Where Will They Rest their Hands?

Maybe it’s because I have had to drive past the exit three times, now,
and will do it one more time on my Christmas vacation, that I am still
thinking about the kids, the teachers, the parents, and the siblings.
Maybe it’s the memorial that someone erected alongside the highway — 26
small American flags, one large one, and fairy lights, that invades my
mind. Maybe it’s because I have spent my entire career working in
schools. It could be because I am a parent that I cannot get the tragedy
at Sandy Hook Elementary School out of my mind. Or maybe it’s because I
am human.

Most surreally, the words of a young teacher ring in my mind.
Interviewed the day of the school invasion, in shock, probably surprised
to still be alive, she told of hiding her students in a bathroom,
helping them to be quiet, and telling them that she loved them because
she wanted that “to be the last thing they heard.” Weeping, she
apologized for having said that because she knew that teachers were not
supposed to cross that line. I do not think there was a person who heard
that interview who did not think she had done the right thing. I hope
she knows that.

But as I made my way through the Christmas-New Year’s festivities and
the errands that led up to those two holidays, I began to think about 6-
and 7-year olds. I remember when my son was that age. It felt very
comfortable and natural, as we were walking along or standing in line,
to put my hand on his head. Frankly, it was a great place to store my
right hand. His head was just the right height. By the time he was
eight, my elbow pitched at an awkward angle when I tried to rest my hand
there comfortably. Now, he will sometimes use my head as elbow storage
as he stands next to me. But at the age of six, his head was in just the
right spot.

There is something about a child’s head that draws a hand to it. At the
age of six, kids’ eyes are still large in relation to the size of their
head — they still have that little kid quality that they’ll soon
outgrow. There seems to be a strong link between what goes on in the
heart and head of a first grader. With my hand to my son’s head, I would
feel the energy of excitement, fun, joy, curiosity, warmth (and sweat!)
emanate from his head. I could feel every twist and turn, know where he
was looking and know what drew his attention. I felt as though I could
protect him. I miss that. He is a good sport, though. When he is sitting
near me these days, he allows me to rest my hand on his head, muss up
his hair, and search for those qualities that I felt so easily when he
was younger.

I guess I am thinking about those parents and wondering where they will
put their hands as they are standing in line or taking a walk or
crossing the street. Will they put their hand out to just the right
height and find nothing? It’s such moments when the loss of a child will
probably hit the hardest.

And this brings us back to that young teacher who told her students she
loved them. Spoiler alert: Teachers love their students! It does not
matter whether they are young elementary kids whose eyes are the size of
dinner plates or old seniors who have one foot out the door as they
prepare to take leave and head on to their next challenge. We love you
when you try and things work…or they don’t. We love you because we know
you’ll have to try again. Teachers know that growing up is messy. Some
days, teenagers feel at one with the universe, and the next, nothing
makes sense. We love that you are you! While it would be so much easier
if all students loved all of their courses equally, loved each book that
teachers chose to have them read, always turned in their homework on
time…the fact that these things do not happen signals that everyone has
her own story, the everyone has lived a different life, and that as a
school, we have all kinds of diversity — diversity of spirit, of
energy, of interests, of talents, of viewpoints, of caring, of joy.

Our students teach us. Thirty years from now, teachers will say, Oh! is the student who had me look at [book title] quite differently than I had before.” You’ll be remembered as “the student who painted that amazing self-portrait!” Amazing because we got your spirit — and you
captured that sprit in that painting. You’ll be remembered for being
brave, friendly, challenging, a great writer, a fine problem-solver, or
for being that leader who truly inspired other students and your
teachers. You’ll be remembered for taking a risk…taking a tough class,
writing a great iQuest proposal, and living away from home. You won’t be
remembered for being the kid who got all As. Our students are much, much
more than the grades they receive, and to love a student for that reason
does a huge disservice to all that student brings to school life.

The tragedy at Sandy Hook Elementary School certainly does force the
reaction of holding our kids a little tighter, telling them we love them
at every turn, and resting our hands on their heads just a little
longer. For teachers, it’s a similar thing. Looking back at other such
tragedies, teachers did their utmost to make their students safe. We
feel a responsibility that is not lessened by age of student. High
school (and college) students are still kids with their lives ahead of
them. With promise…and the promise of promise. And who, I hope, will
have, some day, the joy of resting a hand on the head of a child they
love — for a very long time.

Martha Griswold
Academic Dean