Ridiculous Opinions #294
I received an email from a former student yesterday (Hi, Riya!) and she began the email with the usual (“You probably don’t remember me…”). It got me to thinking about students that I remember versus students that I don’t remember and the weird feeling that produces in teachers like me.
First, I have to say that I remembered Riya. I taught Riya when we lived in Dhaka and she is frozen in my brain like amber. But to be honest, she is one of just a handful of former students whose names I can recall alongside a face.
There are many reasons for this. I have been a teacher for 28 years (a bit longer, but that’s the “official” count). On average, I have had between 75 to 125 students in my actual classes each year. That’s almost 2800 students whose names I have had to memorize in my classes throughout my career. But that’s not everyone. There are also students outside my classes whose names that I would know; those pain-in-the-ass students that I would have to discipline at an assembly or in a hallway; those do-gooders who were so obsessed with grades and status that they won every award at an assembly; or those ones who helped or volunteered on something because they were awesome. And there are a LOT of those kinds of students.
(Note: I will remember your face. That is something I don’t have a problem with. But your name is a different story. And when it comes to faces, I have taught most of you during that awkward, adolescent phase, where boys think they can grow mustaches, girls experiment with hair and make-up, and baby fat has not quite disappeared, so when you have grown older, your looks sometimes change drastically).
All of these numbers are in constant flux because I have been an international school teacher for many, many years. Teaching internationally isn’t like being a teacher in the United States. Teachers when I was growing up had reputations. You wanted to be in Mr. Kindell’s class for geometry because he was good. You wanted to avoid other teachers because they were bad. Those teachers were the mainstays of their schools and legendary, influencing a massive amount of kids who lived in their small communities.
When you teach internationally, there’s a marked difference. There are no legendary teachers who have been at a school forever. There are good teachers and bad teachers, but both the good and the bad come and go. Your average international school teacher might stick around for 3-4 years, with shorter stints at schools that aren’t so hot and longer stints at schools that are. We are about to begin our NINTH year in Abu Dhabi, which is ancient for international school standards.
So, when you look at all of those teachers that come and go, you have to add them onto the list of names that you have to memorize. Someone was telling me about a teacher at our current school a few months ago and I was like, “Who?” It took me a while to remember that I actually taught with this person, though they had left long ago. And then I remembered them. “Oh, yeah! That guy!” I still can’t remember his name.
I am a bit of a veteran when it comes to schools and I have seen so many people, both teachers and students, come and go over the years that, in all honesty, I don’t always even try to remember names. I have a tendency to categorize people as being either a) worthy of remembering and b) not worthy of remembering.
That’s a real dickish thing to say, but let me explain myself.
When you get older, you start to get this creeping sensation of memory. Memory plays an odd role in our lives. Though I know it’s not true, I kind of view my brain as a hard drive with a finite amount of space.
And sometimes, my brain feels full.
Again, I know this is not the actual case, but it feels like that’s the case. And the problem with my brain is that I have filled up that hard drive with a lot of useless crap. I can tell you arcane things about The Legion of Super-Heroes’ membership from 1981-1985. I can tell you the order of singles that U2 released from 1985-1999. I can tell you where practically every button is in Premiere Pro.
But I can’t tell you the names of all my students. And I can’t tell you the name of every colleague that I’ve ever worked with. There are just too many and they all start to run together. So, when I meet new teachers, I think, “Are you relevant to me?” Guess what, new math teachers! I probably won’t remember your name! Not because I don’t like you, but because we probably won’t work together. I will see you in the hallway and say hi, and I might remember your name for a little while, but after a while it will be gone. And quite frankly, I don’t want to put in the mental effort (and I do mean effort) to remember your name. Remember that finite space in my brain? Your name is not worthy of remembering.
And students? What about you? I probably will not remember your name. Again, this isn’t about you. You probably sat in my class every other day for a whole year and listened to me drone on about the same old crap, over and over again. You probably did good work and got good grades. You probably didn’t say much, but mildly enjoyed my class. You probably remember me.
But there were 18-24 of you sitting out there across from me. And I can’t remember your name.
But here’s a little life advice for my former students that would have worked for you when you were younger, but still works for you today…
…Distinguish yourself.
If you want me to remember you, then you have to be unique. I remember Riya because she was unique. I remember Sophia and Francesca and Richie and Alvin because they were unique. I remember getting mad at Alan because he rode his bicycle right into the back of that car. I remember Karim because he thought math was his existence (it was not). I remember Sufia and Jakob and Taylor and Ryan and Sierra and Wouter and Maayke (sp?) and more than I can spout off in this email.
But I can’t remember everyone.
So, my question for you is: What have you done to distinguish yourself? What makes you different? Why should I remember you?
I used to horrify my students in class by saying, “You know the movie ‘Saving Private Ryan’? You know all those nameless, faceless soldiers that get killed on the battlefield? That’s you.”
The students would look at me, stunned.
Then, I would say, “Be Tom Hanks.”
