Beyond Learning Loss: Teachers and Their Students
In January, a report published by the United Nations Children Education Fund (UNICEF) entitled “The State of the Global Education Crisis” contended that the disruption of education caused by the Covid-19 pandemic has resulted in significant learning losses (for approximately 1+ billion students) around the world. Millions of children (ages 7–10) are unable to identify letters of the alphabet or even write their names. Some of the immediate fallout from school closures are child marriages, teenage mothers, and boys who will never return to school. According to the report, this catastrophe will increase the rates of poverty and overall inequality in many small and medium-income economies.
As dire as these statistics are, I shifted my thoughts away from the educational losses, to teachers’ inability to provide emotional support to their students over this period. Often, against their better judgment, teachers form close bonds with young people that continue long after graduation. The media sensationalize stories of teachers’ improprieties with their students, and there is no denying that some teachers, like some priests, are bad people, who shouldn’t be around children. But those are a different breed, anathema to the dedicated educators that I count myself among their ranks.
There are many teachers with no biological children. Oftentimes, childless educators are castigated by peers and parents for being bereft of maternal feelings. There are some people who think that in order to care deeply for children, one must give birth. Thank goodness, that has never stopped teachers from going beyond their classroom duties to provide guidance and material support to other people’s children. During the course of a school day, teachers may interact with as few as 35 students (in elementary schools) and as many as 150+ students in middle and high schools. These teachers conduct their classrooms with the same consideration they would give to their siblings, nephews, and potential progeny.
Between the preparation and delivery of lessons and myriad other tasks, teachers find time to listen to young people. We encourage and inspire. We reassure. We unearth talent that students never knew they possessed. We expose them to museums, theater, literature and refine their tastes. (Who can forget the singer Adele’s poignant recollection of her English teacher’s influence on her life?) We hear stories of abuse and grapple with our duty to report these incidents against compromising a child’s immigration status. There are students whose parents are terminally ill and we offer sympathy or money and allow them to submit late assignments. We attend funerals of our students who die before exiting their adolescence. The new arrivals from Lebanon or Cuba or Haiti that we work tirelessly with after school or during our off-periods to help them reach English proficiency.
We write scores of highly embellished recommendation letters. We attend basketball games and chaperone proms; forfeiting time with our families. We make these investments of time and money knowing that some of these young people will probably break our hearts. Nevertheless, each year, like mothers who quickly forget the pain of childbirth, we overextend ourselves. Like proud parents, we display pictures of past students or relay tales of those who’ve gained success, to encourage our current charges to reach for similar results.
Recently a teacher on Tik Tok posted that she had paid her student’s family electricity bill so the child could complete her homework assignments. Sadly, that’s not an anomaly. I know teachers in the Caribbean who purchase textbooks for indigent students (as it’s the parents’ responsibility, not the schools’ to provide books). Others buy school uniforms and purchase groceries for families. After athletic events teachers drive miles out of their way to make sure students get home safely. One teacher-friend and her husband, allowed a former student to stay in their spare bedroom until she graduated high school, knowing first-hand the throes of navigating the U.S. educational system as an undocumented person. We purchase undergarments and clothing when we see students with dirty or misfitting ones. We stockpile from bandaids to sanitary products. We pay for haircuts and purchase dress shirts for job interviews. We provide snacks, share our lunch, and bring slices of homemade cakes to class. Many teachers have microwaves in their classrooms and heat lunches. Others have tea bags, sugar, disposal cups, and a kettle, to serve hot tea to students with bellyaches.
Most teachers go beyond the duties enshrined in their contracts. We encourage students to dream; with many achieving outcomes beyond their wildest expectations. Under our tutelage, they become the first in their families to graduate high school, attend college, travel, own a home, and make it out of adolescence without becoming a teenage parent. We ignore the feisty young persons bent on challenging us and see their potential. Aside from the disruption in classroom instruction, the personal connection between students and teachers has been severed. More than anything else, not being there for our students has been a profound loss.
