Teaching is an exercise in humility

A couple of weeks ago, I walked into the ninth grade class I teach, and I was feeling pretty good. I had planned a great lesson for the day, and I was wearing a cute business casual outfit that was comfortable but professional. All in all, it was shaping up to be a good day.

About 30 minutes into my lesson, we start our group work. One of my students turns to me, looks at my blue-and-white-striped sweater, and says, "You remind me of a Roblox character in that sweater."

What do you say to that? My students laugh, so I do too, and I redirect them to the task at hand. In the grand scheme of things that teenagers say, this was really not that big of a deal. As someone who has worked with young people with no filters for quite some time now, I can say that whenever you're talking, they're never really focused on what you're saying. Instead, they're focusing on how you say what you say, what you do, and what you look like doing it.

I am well-trained in being judged by young people. When I talk to one of my current ninth graders, and they thank me for “all of the wisdom your age provides,” I take a big, deep breath and I brush it off. When Liam, one of my preschool students from last year, points at my face and asks, “What’s that, teacher?” I patiently explain what a pimple is. And so, when Allison tells me I “look like a Roblox character,” I gracefully accept it and move on. All of these interactions require an immense amount of humility.

When I first started teaching, I thought the most important thing I could do was teach my students the academic content. I thought I needed to be the sage on the stage, have all of the answers, and be the most organized. I had to be the picture-perfect teacher, because that's what teaching is about, right?

But how could I claim to have a student-centered approach to teaching when all I could think about was what I would bring to the classroom? Some of the most important advice I have ever received was from a mentor who told me, “Ayo, remember that in every classroom you walk into, you are the least important person in that room, and the payoff of that humility allows you to earn the privilege to be empathetic toward your students.” I am a supporting character in each of my students’ stories. And happy to be. As a teacher, when students walk into your classroom and share something with you, they are inviting you into their world. They have decided that they’re comfortable enough to share a little bit of themselves with you.

For example, when Allison, the student who told me that I looked like a Roblox character, comes into my room during her free time, she does not have to be there. But she is there, just to chat and hang out. And eventually she opens up to me about how she's struggling emotionally and would like my support. Or when my preschooler from last year, Liam, crawls into my lap seeking comfort because it has been a long day, he's tired, and he just wants someone to read him any of the Clifford: The Big Red Dog books.

Humility earns you the privilege of empathy. Just as my students are dissecting all of the minutiae of what I'm doing when I'm teaching in front of the classroom, I'm dissecting them, looking for any changes in disposition so that I can see how they’re really doing.

It means when they walk into my classroom, and I stand at the door to greet them, I'm looking into their eyes to monitor if anything has changed since yesterday. It means that, sometimes when a student walks in and sits down, something about the way that they walked into the room is a little bit off. So when I sidle up to them and ask, “Hey, how's it going? How's life?” I'm really asking, “How can I be a supporting character in your story today?”

Because teaching is humility, humility is empathy, and empathy is just not about you.

Ayodele Theard-Lewis is pursuing a master’s degree in teaching secondary education at Stanford Graduate School of Education. She is passionate about reducing achievement gaps and transforming public education across the nation through curriculum and policy innovation.

Knight-Hennessy scholars represent a vast array of cultures, perspectives, and experiences. While we as an organization are committed to elevating their voices, the views expressed are those of the scholars, and not necessarily those of KHS.