I do not often speak explicitly about compassion on this blog.  And honestly, for a blog that focuses on education at least some of the time, that counts as a legitimate flaw.  Teachers talk a lot about the ways in which our jobs are difficult, and there are a lot of them.  Simple fact is, a lot of things about teaching suck, and the cleanest indicator of how long you’re going to be able to remain in this career is how long you’re able to keep the good things about teaching at the forefront of your mind.

This is the truth: the hardest thing about teaching has nothing to do with teaching.  The hardest thing about this job is compassion. Because the one thing a teacher must be in order to be effective, particularly a teacher of young people, is compassionate.  It is essential.

The biggest discipline problem in your classroom is the kid who needs the most help.  This is the easiest thing to forget about teaching.  The one who is a ball of anger every single day, who seems to exist in your room and in your life for no better reason to sow destruction, disruption and drama is the kid who needs you the most.

It’s very, very, very easy to forget.  And as easy as it is to forget, it’s even easier to disregard.  I know this kid needs my help, and needs it badly; I also know that there are 31 other children in here who are not currently being incredible pains in my ass and they need me too.  So to hell with this one.  I’ll make it up by helping the other 31 more, once he’s been made someone else’s problem.

And, as (at least nominally) an administrator, virtually all I see all day are the broken kids.  I can name virtually every troublemaker in the building and nearly none of the honors kids, just by virtue of the kinds of kids who come into my office every day.  It’s an incredibly difficult thing to remember, when all you see is dysfunction every day: these. kids. need. help.  Period.  Point-blank.  This is the entire motive behind the notion of Positive Behavior Support (PBS) discipline policies.  You don’t punish.  You instruct.  And you help.

God, it sounds good, and I wish I was the right kind of person to be able to make it work.  I wish I could look at a kid who is in my office for his third incident of major sexual harassment inside of a year and see a 12-year-old child badly in need of my help and not a budding predator who needs to be removed from my building before he does it again.

There are days when I can.  They tend to cluster at the beginning of the school year.  And they are few and far between in February.  And there are not enough of them.  I have to get better at this.  I have to, or I have to get the hell out of this profession.

Compassion is the hardest thing. And the most important.