Love: the Ultimate Pedagogy

I did not intend to love them; I did not particularly want to love them.

I was never the bright-eyed rookie teacher out to change the world, one student at a time. I thought my job was to do the serious work of scholarship and academia. I was a professional — a high school English teacher. I was Miss Roberts, not your cookie-baking, kid-loving aunt. 

But against my will and what I thought was my better judgment, I began to discover that I did love my students. At first I thought it was a surprising, pleasant side-effect of hanging out with the same people every week for nine months, but I did not consider it a valuable part of teaching. It seemed too flaky, too silly to even say out loud.

The pivot point came after I changed schools, 15 years into my career. I loved my first job at Kellogg High School, my beloved hometown, but for a variety of reasons, in year 16 I made the move to the big city of Boise, 400 miles away. The transition was excruciating. I might as well have been a first-year teacher again. I had gotten used to teaching students who came into my classroom familiar with my reputation, my personality, and my expectations. Both the interpersonal and the professional elements of my new job were overwhelming. I quite literally had trouble finding time to do anything but plan and grade in my hours away from school, and I did not find my emotional footing with some classes until April. Only in retrospect can I see that the nine months that made up my 16th year teaching were truly what I needed to be reborn as the kind of reflective, intentional, skilled, and deliberately loving teacher that I had been longing to be.

There came a day, during my third year at Timberline High School, my 18th year teaching, when I was walking down the hall and it suddenly struck me that I felt safe and at home in this place. I knew from my college exposure to Maslow that my creativity and ability to problem solve would be fostered by this sense of personal and emotional safety. I know this was partly about developing that reputation again, but mostly, it was about beginning to love again. And it was about consciously fostering a loving environment and boldly articulating that love to my students.

I finally realized that love is for flakes and fools and teachers who want students to learn.

Now I take a proactive, bold, unapologetic approach to loving my students. I begin our first day together with these words: “I am Miss Roberts, and I intend to love you.” I wait just a beat or two and then add, “don’t worry, I don’t love you yet.” They usually laugh, but they quickly find out that love is a part of my vocabulary, and this isn’t a subject I’m going to drop. I work hard to establish a climate of compassion, grace, and trust, so that any talk of love is backed up by procedures and practices that support my opening words.

By the end of the first quarter they have told me what they believe. Some of them have failed to turn in half of their assignments, and some are wondering why I don’t give more homework. Some have made me laugh, too loudly, at some irreverent comment. Some say hello every time they enter, and some thank me every time they exit. And through this lovely haze of teenage craziness and unpredictability, I have, almost certainly, begun to love them. 

By the end of third quarter, my love is so firmly established that I begin to feel sentimental about their impending departure from my life. I feel the loss, weeks before they go — an inevitable side-effect of loving them. 

But they will go, as they should, moving on to all the challenges and joys that come after high school. Because I have chosen to love them, their leaving will break my heart, just a little . . . and it’s totally worth it.

In 1988 I didn’t intend to love them — didn’t even know I could love them. But in 2020, I embrace this love, I chase after this love, firm in my belief that the collision of love and excellence is the best possible blueprint for effective teaching and learning.   

P.S. I wrote most of these words long before anyone had ever heard of Covid-19. I was already beginning to miss my kids before we stopped school on March 13th, and the idea that we will miss out on our last eight weeks together — well that’s just breaking my heart. Still, it makes me all the more certain that building loving relationships with my students is the best possible teaching strategy.