Being “That” Teacher: How I Learned to Build Mutually Respectful Relationships
Before students return to school each year, there is a staff-only day when a coworker will come into your room to let you know that class rosters are posted. At my school, it’s an unspoken tradition that when this happens, you will sit down with your closest colleagues and go through your lists together. When they recognize a name on your list, they may tell you what a sweetheart that student is, or what a hard worker they are, or how often their mom is going to call you, or, worst of all, what a hard time you’re going to have with them.
In my first year teaching, I thought this information was going to give me a leg-up on handling my students. I thought knowing in advance who were the “good kids” (whatever that means) would help me find allies in a difficult classroom. I thought knowing who the “problem kids” were would prepare me to manage them. I thought my coworkers were doing me a favor.
That first year, one coworker looked at a name on my roster, shook his head, and told me: “Oh, he’s a piece of work. I have him, too. He’ll never do anything for your class, probably won’t even graduate.” I looked at the name: Mason1. Alright, I thought. I’ve got my work cut out for me with this one.
On the first day of school, I thought I could see what my coworker meant. Mason was unapologetically loud and very mobile in the classroom. He was walking around, talking to other students (even if they didn’t want to talk to him), and already saying that he “just needed to pass this class to graduate, that’s it.” Throughout the year, Mason joked, interrupted me, made inappropriate comments, ignored directions, and didn’t complete most assignments (“Is this just a classwork grade? Yeah, I’m not doing it”). Whatever Mason was feeling or going through, the whole class was going to know about it because he was going to announce it, loudly, while I was talking, probably with some profanity sprinkled in.
I certainly got frustrated with [Mason]…[b]ut I didn’t write him off.
It was my first year teaching; I had no idea how to get Mason to stop doing those things. I probably should’ve been firmer with him, for the sake of the class. I certainly got frustrated with him—it was frustrating! But I didn’t write him off. Instead of taking Mason’s behavior as “proof” that my colleague was right about him, I thought of my own sister’s experience in high school when she felt her teacher was holding his tense relationship with our brother against her and treating her differently because of it. Though the circumstances weren’t identical to Mason’s, I knew how it affected my sister to be taught by a teacher who had preconceived notions about her, and I knew I didn’t want to do that to my own students. I decided I wasn’t willing to just accept that Mason probably wouldn’t do anything in my class and probably wouldn’t graduate. I wasn’t going to lower my expectations for this student just because another teacher felt exasperated by him. I was going to let him show me who he was and who he could be.
Maybe Mason could tell that I was determined to work with him, and that he wasn’t going to annoy me into giving up on him. Maybe I was just more stubborn than other teachers he’d had before. Consciously or not, Mason responded to my resolve that he would succeed. The first time I realized that we were really on the same team was the day I discovered that Canvas has a chat feature. I have no idea who decided that a student chatbox accessible to the entire class and automatically enabled was a good feature, but they clearly never talked to a single teacher. I noticed that students were laughing way too much while they were doing their work, and a lap around the classroom showed me they were on a chat page I hadn’t known existed. I hurried to my computer and opened it myself, cursing whoever thought this was a good idea. In the chat were some of my students complaining about school, about the assignment—the usual. I didn’t read it very closely (I was afraid I would get my feelings hurt if I did), but before I disabled the chat, I saw the last messages that had been sent. They were both from Mason: “school sucks. this class is cool tho.” I deactivated the chat feature and never even mentioned it to the students, but I felt a thrill of pride and accomplishment at that small comment. Mason may not do a lot of his work and may complain about school constantly, but my class was cool. For some reason, my class was worth defending in that group chat. For some reason, I’d reached him.
At the time, I didn’t really know what I did to earn his trust; I just knew that I had. Mason came to me when he was upset. He came to me when things in his life went wrong and he needed an adult to care about how he was feeling. He came to me for advice. I had no idea how to comfort him or what I “should” do when he shared what he was going through, but I listened to him. Knowing what Mason was dealing with on a daily basis—and knowing what he thought was most significant, rather than just the occasional vague information the administration emailed to his teachers—absolutely changed how I viewed his behaviors. I came to understand how all of his hurts affected the way he acted in class, and I realized that reacting with anger toward him would backfire. Why would a student who already had so much distrust toward the adults in his life want to cooperate with a teacher who threw him out of class the moment he got upset?
How could I look at this student,who was experiencing an unstable home life—the death of a parent, conflict with his guardians, a tumultuous relationship—and be angry? How could I become another adult who was frustrated by him, who reacted to his actions without understanding or caring why he did them? The answer was simple: I couldn’t.
Deciding that was easy, but making sure Mason knew my decision was a little harder. I had to find new ways to show up for him, and find new ways for him to show up for me. Mason loved to talk and hated to write, so I let him talk. He told me that he knew the content but he couldn’t get it out when he was writing, so I let him take his exams orally. I didn’t have a co-teacher or a free period, and Mason couldn’t stay after school, so I’d give him a pass to meet me during my duty period. I’d listen to him talk through the test questions while I worked. Often, he didn’t need anything else from me. Just being able to voice his thoughts while taking the test got him through most of it, but sometimes he’d ask to describe a response to me instead of writing; in that case I’d give him my attention, listen to him, ask questions, refocus him when his mind began to detour, and then jot down a summary on his test so I could grade it later. I “lost” some time that I’d normally use to grade work, but the gains were immediate and undeniable: Mason not only went from failing his tests to getting As and Bs, but also learned that I was willing to both listen to and hear him. This duty period became a time for Mason to complete his work, and to talk to me when he needed to. With the creation of this listening space, Mason’s outbursts in class became less frequent, and he was less argumentative when I had to address his behaviors in class.
