The Hearts of Educators

Recently, Our Boys had school, and My Wife and I had the day off. We went to see A Man Called Otto, the latest film starring Tom Hanks. I've been a fan of Hanks since I first saw Splash in 1984. I loved him in Big, Sleepless in Seattle, Saving Private Ryan, and Forest Gump. I would be hard-pressed to name a film he made that I did not like. 

While this movie certainly had some very dark themes, it is a beautiful story about friendship. Hanks plays Otto Anderson, the perpetual grump in his neighborhood. As the story unfolds, we learn about his life and its challenges. Anderson is a man set in his routines, whose world is upended by the new neighbors that move in across the street. A theme that runs through the movie is that Anderson's heart is too big (after Googling this, I learned the medical term is hypertrophic cardiomyopathy). The irony is that Anderson is such a curmudgeon, how could he have a heart that is too big. 

But we see cracks in Anderson's veneer when he not only begins to welcome the new neighbors but he befriends the young person delivering papers. The paperboy, Malcolm, is a former student of Anderson's wife. When Malcolm is kicked out of his home due to his family's refusal to accept his transgender identity, Anderson welcomes Malcolm into his own home. As it turns out, there were limits to how cantankerous Anderson could be. Perhaps Anderson's heart was indeed too big. 

That is often how I feel about the hearts of educators. They are too big. Not in the medical sense of hypertrophic cardiomyopathy but in their compassion, empathy, and generosity. When I say "educators," I mean anyone who works in a school building. We never know where the vital connection will be in our students' lives. To this day, I still remember the names of administrative assistants, facilities personnel, cafeteria employees, teachers, and building leaders from my K - 12 education. 

Back to the hearts of our educators. They are too big. They welcome one, they welcome all. Regardless of income, skin color, gender identity, or religious beliefs. Students are loved regardless of ability, first language, or homework completion. We welcome them on the basis of them showing up in our classrooms; nothing more, nothing less. We create safe spaces for them to be themselves, so they can learn to their potential. We demonstrate inclusivity in our buildings because, as public schools, we want to learn alongside all students. 

And yet, the capacity for educators' hearts to grow may be limitless. Last week, at one of our EG schools, I happened upon a conversation between three professionals brainstorming ways to reach a family for whom English was not their first language. In addition to English not being the family's first language, their home language was also limited. I grew more and more inspired by the lengths our employees were growing toward to find a way to connect. As the conversation and solutions grew, so did my pride and my heart. 

As I reflected on this beautiful moment in EG, as well as A Man Called Otto, I was reminded of the Dr. Seuss classic, How The Grinch Stole Christmas. I hope no one will take offense if I reword some of the lines from that book to make them applicable to our educators: 

And what happened, then? 
Well, in EG, they say - that the educators' already big hearts grew an additional three sizes that day. 
And then, the true meaning of education came through, 
And they found the strength of ten educators, plus two!

One of the people I wished I had the chance to meet was My Wife's grandfather Norman Watson, who passed away from hypertrophic cardiomyopathy in 1998, eighteen months before My Wife and I ever crossed paths. I saw that heart in a brand new second-grade teacher who worked in the classroom next to mine at our first school. Educators' hearts - regardless of role - by definition have to be too big. 

Our students expect nothing less. 

Photo courtesy of www.mousebearcomedy.com