The Challenges of Teaching

As a career educator, I have gotten accustomed to the rhythm of children’s voices with their missing teeth that causes softer sounds to whistle, their butchered developmental /r/ sounds that rival my own Boston accent, and screeching high decibel increases and fast rate of speech when they’re especially excited or agitated. I have the advantage of often having the same students as they move through the grades year after year which minimizes the need to always have to train my ear to new voices, pitch and prosody – but as I have aged and my hearing has continued its inevitable decline, I would be remiss if I didn’t say it was getting more difficult, more exhausting, and more emotional. 

I have noticed an increase in moments where I struggle to hear some of their stories, told excitingly and rapidly. I find myself smiling and nodding, not wanting to interrupt their narratives to remind them to face me and speak a tad louder. I can’t bring myself to always ask for an accommodation from these kids who are among the most important people in my life – even though I know I need to, for their words are important and I want to be present for them as they share parts of themselves with me, their teacher. 

I absolutely relish the rushed, disordered, and sometimes hard-to-follow narrative of their weekends – “Mrs. Lane I made it to a new level in Fortnite and got some sneakers and then my brother colored on the wall with a crayon but it was ok because, you know, we went to a birthday party.” 

I thrill when a former student shows up at my door to discuss our shared love of sports – “Mrs. L., did you know BU is playing BC in the Beanpot final? And you know my Dad played hockey at BU? I’m watching you..oh – and you like my Notre Dame sweatshirt?” utters one of my 5th grade alumni.

My absolute favorite guilty pleasure is what I term “The Recess Report” – my own personal version of “The Daily Show” – when I get caught up on the playground gossip, shared by a few particularly chatty friends that pop by my office on their way back from lunch, delivered in rapid fire speech – “Oh my God, Mrs. Lane, did you hear that (student name) fell OFF the spinny thing on the playground? Do you know the spinny thing? Well – they fell on the wood chips but they’re ok and THEN – Oh my God, guess what? You’ll never guess – well let me tell you…” (and on it goes until I remind them they need to get to class and that this is not tea time with Mrs. Lane). 

I do advocate for myself more often than not, starting on the first day of school. We do the necessary setting of routines, creation of classroom expectations, signing of our class contract and several “getting to know you” games. I then launch into a presentation – featuring me, of course – where I share a few facts about my life, my family and my interests building to the crescendo of self-identifying my hearing loss and hearing aids. We break down the mechanics of the hearing aids, how they work, my history of hearing loss, and we end with discussing tips and strategies to help me in the classroom. The kids are amazing in their compassion, curiosity, and willingness to make accommodations for me, but it is still hard to ask them to change tactics  when they are bubbling over with stories. 

For now, I will request repetitions and rephrasing when the moments feel right – and if not, will revel in the sounds of their voices and the smiles on their faces as they engage with me and bring me into their world for even the briefest of moments. 

It is my pleasure and privilege to be their teacher – and no matter how old they get, even when they have children of their own, they will always be “my kids”.