My Student, My Hero

The Polish educational system as we know it today resembles an old RBMK nuclear reactor that is left unattended by the staff. Of course, all the lights are on and the janitor is on the watch (the Ministry of Education), but the system itself is forced to run on automatic protocols. There is no room for exchange of thought, pursuit of knowledge and, above all, compassion as well as understanding between a teacher and a student.

    When a child reaches the age seven, they enter primary school which consists of eight grades. This is a hellish time for a child indeed, especially if they are a delicate individual. Of course, mastering the basics of reading, writing, and calculating is a must, but developing beyond these three paragons of basic cognition depends on luck, self-determination, and a strong psyche. That last aspect is particularly important because a child is often forced to deal with toxic classmates, family problems, and indifferent (or even borderline angry) teachers.

    However, a child eventually becomes a teenager and they go to high school which consists of four grades. They bring in the baggage of emotional neglect they suffered from, which manifests itself in different shades of questionable social interactions as well as contempt for any kind of learning.

    This is the image of a military-profile class I am currently teaching.

***

    They have enjoyed the reputation of the worst class at school. Vulgar, outspoken, loud, and unruly are only a handful of negatives that can describe them. Their previous English teacher called it quits after a few months of working with them. When I was brought on board, I approached the deadly assignment with much trepidation. My subconscious was telling me that I had to repeatedly show who is the boss, which inevitably made me engage in a power struggle with the students. When I tried to push them, they pushed back, consistently highlighting that English is boring and a coursebook is unworthy of their attention.

    What is more, the administrative duties of being a homeroom teacher only worsened my attitude at work. I became bitter and completely disengaged in my everyday interactions with students. I became so depressed that the classroom space seemed like an abyss that kept staring back at me.

    It was not until recently (around Christmas time) that I collected myself and realised that I have to change my approach if I was to continue working as a teacher. I knew my students weren’t bad by default, but the aforementioned circumstances pushed them into acting these patterns of behaviour. I started reading more information on classroom management techniques and on different strategies concerning language learning and acquisition.

    Come the beginning of 2024 and I was ready to implement a new deal. I stepped into the classroom and presented a new topic for that day.

    “Since you hate reading in English so much that you continuously fail to complete reading projects, we are going to do a different kind of reading today. The topic of the lesson is ‘I am the hero of my story’ and you are going to read stories about yourselves.”

***

    This announcement sent a shockwave of surprise and exhilaration across the classroom. Indeed, for all seventeen students, I prepared short stories in which they were the main protagonists experiencing all sorts of wacky adventures. I also made sure to include as much information about their personal interests as I knew, to make these texts even more relatable.

    In the course of the lesson, I did various exercises with the stories. The students were summarising to peers what they read, explaining difficult pieces of vocabulary, and reading out their favourite passages. It was the first proper language learning lesson this class has ever had.

    At the end of the 45-minute session, I was standing by the doorway saying goodbye to students, but some of them wouldn’t leave. They kept exclaiming as follows:

    “I can’t believe you did this on your own!”

    “You should become a writer, you know!”

    “How do you know if I'm not one already?” I quickly remarked.

***

    This one lesson changed the whole dynamic within the group. Each day, they were coming to class eager to know what new exciting quest they were going to embark on. Evidently, this puts additional stress on me because I have to come up with new, engaging materials on a weekly basis while still trying to press on with the coursebook, but the ultimate outcome of them finally learning is reward in and of itself.

    Consequently, this brings us to one particular student called Rosalie. She was always very quiet and inactive in the classroom, sitting like a ghost next to her dear friend Emily, who was more knowledgeable in English. Nevertheless, Rosalie started displaying enormous progress this year and the short stories stunt only fuelled her motivation. She stopped skipping lessons, started talking in class, and did her homework on time.

    Last week, when her friend was absent due to sickness, Rosalie did not give up and, though alone at her desk, relentlessly continued to participate. When I was doing speaking practice, she was the first to volunteer and we had a long conversation about her hobbies, passion for writing, but also about her problems with peers and longing for ex-boyfriend.

    I felt very touched by the fact that Rosalie opened herself up to such an extent in English. During that week she also composed a beautiful, handmade poster project, and also wrote a captivating essay about her interest in reading novels.

    All in all, I couldn’t help myself but recognise Rosalie’s effort outside the grading system. Therefore, I composed a short letter in which I acknowledged her language progress, but also encouraged her for further work. When I gave her the letter after a lesson, she seemed a bit disappointed.

    “Okay, uhm… It’s not a new story? I was hoping for a short story! Well, thanks. I will read it,” she said.

***

    The next day, it was business as usual for me. I was preparing the classroom during a break when Rosalie came in. She was visibly tired and had bloodshot eyes.

    “Here!” She handed me a few handwritten notebook pages. “I wanted you to have this today. I wrote this at midnight and it took me two hours to rewrite it.”

    I took the pages but only after Rosalie made me promise that I won’t read them publicly. It was meant only for me. I respected her wish and, consequently, I waited patiently for my work day to end. When I was sitting alone in the teacher’s lounge in the late afternoon, I finally started reading what she gave me.

    To my surprise, it was her response to my letter! Rosalie explained that late at night, she read my letter in front of her parents and burst into tears. In passages that followed, she wrote how she was petrified of English in primary school because female teachers were changing often and they were disrespectful to her. What is more, peers would often laugh at her responses in the classroom, which made her shut in completely. However, it was my kind-hearted and creative approach that made her willing to study English again.

    When I finished reading her reply, I was overwhelmed by a mixture of happiness and embarrassment. I felt so happy that Rosalie, a student of the scorned military-profile class, came out of her shell. At the same time, I felt embarrassed because I was convinced I didn’t do as much as she claimed. I was only a mentor who kept pointing her in the right direction, whereas she had to do all the legwork.

    As I was packing my stuff, I looked out the window and noticed Rosalie walking out with Emily. They weren’t things of evil but human beings who had their thoughts, passions, and experiences. Suddenly, Emily stopped to tie her shoe on a sidewalk and Rosalie waited patiently, standing over her friend. To me, they looked like characters from an oil painting. It was at that moment when I realised the two of them are my students, they are my heroes, and I salute them in their quest of surviving public education and fulfilling their dreams.

    I know I shouldn’t have, but I shed a tear.

Note: This short story was submitted for The Alpine Fellowship Writing Prize 2024 contest in March this year. Didn't win anything, but I'm still proud I submitted my work for the first time in my life.