So many of us had “that” teacher, the one who we remember years after we leave their class because of the impact they had on us.
So, without meaning to, I became “that” teacher to Mason. So many of us had “that” teacher, the one who we remember years after we leave their class because of the impact they had on us. The one who made us feel seen and heard and important. As teachers, we know that being “that” teacher can be emotionally exhausting; you have a student who just needs you more than other students do, whose emotional wellbeing you suddenly have a much bigger role in than you do for most students. But it can be so rewarding to see that you have truly helped a student by being there for them when they needed it. Being “that” teacher for Mason was a lot to handle during my first year; it was actually a bit nerve wracking. Seeing how my support truly helped him made the extra effort worth it.
I know that I had an impact on Mason, but I’m not sure if he knows what an impact he had on me. Being “that” teacher fundamentally changed the way I build relationships with my students. I learned how important it is to give students the benefit of the doubt when they are acting out. This doesn’t mean that I don’t address behaviors, but it does mean that I don’t dwell on them. I don’t get offended or take it personally when a student acts out in my class, because I know that there is so much more going on in their lives outside of school. Approaching students with respect for their experiences makes it easier to form meaningful relationships, regardless of how they may behave.
I’ve also found that quiet, personal check-ins—be they short online surveys, reflection forms, or a quick chat while the rest of the room is noisy enough to give us privacy—go a long way for most students, even if they decide not to share anything with me. This way, I can show them that I’ve noticed something is up, and that I care. I ask them what they need, and give them options if they aren’t sure—do you need to talk? To leave? To grab a snack? To just sit? This can also be an important emotional learning experience for students—if I’ve already checked in and their behavior has continued in a way that negatively affects other students, they already know that I’m coming from a place of care when the second check-in comes with a reminder that they are allowed to feel things but not allowed to let those feelings disrupt the learning of others. If my students know that I am here to support them instead of discipline them, they may be more willing to hear me. It might also help mitigate the fear and uncertainty that come from the power imbalance inherent to a student-teacher relationship.
I also learned from Mason how important it is to be responsive and respectful when students are choosing to open up to me. It can be really hard for teenagers to talk to adults about their struggles, and I take it very seriously when students honor me with that trust. Knowing an adult is going to listen to them and not minimize what they’re experiencing can be truly life changing for students, and it’s not something I take lightly. It can be emotionally taxing and uncomfortable, so it’s important to set clear boundaries and expectations for these types of conversations. This way, students can learn that telling me about serious situations is okay, but going into detail about their romantic partner or swearing excessively, for example, is not. A little can go a long way when establishing these boundaries: “You can tell me whatever you feel you need to, but remember I am your teacher and not your friend. I trust your judgment to filter out the details that I don’t need to hear to help you.” Keeping things light while maintaining those boundaries—such as by interrupting when what they’re saying is clearly going somewhere unnecessary or inappropriate with a “teacher reminder!”—helps keep the line of communication open while still affirming that I am a professional in a school setting, and allows the student to learn where my boundaries are without being completely shut down.
These mutually respectful relationships don’t form out of thin air, and I’ve come to value the effort it takes to cultivate them. I check in with my students when they seem upset, ask if they want to talk about it, and then respect whatever answer they give. I do this when I see that they’re happy, too. Asking students about their lives and the things that are important to them builds a sense of belonging. When a student last year wanted to poll her classmates about the best noodle shape for macaroni and cheese (the answer was overwhelmingly elbow), it turned into a tradition where every Friday I put a question (often suggested by a student) on the board, everyone submits their answer, and we look at a graph of results on Monday. As silly as this may sound, I have learned a lot about my students, and it has given us ways to relate to each other. It’s a little easier for students to feel comfortable with somebody who defended their opinion about the best Thanksgiving food, or who gave them an “I don’t care” option for any and all sports-related polls. Small things like this can help students feel heard in big ways.
But if I can’t avoid the conversation, I take everything I’m told about a student with a grain (or the whole shaker) of salt.
Creating a classroom environment where students know their highs and lows will both be respected and heard makes teaching and learning easier and more pleasant. Having a bond with a student to draw from means that if there is an academic or behavioral issue to address, they already know that you’re coming from a place of mutual understanding. Teenagers, especially at my school, value connection more than almost anything; if you give it to them, often they give it back. I try to never miss an opportunity to value their stories—even if this means delaying the start of class because a student decided to answer “Do anything fun this weekend?” in way more detail than I was expecting.
The teacher tradition of comparing rosters and sharing our experiences with students probably won’t go away—at least not at my school. But if I can’t avoid the conversation, I take everything I’m told about a student with a grain (or the whole shaker) of salt. I try to share practical advice if a coworker asks about a student I’ve had, such as sharing that they did much better when sitting in the front or that they find text-to-speech very helpful for exams. Offering concrete support strategies is more helpful than vague, emotionally-charged warnings about behavior. Every student deserves a fresh start with their teachers, a chance to be who they are without prior expectations and judgment. Teenagers are capable of so much growth and maturity if we only give them the chance to show it.
1 Student’s name is a pseudonym
Citation
DiSessa, K. (2025). Being “that” teacher: How I learned to build mutually respectful relationships. Kaleidoscope: Educator Voices and Perspectives, 12(1), https://knowlesteachers.org/resource/being-that-teacher-how-i-learned-to-build-mutually-respectful-relationships.