I’ve been reading a book called The Art of Possibility lately, and in the book, they talk about the concept of giving someone an A. The idea is that you give someone an A by assuming the best about them and giving them the benefit of the doubt. You assume they are going to do their best and that they want to succeed, and you treat them that way from the beginning—all the time.
In theory, it seems like a really great idea, right? I thought so, and I started thinking about how I could give people an A more in my life. Coincidentally, it’s also the last week of the semester, and I’m not only metaphorically giving people As, I’m also literally giving out As and all the other grades. Unfortunately, frustratingly, I have quite a few students who not only aren’t getting As, they aren’t even close to passing my class.
There’s a group of five students in particular who were in my Guitar class this semester. For whatever reason, they just stopped coming to class after the first quarter. I didn’t see them for weeks. The vice principal talked to me about them and said they would feel more comfortable coming to class if they could sit together. I agreed and rearranged the seating chart, but they never came to class to see the changed seating. If they did ever come to class, they were very late, arriving up to an hour after class started, and they almost never even brought their guitars.
Just three or four class periods before the semester ended, the vice principal rounded them up, escorted them to my class, and made sure they attended the remaining classes. They still only had two guitars between the five of them. Two of the girls would come in, sit down, and immediately start doing their makeup. I’m not sure why, because they were already wearing makeup and my class is the second-to-last class period of the day, but they would pull out their makeup bags and go through the whole routine. They just sat in the back and gossiped and laughed and messed around. They showed no evidence at all that they wanted to be there or had any intention of passing my class. One or two of them attempted an assignment or two, but they obviously didn’t even read the instructions and were just throwing things out there, hoping they’d get a point or two for effort. I was just counting down the days until the semester ended and I wouldn’t have to see them again.
Then I read this book and thought about giving people an A.
How in the world was I going to give them an A? They didn’t even want an A. They didn’t want to be anywhere near me or my class, and the feeling was mutual. Suddenly, this concept of giving people an A seemed impossible. These kids were failing, literally and metaphorically, and I didn’t know how to change that for myself. I was just angry and vindictive and relieved they would be gone soon. I hated feeling that way. I’ve always prided myself on being a good teacher, but in this situation, I wasn’t doing a very good job.
As I wrestled with this idea of giving those kids an A, I thought about how I would treat an A student. You know the ones—the students who say hi to you and ask how your day is. The ones who do all the work and do it in a way that makes you tear up because it’s so thoughtful and well-written. The ones who stay after class to make up a quiz or test because they only got a B on it and refuse to have anything less than 100% if they can help it. I love those kids. I look forward to seeing them. I talk to them about their lives, congratulate them on their successes, and miss them when they’re absent. When they seem down or upset, I pull them aside and ask what’s going on. If they come to me after a due date has passed and ask for leniency, I usually help them out.
Then I thought about how I treated those five guitar students. Every day, I hoped they’d be absent. When they walked in, my stomach dropped. I avoided eye contact with them and tried to have as little interaction as possible. When I did talk to them, it was usually in a tone of voice that was condescending or antagonistic. I told them what to do, but I didn’t teach them how to do it or help them when they struggled.
The biggest hit to my pride came when my sister-in-law told me about her high school experience. She has grown into an amazingly responsible, talented, and driven woman, but in high school, she was very similar to my five wayward students. She told me she always had trouble doing assignments and reading instructions because she’s dyslexic. If a teacher told her to go back and read the instructions again, she would just stop going to class. That hit me hard. I felt awful about myself and the way I had treated those students.
I do want to give myself grace. There’s no point in beating ourselves up over mistakes. As teachers, we are expected to be calm and caring in any and all circumstances. We’re supposed to love all our students equally and be kind and professional to all students and parents, no matter how mean, manipulative, or abusive they are, but we are just human. Just like our students, we have good days and bad days. There are some people we like and some people we don’t. Sometimes we’re tired because we didn’t sleep well, or we’re hungry, or in pain, or worried about things outside of school. All of those things affect our judgment and actions. We won’t be perfect all the time.
I may never see those five students again now that Guitar is over. What is done is done, but I did learn a lesson. Giving people an A isn’t really about them at all. It’s about me. It’s about being curious enough to admit I don’t know everything and trying to see things from someone else’s point of view. It’s about being brave enough to look someone in the eye and ask how their day is going, and being interested enough to care about the answer. It’s about doing what I can to clear a road to success for everyone around me, whether they choose to take it or not. It’s about letting people know the road is there and that I’m willing to walk down it with them.
Giving people an A is hard work, but I have a feeling it’s work that I want to do.