People won’t care how much you know until they know how much you care.

Everyone from Teddy Roosevelt to John C. Maxwell has been attributed with coining the phrase above. It’s been repeated often enough to become a well-known truism, especially in education. After working in a high school classroom for over two months, I now realize why it’s so often said.

A couple of weeks ago, I finished my stint as a high school teacher and lived to tell about it. In retrospect, it seems a surreal experience. Did I really teach high school for over two months? Me?

Well, yes, I did, as the pictures found here will confirm.

I learned a heck of a lot—about teaching, myself, and the kids. I learned how much I don’t know and that teaching is hard work. It also had rewarding moments.

Here are a few memories that stand out:

The girl who entered my classroom every day downcast and complaining about a variety of physical ailments. I learned that her mother had had a massive heart attack a year ago and her father lives in a nearby town with his girlfriend. My student has no contact with her father; she said they don’t get along. After several conversations, I learned that she was worried that her mom would have another heart attack and that there would be no one left to care for her and her younger brother. I spent a lot of time trying to encourage her.

The Latino student who continually paid me compliments. One day he told me that I had “nicely shaped eyebrows.” That was a first for me. “Uh . . . . thank you,” I replied. He asked, “Do you wax them?” “No.” “Oh, I get mine waxed at such-and-such place,” he offered. (I’ve since learned about the male eyebrow grooming ritual called “manscaping.”). Another day he remarked on the color of my shirt and that it looked nice on me. (No, he wasn’t another Eddie Haskell—that was an entirely different student.).

When he didn’t come to class one day, I made sure to ask him where he was when I saw him again. “Well, I’m not going to lie to you, Ms. Chrysler. I was with my girlfriend. She was having an ultrasound.” “Oh, I see,” I said as I thought about what to say next. “Yeah, she’s pregnant,” he added, “But I’m gonna stick with her through this thing.”

We had a talk about responsibility and I tried to encourage him by saying that, although life was going to be hard for awhile, he could get through this. He held out his clenched hand to knock his knuckles against mine and said, “Ms. Chrysler, you’re LE-GIT.” I have to admit that his friendly demeanor was a welcome change from some of the more surly students, even if I did have to tell him to ‘clean up your language’ one too many times. The last day of class, he extended the ultimate compliment: “Ms. Chrysler, I probably shouldn’t say this, but . . . you’re a BADASS!” High praise indeed.

The young Latino in my Sales & Marketing class who was barely passing, although it wasn’t for lack of effort. I could tell that he wanted to do well. I had been instructed to give him verbal directions when assigning projects, since he couldn’t read as well as most of the others. A week before graduation, I learned that his father was dying of a brain tumor and that he and his brother would miss school that week. However, he very much wanted to graduate. After consulting with his counselor, I excused him from the final project and exam. He squeaked by and was able to graduate just days after his father passed away. I was touched when he came to class that week and asked me to sign his annual. He told me that he wanted to be an auto mechanic and open his own shop one day. My heart ached for him. I hope he achieves his dream.

The girl who skipped class every day for a month while I thought she was working in the student store and the store manager thought she was in my classroom. We didn’t learn about her deception until near the end of the semester. When I confronted her with her pretense, she realized she didn’t have a leg to stand on, yet still tried to make excuses (“I was in the library working on a project on some of those days.”). I was very disappointed in her and felt that she took advantage of my trust in her, and I was angry with myself for not overseeing her more diligently. Lesson learned. Give some kids an inch and they’ll take a round-trip to Bermuda.

The pretty, young Latina girl who had a hard time understanding the most basic instructions (she was quite a fashion plate, though). When assigned the task of writing about her goals, said that she wanted to go to college and become a pediatrician. And if that didn’t work out, she wanted to move to Florida, drive an Escalade, and party. I must admit that I enjoyed writing comments in the margins on those papers. “Really?”

Looking back, I feel that I did a decent job, although I would set the bar much higher if I were to start out fresh with my own class of kids. I realized after only a few days that I needed to mellow out and not be too idealistic—the kids were very bonded to their regular teacher and it took me almost two months to start to make real connections. Coming in after another teacher is a definite obstacle to overcome. I think I would have that much more credibility if I were to start a class with my own group of kids, but I am forever thankful to have had the opportunity to teach.

Who knows what the future will bring? Teaching positions are few and far between these days (at least in my areas of certification). I found a position in a city about 45 miles away, so I applied for it. I really didn’t expect to get it, but I thought it would be good practice for me to get my paperwork in order and to get a teaching interview under my belt.

Surprisingly, I was called for an interview, which I had last Monday. I spent an entire weekend prepping for it. I felt the interview went fairly well and I’m very glad I spent so much time preparing—it helped alleviate some of my anxiety. In the end, though, I believe they want and need someone with a lot more teaching experience than me. That’s okay. I truly believe that, if it’s in God’s plan for me to be in a classroom again, He will make a way for me.

And you know? It is true—kids really don’t care how much you know until they know how much you care.