Recently, I had the strangest experience at work. As a teacher, I am seen as the "nice" teacher -- I get along really well with my students, I am overtly respectful of their feelings and their strengths and weaknesses, and, sometimes, I am a downright moosh. The Friday before the holiday I let them choose what to do: they chose an episode of Law and Order (that was acceptable for Crime Law, not so much for U.S. History). That is an aberration for me even: we have a curriculum that is tight and needs to be completed, giving up a day to "play," is generally not a good use of time. But, they were tired, I was tired, we had a long few weeks, and I thought that the goodwill was worth more than the minimum amount that they could accept into their brains at that moment.
I like being liked by my students. There, I said it. No, I do not think being liked is the most important attribute; however, because my students like me, they want to please me. They also know that I have few absolute rules; thus, when I have a rule, or even a simple request, they tend to follow it. And they sometimes make me feel like a rock star: when I walk through the halls or outside, I hear them yelling my last name with whoops and hollers -- all in fun, and all responded back -- I yell out their names with whoops and hollers too. It seems unusual for female teachers to have this kind of rapport: I can joke with them in ways that male teachers do all the time; they treat me like one of the guys, I guess, but with an added edge: I'm also very nurturing and motherly and they appreciate it when I ask them if they are okay (teenagers are moody and sad, sometimes; I care about how they feel).
I'm doomed to be nice. Sometimes, it means they take advantage: maybe they will come in late, or try to get me to write them a pass when they are late elsewhere. Sometimes, they feel too free to say their piece requiring me to reign them in; but, for the most part, nice works for me -- I get a lot out of my kids because I ask nicely and I try, as hard as I can, to see life from their perspective. I am extremely honest with them, and I never ask them to do something just to do something; homework, tests, etc. are all about the learning. They complain about it, but they also know that I would never require something of them if it wasn't important.
Why am I talking about this? My local newspaper just ran an article about being nice at work which generally favors that approach. But recently, I had a run-in with another teacher in which all my "nice" was severely tested against her "mean." Do I really think she is a mean person? No, I guess not. But she is a lot less fearful than I am of creating conflict. She is also more judgmental than I am in ways that I admire believe it or not, but also, in ways in which I would never want to be judgmental. She is an excellent teacher and gets a lot out of her students in a very different way than I do. In the end, we both are good teachers but we have two completely different personas, ways of interacting, and life-views. And our styles conflicted in a shared classroom.
It may have been the silliest "fight" I have ever been in; however, it may me think a lot about my so-called niceness. I don't want to bore my readers, but, here's the story in a nutshell: we share a class for two different subjects. Both of us use maps and books -- one set of maps is on easels that can be moved around the room. In the early part of the year, my last period class left their books on the desk. She told me that this bothered her and I attempted to insure it did not happen again. But as things go with teaching, sometimes, you forget to clean up at the end of the day, and, sure enough, several weeks later, they left books out again. Her response, which she admitted was "immature, but I'd get the point," was to leave her books all over the class: on the students' desks, on the front desk, on the board shelf, everywhere. We cleaned up and, this is where nice sometimes hurts, I laughed it off with her -- as though it did not bother me. It did because I am a grown woman, not a student. And whether or not she thought I needed to be taught a lesson, "teaching" me this way is demeaning and disrespectful of our equal place in the school.
Interestingly, though, she began using one of those easel maps right in front of the front board. Now, I found it annoying to have to move it out of the way every day, but I did; I just did not move it back for her to use later: it did not even occur to me to do so. She did not appreciate me moving her map and, I walked into the room one day to find that the desks were all turned around to face her map. I said, "why did you do that; I just moved the map out of my way." Her response, which was selfish, was that I had two boards to write on (both of which I use due to height and size of writing) and there was no need for me to keep moving her map which she was using. "Why can't you just move it back?" "I don't see why I should have to." Whatever. My class turned around and that was that.
But, that afternoon, in the same spirit of her earlier lesson to me, I retaliated. Very slightly and with less of an impact than either putting books all around the room or turning the chairs. I took all the maps in the class and pulled them down over the boards. There are 4 or 5 maps and I just pulled them down. They raise up like shades, and, honestly, I thought of it as both a joke and as a way of saying, enough already: move your map, see how it is in my way. Or if you don't want to move it, at least do not react to me moving it out of my way.
I started a war. Her class the next day, turned their desks upside down and put all of the books on top of the upside down desks. That is what my class came into: I should have left the room with my class and found another spot for us to work -- her actions were childish and unconscionable, but, she was laughing as though she got the last laugh and my students and I decided to "get her back." We turned the classroom into "my" classroom temporarily. We removed her books and maps, put my name all over the board -- ridiculous stuff. She was furious though. She cleaned up, wrote "expect it when you least expect it," and relations between us have been chilly ever since.
What is my point? I was miserable. It was out of character for me to have created this revenge. I sat back and wondered what made me, Ms. Nice, turn vengeful. It took me a few days to realize that I was hurt. Never having been mean myself, for the purpose of being mean, when I walked into that upside down room, I was devastated that someone could be mean to me. As a mature woman, I should have recognized that emotion; I did not. It took me days to recognize the impact of her behavior on me.
My husband always says that you are in control of your own emotions. No one can make you feel anything, you choose to feel it. But I do not agree. I am in control over my behavior, not my emotions. When I think back on what it felt like to walk into that room with the overturned desks, and the full dismissal of my feelings as a cohabitant in that room, I felt abused and hurt. My gut actually screamed inside. I was genuinely saddened that someone could either be that selfish to think that her needs are the only needs that matter and/or that I am so irrelevant that my needs do not matter at all. It was painful, but I did not recognize the pain. I thought I was mad.
Other people were "proud" of me for standing up to her. I was ashamed. Why? I felt like my own character was overshadowed by hers and that I had stooped down to her actions. But more importantly, I think I was ashamed that she thought that I am such a moosh that I would tolerate her actions. I think by turning over the chairs she thought I would stop moving her map out of my way -- that she would have accomplished her goal. That only works if I am perceived as super-weak against her self-perceived super strength. I think she thought I was super-weak. Apparently, not that weak.
I agonized over this series of interactions. I do not know if she likewise agonized. Being nice has its drawbacks, but one thing is certain: I will never hurt someone deliberately the way she hurt me deliberately. For that alone, I am glad to be a nice person. I never want to be the cause of someone else feeling a screaming in their gut, an agony of sadness for being on the receiving end of hurt.
So today's article resonated with me. I am not the super-nice person who brings in thoughtful treats for my coworkers. I am the super-nice person who genuinely listens to my coworkers when they talk, who inquires about their children and their families, who buys the lotto tickets and the appliances for us all to share. I am the super-nice coworker who says hello to all the aides, security guards, secretaries, custodians. I am the super nice coworker who stops to talk and asks if you are alright when you do not look so good. I am the super nice coworker who smiles through the hallways and says hello. I am the teacher who feels like a rock star. Guess what? All of that comes back to me: the smiles and the waves when people see me, the singing that I do that the do back, the favor that anyone would do for me. I do not think my coworker walks through the hall smiling and waving and saying hello to everyone in the morning and the afternoon. The kids do not scream out her name. She does not get "messed with," like I do sometimes, but, then again, she does not get to take home the warm feeling I get to take home every day. So, in the scheme of life, who would I rather be? Me, why of course. Even if I have to move her map forwards and backwards every single day -- because as annoying as that is, it is far less annoying than being the person who complains about that map every single day.