’t a mean note! It was actually an apology! Can you believe it? It was sealed, so maybe you didn’t read it, but this is what the note said:
DEAR AUGGIE,
I WANT TO APOLOGIZE FOR THE STUFF I DID LAST YEAR. I’VE BEEN THINKING ABOUT IT A LOT. YOU DIDN’T DESERVE IT. I WISH I COULD HAVE A DO-OVER. I WOULD BE NICER. I HOPE YOU DON’T REMEMBER HOW MEAN I WAS WHEN YOU’RE EIGHTY YEARS OLD. HAVE A NICE LIFE.
—JULIAN
PS: IF YOU’RE THE ONE WHO TOLD MR. TUSHMAN ABOUT THE NOTES, DON’T WORRY, I’M NOT MAD.
I’m kind of in a state of shock about this note. By the way, he’s wrong about me being the one who told Mr. Tushman. It wasn’t me (or Summer or Jack). Maybe Mr. Tushman really does have microscopic spy satellites tracking everything we do in school! Maybe he’s even watching me … right NOW! If you’re listening, Mr. Tushman, I hope you had a great summer! Anyway, just goes to show, you never know with people!
To: [email protected]
Fr: [email protected]
Re: Re: The postcard
Hey there, Auggie (and Mr. Tushman, if you’re listening). I just wanted to write you a quick little note to say how happy I am that you got some closure with Julian. There’s nothing that can make up for what he put you through, but there must be some satisfaction in knowing that he’s grown as a person because of you. You’re right: you just never know with people. See you next month!
To: [email protected]
Fr: [email protected]
Re: The truth revealed?
Yeah, it’s true. You never know! I showed my mom the postcard and she just about fainted. “Will wonders never cease!” she said. Then I told Jack and he was like, “Did you check the postcard for poison?” You know Jack. But seriously, I don’t know what might have motivated Julian to write the apology, but I really appreciated it. The one thing I still don’t know is: WHO TOLD MR. TUSHMAN ABOUT THE NOTES? Was it you, Mr. Browne?
To: [email protected]
Fr: [email protected]
Re: Re: The truth revealed?
Ha! I promise, it wasn’t me who told Mr. Tushman. I had no idea about those awful notes! It may just be one of those mysteries that never get solved!
To: [email protected]
Fr: [email protected]
Re: Re: The truth revealed?
So here’s the thing about glitter: once it’s out of the bottle, there’s just no way of putting it back. It’s the same with kindness. Once it pours out of your soul, there’s no way of containing it. It just continues to spread from person to person, a shining, sparkling, wonderful thing.
—Mr. Browne
CHOOSING KIND
I’ve always thought that good teaching is about illumination. Sure, we teach things kids might not know, but a lot of the time, we’re just shedding light on the stuff they already do know. There’s a lot of that happening in the fifth grade. Kids know how to read, but I’m trying to get them to love reading. Kids know how to write, but I’m trying to inspire them to express themselves better. In both instances, they have the materials they need already inside them: I’m just here to guide them a bit, to shed a little light. To illume.
That’s one of the reasons I like to start every year off with the Dr. Wayne W. Dyer precept about “choosing kind.” The kids are all new to middle school. A lot of them don’t know each other. I think of this precept as a preemptive strike against much of what is to come, an inception in their psyches. I plant a little notion of kindness so that at least it’s there, this seedling buried inside them. Will it take root? Will it flower? Who knows? But either way, I’ve done my deed.
When given the choice between being right or being kind, choose kind.
—Dr. Wayne W. Dyer
This particular quote usually provokes days of discussion after I introduce it. I often start my conversation about precepts with a general survey: Do you like the precept? Does it apply to how you live your life? What do you think it means?
365 Days of Wonder Page 2
