I am. Human. Names and silly hierarchical titles aside, I am just a person trying their best. Just like my students. I never wanted to be a teacher if I am totally honest. However, like many an arts graduate, I fell into the ‘safe’ option, unaware of the blessing it was. Contrary to popular belief, my favourite part of being a teacher is not the holidays. It is something that I stumbled across during my training. The concept of being that “One Good Adult.” The concept of “One Good Adult” has been around for a while, and is fairly remarks from students, I try to respond respectfully and educate them, as shaming never gets us anywhere. Sometimes, I get through and that’s fantastic, sometimes not and that’s a shame, but most of the time, I find it lands somewhere in the middle, with a grumbled “Oh yeah, didn’t think of that” and I’ll take those. These discussions can be difficult, but I believe they need to be had, not only to educate kids of their ignorance but to show others that there is someone on their side. I have taught in quite a few schools and once kids see that they have an ally in the school, all of a sudden, I seem to become the patron saint of the “different” kids. Every morning, there are queues of students coming to tell me about the video they made last night, some with sketchbooks in hand, looking for feedback on their drawing practice, and who need to catch me up on the gossip from One Good Adult My name is Lisa and I am a teacher. Some call me “Miss”, others “Máistreás”, and probably by Lisa O’Shea (Sí/í) Think back to your favourite teacher. What did they do? Why were they your favourite? I guarantee the moment that stands out in your head, was a moment where they were “human” and treated you with respect. And that is the answer. Being “human” as a teacher is often tough. Everyday I can interact with 100 different people, who are bored, annoyed, scared, and think teachers are built in a factory specifically to ruin their lives. So I try to become human in the simplest of ways. Many teachers choose to begin a class at the start of the year by introducing themselves by their name and pronouns. The concept of someone being aware of pronouns, without it being made a joke of, seems to shock them to the core. I share mine; some will share theirs, and the joy on the faces of those who appreciate it would put the sun to shame. They are seen and understood. One little sentence. I ruin it then of course by asking them for their work, but there is a balance. I am a teacher and a professional, but that does not mean I am not also a human who respects them. In my classes, I strive to promote diversity and inclusivity. I teach English, History, and SPHE, which are subjects that some ‘youngins’ would refer to as ‘Yassified’, for lack of a better term. Throughout my lessons, I discuss different LGBTQ+ identities and focus on the detrimental effects of bullying. I also incorporate representation for marginalised groups into my curriculum. For instance, when studying poetry, I mention Oscar Wilde, Elizabeth Bishop, and Siegfried Sassoon to highlight their contributions to literature. In history, I ensure that we remember important events such as Stonewall and the struggles of the LGBTQ+ community of 1980s and 1990s Dublin. While it’s nigh impossible to diagnose historical figures as neurodivergent, I still make sure Turing’s war-ending inventions and Einstein’s contributions to science are recognized and celebrated in my lessons. I am not a miracle. My classroom does not look like a scene from Dead Poets Society, with students standing on desks, finding a love of 19th-century literature, and ripping pages from poetry books (well maybe that last one.) I am no Miss Honey,
delicate and gentle, coaxing greatness from the few. I am a normal person, I can be boring and wrong and make stupid mistakes, embarrassing myself often. Jim Henson is credited with saying “[Kids] don’t remember what you try to teach them. They remember what you are.” And that is a pivotal part of my practice. I will endeavour to teach them everything they need to know, to complete tests and learn all there is to know, but behind it all, they will see what I am. Human. I love my job. I love the joy students feel when they are seen, respected, and valued for all they have to say. I love being safe and understanding, providing a space for them that they might never have had otherwise. I love listening to them, learning from them, and often being proven wrong by them. On the other hand, I don’t love the tears that are shed when the year ends and I leave for another
school. Nevertheless, within those short nine months, I
hope that I have made their lives just a little easier to bear and that they have
grown as individuals, just as I have. I hope that one day, every child will have a
“Good Adult” in their life. I hope someday that you too may become that “Good Adult”, even if it’s just for the child you once were.
straightforward. It is the idea that a young person is much more likely to be able to cope with the struggles of life if they have someone, usually a figure of authority who will just LISTEN. I and many others were lucky enough to have this person within arms reach and readily available to help in beginning to untangle the ever-growing knot of “Who the hell am I?”. However, very unfortunately, many teenagers do not have this privilege and that is what I try to give them. That is why I am a teacher. The best thing about it is that it is so simple. You do not need a certificate or any kind of special training to show kids that you will accept them for who they are. The day I wore an “ally” badge on my jacket must have been my most popular day at school. Mostly it was questions on why I was wearing a with a girl’s name on it, but after explaining what it meant, many responded with “Oh! I’m that too!”. I carry my books in a rainbow tote bag, which once prompted the question “Miss, are you one of the LGBTABCDs?”, which opened the room for conversation. These conversations can range from very constructive, with kids exchanging ideas and beliefs in a respectful manner, to…not so constructive when dealing with kids in their ‘edgy’ era. Even when I encounter homophobic, transphobic, or misogynistic
yesterday. Some are in the queue just to stand somewhere they feel like they belong. Throughout the day I cannot move without hearing my name being called. There is gossip to share, fists of sweets being shoved into my bag, and a finally finished sketch passed to me, as I promise to cherish it forever. Being a teenager is hell, regardless of any extras being thrown in on top. Mixing the pressure from both society and home, with hormones, heartbreak and all of the other pains of coming of age. I listen to all of it if given the privilege, it is all valid. However, there are some in particular who, upon finding out who they are, are told “No”. Whether it be online, from peers at school, or even at home, these kids are being told indirectly or directly, that they are not valid humans or even deserve to suffer, because of who they are.
many other words that are not fit for publication in a reputable magazine.
“Kids don’t remember what you try to teach them. They remember what you are.”
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