misfits – Blue Cereal Education

Courtney’s Voice is the online manifestation of a young lady who has wrestled with more in 18 years than many of us do over a lifetime. Rather than hide it away and use the magic of the interwebs to paint a shinier picture of herself and her world, Courtney lays it all out in brutal honestly – right or wrong, hurting or healing, accepted or attacked.
Sometimes it’s rather poetic, and others… painfully blunt. Often it’s both.
While I don’t claim to fully embrace everything Courtney has to say about every issue, I’ve come to rely on her for an unfiltered perspective on things for which teacher school couldn’t possibly prepare us. I love her transparency and willingness to struggle publicly in order to make it a tiny bit easier for other teens or young adults to confront their demons or accept their differences.
And it does.
I asked Courtney if she’d be willing to contribute a guest blog on the subject of “What I wish my teachers knew about me,” primarily from the point of view of the misfit or misunderstood. I’m in no way suggesting teachers consciously neglect ANY of our kids or have some secret malice towards those we don’t quite understand. Honestly, the fact that we connect with as many as we do is something of a miracle, given the generational differences and sheer numbers in front of us every day.
But none of us are omniscient, and none immune to the frustrations or failures associated with carrying responsibility for kids we don’t always ‘get’. This is not a lecture, but a reminder of what we so easily miss if not ever-watchful and ‘tuned in’ to our little darlings. It’s as a reminder of our calling.
Thanks, Courtney. I’m glad you’re here.

Hello. You don’t know me, you probably don’t even remember my name, but I’m your student.

I’m that eager beaver over achiever who sits in the front of the class and raises her hand for every question. What you don’t know is that the pressure my parents put on me, and that I put on myself, is starting to break me. When you “talk” to the troubled kids, I often wish it were me you were talking to so I could open up about how much weight is on my shoulders.

I’m that kid who sits in the back, slouching and you don’t think I’m paying attention. Truth is, I am trying really hard but my effort goes unnoticed. Teachers constantly tell me to try harder and it makes me want to give up because I feel like I am not good enough.

I’m the class clown, always loud and making inappropriate jokes. You try your best to hide how you really feel about me, but you don’t realize my jokes are me crying out for attention. Maybe I am unheard at home and enjoy that people listen in class. Or maybe I am hurting and use comedy as a way to cope. It is my way of yelling for help without having to say the words.

Sometimes I think that making others laugh will somehow mute my pain.

I’m that quiet kid who never speaks. You call on me, but barely hear my answers when I give them to you. Sometimes you look at me like you pity me. But I don’t want your pity; I have social anxiety and you put me in a tough place by forcing me to answer in front of the entire class.

I’m that girl that dresses like a guy and prefers a different name from the girly one I was born with. Or I’m that boy that likes other boys even though it means getting beaten up in the locker room because everyone thinks I’m checking them out. Or maybe I’m that girl who just isn’t sure if she likes girls or guys. And I am just starting to come to terms with who I am.

It’s been a long journey of self-discovery, and all the kids around me make me hate myself because they don’t understand. I cower when you call on me because I don’t need any more attention brought to me. They ask me why I’m the way I am, or lecture me about what is “right.” I’m tired of trying to explain that it’s just who I am. I can’t help it, or explain it so they’ll get it.

All I want is for someone to care, and for my feelings to matter, even if they don’t agree with them.

I’m that kid who can’t even fake a smile for the jokes you think are so funny. Every day I walk in looking like I haven’t slept in days, and often I haven’t. Depression has set in with me and I just can’t make the effort.

Every student, no matter how they behave, has a story. We all go through things we wish others would see.

That misfit student you can’t seem to put your finger on? The one that gets on your nerves for being silent, or for being too loud? They are screaming in one way or another for your attention. Sure, they may be cold with you at first when you try to talk to them or you try to get them to have a one-on-one conversation. But don’t walk away. Don’t give up on them.

Honestly, they need someone to try for them, to fight for them, to show them they matter. They want you to know that they are struggling, whether it’s stress over college and the future, or whether they’re worried they won’t have food on their plate tonight.

Some are being bullied so badly all they can think about is how much easier it would be if they were no longer here. Others may be worried about just passing so they can go to the next grade.

