by Pete Hall
Kristin and I always look forward to opportunities that we can speak or lead workshops on building a trauma-invested learning environment together. Traveling gives us some time to plan and create new learning experiences, refine our tools, and meet amazing people from all areas of the country. Not surprisingly, folks share their stories and invite us into some pretty sensitive, heartfelt experiences. At a recent gathering of dedicated educators, nurses, counselors, and other professionals, a teacher volunteered to share hers.
“One day, towards the end of the school year, I had a moment that changed my life.”
Intrigued, Kristin and I responded in unison: “Really? Tell us more.”
Taking a deep breath, Janet* continued. “It was the end of a long day. I was wiped. I don’t know if it was because of the testing, the kids’ behaviors, the pressures, my lack of sleep, or what, but I was exhausted.”
The entire audience nodded in acknowledgement, as if to say, “Yup, been there.”
“So as I lined my class up in the hallway to walk out to the bus line, I remember thinking, ‘It’s almost over.’ And I just kinda walked alongside my kids as they made their way down the hall towards the exit. That’s when something caught my eye. Glitter? Sparkles? I looked more closely. One of my kids was wearing silver shoes!”
Janet took another deep breath, summoning the strength to continue.
“Ordinarily, this wouldn’t have been anything noteworthy, except that it was 3:15 and this was the first time I’d noticed the silver shoes all day. Who was wearing them? I looked up. As I took in the young lady’s face, a new thought smacked me square in the forehead: Not only was it the first time I’d noticed the silver shoes, it was the first time I’d noticed the girl wearing them – Meghan* – all day that day too!”
My recollection of the moment included a collective gasp, or at least a grimace, as we imagined a student spending an entire day with a teacher and not being seen.
“I know,” Janet said, mostly to herself. “I made myself a promise on that day. There would never be another child who would go through an entire day without being noticed. Being seen. Being valued. I wouldn’t allow it.”
Silver shoes. They seem like a rather benign article of clothing, a detail that might otherwise be overlooked. In this case, they shone like a beacon, drawing attention to not only a student who had been invisible that day, but to a greater omission.
How often do we have kids who enter and leave our schools, our classrooms, our playgrounds, our offices, and our cafeterias without truly being seen? Can you identify young people in your arena who, like Meghan, aren’t noticed? There are many reasons for this, of course. We’re busy. We have a lot to do. Plus some kids don’t want to be noticed, and they know how to avoid it. Kids who clamor for attention, misbehave, have strong connections with staff, and/or have particular high-priority needs tend to obtain the space right in the front of the line for their teacher’s attention. Others might not get it. They might not be seen. They might slip through our presence, almost silently, a whisper in the cacophony of a school day.
Later, in a private moment, Janet shared that Meghan’s older sibling had been lost to suicide just years before. With tears welling in her eyes, Janet wondered aloud if that could have been avoided. “Was she not seen either? Could a little intentional outreach, perhaps building a relationship, have changed the outcome? We’ll never know.”
Janet made a pledge to herself that day, and true to her word she’s kept it. By warmly greeting every student at the door, every day, and by intentionally having a 1:1 personal conversation with each child, each day, she ensures that no student will slip through the cracks. It’s a small step – and a huge gesture – that can have a monumental impact.
Thanks to those silver shoes.
*Names changed for privacy’s sake
Pete Hall doesn’t own any silver shoes, but he does wear red socks. Ask him about it on Twitter @EducationHall or via email at PeteHall@EducationHall.com.