The students had just returned to the classroom from their afternoon recess and simply would not settle down. By the time all pencils had been sharpened, all restroomees had returned to the classroom, and everyone had a piece of paper for the writing assignment, I was feeling very frustrated!
However, maintaining a calm, cool "the?teacher?is?in?control?at?all?times" exterior, I stood at the front of the class, gave the assignment and added, "If you don't know how to spell a word and would like some help, please raise your hand, and I will be glad to print it on the board for you."
A few students started writing immediately, raising their hands and asking for words to be put on the board. The words triggered the imagination of those children who were slower getting started, and within a few minutes the entire class was working industriously.
"Whew!" I said under my breath. "Finally!"
As the creative juices began to flow, hands shot up all over the room. Soon both chalkboards were literally covered with words.
I noticed that one boy toward the back of the room had raised his hand.
"Yes, Tommy?"
"Gee, Mrs. Clark!" he said. "There sure are a lot of words on the board!"
"So???!!" I replied, in a harsh, condemning voice. "Do you have a problem with that?"
A collective gasp swept across the room. All the students stopped what they were doing, and the classroom suddenly got very quiet.
"No ... I ... just," stammered Tommy as he very sheepishly and apologetically lowered his head, leaving his unfinished sentence hanging in the air.
Uneasy seconds passed, during which I very righteously justified my behavior to myself. After a brief time, a student raised his hand, asking for a word to be put on the board, and the day continued without further incident.
That evening as I reflected on the events of the day, my response to Tommy's comment stood out in large, jagged letters. I realized this child had only wanted to share with me his delight in seeing something he'd never seen before -- the two chalkboards covered with words. He was thrilled by it, and I, in the grip of frustration, had berated him for sharing his joy.
I knew I had been wrong. I also knew I owed Tommy, and the entire class, an apology. My frustration may have been justifiable -- taking that frustration out on a child was not.
As I thought about apologizing to the class, I felt very reluctant and nervous. I had apologized to one person before, but never to 30! But in my heart I knew I had to do it.
A few days later, I had the opportunity to do so.
When I entered the room, all the students were doing a writing assignment at their desks. The teacher was at her desk correcting papers. I approached her, introduced myself and asked if I might speak to the class.
"Yes, of course!" was her immediate reply.
With pounding heart and sweaty palms, I walked to the front of the room, turned toward the class and said, "I'd like to speak to all of you for a few minutes. Would you please put your pencils down and give me your attention?"
I waited until all pencils were down and 30 pairs of eyes were looking at me.
With a dry mouth and a slightly quavering voice, I began. "Do you remember when I was here a few days ago and gave you a writing assignment?"
"Yes, Mrs. Clark!" the class answered in unison.
"Remember when I was writing words on the board that needed to be spelled, and Tommy made a comment that there were a lot of words on the board?"
Once again, "Yes, Mrs. Clark!" rang through the room.
"I was very harsh with Tommy when I spoke to him. I snapped at him and was mean. I was wrong to do that. Will you please forgive me for being mean to one of your classmates?"
For the third time, "Yes, Mrs. Clark!" rang cheerfully through the room, this time accompanied by big smiles and happy faces.
"Thank you. ... And Tommy," I said as I looked across the room at him, "will you please forgive me for being mean to you?"
"Yes, Mrs. Clark!" came his instant, happy reply.
"Thank you, Tommy."
As I walked back to my car and began to realize what had just taken place, a deliciously sweet feeling washed over me. I had just been given a precious gift -- forgiveness. To be given that gift by one person is indeed sweet, but to be given that gift by 30 -- well, that is close to heaven!