I have been all of the students I listed above. Each year I tried a new persona as a way to cry out for help when none of the other ways worked.

Luckily, my 6th grade year, I had a teacher who genuinely noticed how “off” I was. She saw that I was pressuring myself too much while also battling social anxiety. She’s the one who encouraged me to write as a way to cope with my feelings, and to be more vocal. It was obvious to her that I didn’t have a voice, and she thought that writing could be my voice.

She was an English teacher, and after a few assignments, she came to me after class one day. “Your writing is raw and emotional in a way I haven’t seen in a while.”

Simple words, but for me they held so much meaning. To me, it meant that the feelings I poured out into everything I wrote were being heard. After that day, I began to pour myself into my assignments even more. I started showing her poems I had written that were just for me. I opened up to her and talked to her about the serve depression I was facing, all because she took the time to acknowledge my feelings; to acknowledge me.

Years later, I connected with her on Facebook and explained to her just how much of an impact it had, her taking time out of her day to encourage me and comfort me. Little did she know that simply talking to me would lead to that voice being amplified by that writing she had pressed me to continue. There was no way she could have known that it was because of her that I would start writing and speaking up against the injustices I faced and I have watched others face.

Taking just one minute to talk to your students really can change their life.

Sometimes we just need a boost. Every now and then we need a shoulder to lean on and an ear to talk into. Just because we don’t come to you first doesn’t mean we don’t need you. Sometimes we just have our own ways of trying to get your attention. Sometimes we think we don’t want your attention, even when we do.

Don’t think that we don’t care about what you say, even if we do have an attitude. Sometimes we simply can’t admit to needing the help. But your words run deep and ignite things inside of us. Teachers are inspirations. Use that power for good.

I was a misfit. Fitting in just wasn’t something I could do. I was suffering from serve depression and anxiety. But my recovery started with one teacher who took the time to understand me and talk to me, even if she didn’t believe in everything I did or support all the causes I did. Her taking the time to say, in so many words, “Hey I care,” helped me to realize there are people out there who will listen and there is a reason to keep fighting.

RELATED POST: Can We Talk? (Weird Kids Edition)

It’s the season. Gift-giving and tree-worship and traditional songs reworked yet again. Angry drivers and a strange obsession with snow. And the shows – movies, TV specials, celebrity variety hours with special guest Travis Tritt.

And Santa. Heat Miser. Rudolph. You know – flying reindeer with the red-nose. Turns out the same thing that rendered him a freak made him essential on Xmas Eve. The same authority figure who’d rudely judged his ‘specialness’ came begging for favors. How’d you like THOSE cookies’n’milk, Big Fella?

We love oddballs and underdogs in American culture. The rejects. The outliers. The misfits. Aladdin, Dumbo, the Hunchback, or Stitch. That ugly fairy tale swan-duck. The cast of Glee before it started to suck. William Hung. The Guardians of the Galaxy.

They are Davids to our Goliaths, and we adore them for it. They stand as our proxy in our battle against insignificance or ‘other’-ness.

Then there’s Rudolph, and Hermey – an unfortunately-named elf who wishes to be a dentist. The tale is a familiar one, especially if you grew up in an era of three network channels – only one of which was likely to be showing a proper Christmas special at any given time. The lesson is one we’ve come to expect in a culture celebrating individuality (at least in theory) – it’s our “flaws”, our differences, which make us “special”.

Oft-overlooked is the fact that Rudolph proved himself useful – his nose so bright and all. He was an oddball, but that wasn’t sufficient to go down in history. He found a way to take his strange and make it productive. As did Hermey, Yukon Cornelius, and even the Abominable Snow Monster once willing and properly instructed.

But they’re not the only weirdos in the tale. Before our plot can climax, our heroes discover the Island of Misfit Toys – Christmastide’s greatest collection of sentient jetsam.

Presumably the lessons of the red nose extend to these forgotten darlings as well. They certainly have one of the better songs, and a nice mix of humor and pathos as the various ‘toys’ lament their condition.

But… that’s all that really happens with them. Eventually Santa, now enthralled to the mutant reindeer with the gleaming proboscis, retrieves them for distribution to unwitting victims on Xmas morn, but with no real indication of what they can actually do – what purpose they in fact serve.

