Is it fair to the rest of the kids who did all the work?

This was a parking lot question from one of my colleagues yesterday afternoon as he wondered about a situation he is facing with taking in a new student only days before the end of the first term.

But that was his second question. His first question, “Do I pass him?”

“Of course you pass him,” I replied.

“Thank you, it helps to hear that.”

It helps to hear that.

Why does it help? How does it help? I mean really. Why does it help to hear such things?

Such things. Many would scoff and cry foul at such things. You can’t pass him. He hasn’t done the time or the work. What about the other kids? Ah, the first question.

Fairness. Where does that start and end? I have never known, for as I consider what might be fair in response to the bajillion kids I’ve had with a bajillion different circumstances and a bajillion different needs, I can never quite find the right of it–for that one kid. And now you want me to think about the other kids, too? I need help.

I need to hear that it’s complicated and others wrestle with such things, too. I need to be reminded that no one–no one–during my training as a teacher told me I was charged with policing fairness. I need to hear that teaching humans is a messy affair. I need to hear that we are engaged in a grand experiment where our hypotheses ride the coaster and our tests–formal and informal–are fallible. I need to hear that I am among other humans who make mistakes but listen to their guts anyway. I need to hear that I am not alone.

Alone. We are not alone. We are wrong. We are right. We fail. We succeed. We learn. We grow. We suffer. We thrive. We are humans facing the impossible to make things possible. We are teachers.

Teachers. In a parking lot. Cars coming. Cars going. Questions asked. Answers offered. We go home. We come back. Some day. Maybe today. We will get it right.

Happy Wednesday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.