Teaching like Grinch

I apologize. I feel like the Grinch. I am even beginning to look like him, I fear. Maybe my head isn’t screwed on quite right, or maybe my jeans are just too tight. Who knows? But I think my heart has been two sizes too small this year.

The dark morning reflects in a fluorescent glow. I stare down from behind my teacher’s throne, where pencils and coffee cups overflow, while the little Whos of Whoville panic over work that has been missing since the beginning of time — I just know.

“Turn it in all now!” I snarl with a sneer. “The end of the semester is practically here!”

And then all the Who girls and Who boys rush to my desk, “Oh! I turned that in. I put it right there! He, she, my mom, Cousin It, watched me! I’ll even do extra credit, I swear!” they SING, SING, SING. They are pushing and shoving, wearing glitter, sparkles and bows in their hair. Why, they even wear antlers on their ears! And oh, the NOISE, NOISE, NOISE!

I simply must stop this Christmas nonsense in the halls. And I know just what to do. I will make a big test and give it the last day. I will make them STUDY, STUDY, STUDY! Watch them FAIL, FAIL, FAIL!

So, I do my homework and write the exam. I hitch up the Dell and get ready to send when the intercom chimes, “Can you send the littlest Who to the office please?”

“Why most certainly,” I grin so cheerfully. (I love interruptions. They make me happy.) And I send her on her way with such urgency.

And what happened then? Well, I have to admit upon her return that I think my heart grew three sizes again. I thought she was studying for the biggest test of her life. But, when she raised her hand, she had a new question in mind.

“Look,” she smiled and pointed to a Special Santa form there. “I get to make wishes. I get to have presents this year.”

I stood there puzzling and puzzling. “How could this be? How could I have missed it? Dickens’ own — a child of want and next to her, the child of need — right in my midst.

I saw it so clearly, my simple fallacy. I am but one thread in their tapestry. I shuddered to remember that it wasn’t the gifts this child missed. No, it was much more.

Yes, the child of ignorance is full of need; his lack of knowing our doom. These Whos must learn to read. But, that little Who of want in the corner begs not for words, but for the hope behind the prose indeed.

So, I sit down beside her and smile a real beam. “I wonder what you’ll wish for,” and I help her to dream.

The test has to wait. Learning first must take place. We share stories and a lesson and we LAUGH, LAUGH, LAUGH. It is a regular blast. I remember why I love this old job, and why I love these loud Whos.

It’s not just at Christmas that we work hard to teach those hardest to teach. It’s not just at Christmas for those with the farthest to reach. The holidays are like stickies, a reminder for each. This season is given with faith, hope and love. And the greatest of these is love.

Emily Forstner teaches Language Arts at Wasilla Middle School.