A Charlie-in-the-Box is badly-named, but otherwise as useful as any toy based on repeatedly frightening children unable to discern cyclical patterns. Dolly the Doll seems pleasant enough, other than some heavily-veiled emotional issues – but as long as they stay heavily-veiled, who’s to complain?

But a train with square wheels is useless. It can’t and doesn’t and won’t go anywhere, or carry anything, under any circumstances. There’s no conceivable situation in which a boat that can’t float would be necessary to save the proverbial day. And a squirt gun that shoots jelly merely makes your victims sticky and annoyed before you’re suspended for a mandatory 45 days.

The kids on Glee are irritating as hell, but they sing rather well. Dumbo learned to fly thanks to the freeing properties of inebriation, and did something useful I can’t recall but seems to have involved scary clown firemen. Hung made records people actually bought, the Guardians saved the Galaxy, and Frodo Baggins destroyed the ring – sort of. Even Nestor, the Long-Eared Donkey, proved himself essential – although in so doing he became part of the most unintentionally creepy nativity claymation ever.

The Island Misfits show no such ambition or skill. Being weird may not deserve condemnation, but neither does it in and of itself merit any particular accolades. There are, in fact, essential elements our lauded bohemians have in common – character traits necessary to actually accomplish anything, even amidst this cultural cult of eccentricity.

(1) Hard work – Rudolph faces many struggles even running away, and more trying to save his family and reindeer love-interest Clarice. Dumbo works hard, as do the X-Men. Those kids on Glee are always preparing for competitions against heavily-funded high schools full of the same twenty performers every time. There’s no slacking with the loser hero. They do not merely lay around the island waiting to be dumped off on someone else.

(2) Responsibility – When the moment of decision comes, the useful misfit does what he or she can do. Rudolph won’t stay on the Island if his nose endangers even the most useless of toys. Hobbits take journeys. Aquaman organizes fish. Groot is Groot. Some variation of “this is my job” or “I have to do this” is expressed. Often they save everyone at great personal sacrifice.

(3) Using Their Skills Effectively – The nose. The ears. The ability to quote the King James while holding a blanket. Music. Humor. Shooting ice from your hands, seeing through walls, or sticking people with your pokey-claws. The skills vary, but they’re all wanted or needed by someone sometime for something. It’s not enough to be different – they’re different in some useful or entertaining way.

(4) Willingness to Learn, Practice, and Grow – An Aladdin or an Ugly Ducking can’t afford to sit back and wait for their moment of speciality to burst forth. They apply themselves to whatever’s in front of them – how to behave like a prince, expertly sweep a fireplace, or properly fill a cavity. Buddy the Elf had some issues, but he’d paid enough attention to help fix Santa’s sleigh when it crashed in Central Park.

Useful Misfits don’t neglect their gifts, but they more than most realize the value of a growth mindset and of playing the cards you’re dealt. They don’t hang out on islands waiting for Santa – they journey through the snow seeking their purpose.

(5) Self-Perspective – “Starlord” Peter Quill has moxy, but he’s aware of how often he’s getting by on bluff and style. Kurt Hummel gives football a shot for one episode – as kicker and lead choreographer – but otherwise devotes his energies to singing and not getting beat up. Misfits need not live in fear, but they recognize what they are and are not, what they do and don’t bring to the table. Reality is their friend.

I love my students and value their quirks and individuality (mostly). I’m appalled at our efforts to run them through the standardization machine so we can label and letter their worth. I want the freedom to teach them whatever I believe will prove useful or engaging, and to help them learn how to pursue and learn on their own whatever stirs their passions.

But as we celebrate the value of diversity, and specialness, and glowing red noses, let’s keep in mind that equally important are the essential skills and mindsets that they’ll need no matter what their individual gifting or choices.

Let’s not run so fast and so far from our terror of “common standards” that we end up producing and validating a generation of choo-choo trains with square wheels but GREAT self-esteem. Let’s not go out of our way to foster island-sitting, or waiting on someone red to sweep down and take them off to be coddled without having to actually do anything.

Let’s celebrate being weird – but doing something with it. To use it to lead, maybe to fly. Something, perhaps, to merit going down in history.

Tag: misfits

What Misfits Wish Their Teachers Knew (Guest Blogger – Courtney’s Voice)