How to Properly Command Respect by Ben

How to Properly Command Respect by Ben - July 2016 Scholarship Essay

Measuring the attentiveness of a class may be done in a multitude of ways. One could analyze the average distance of a student’s head to their desk; in the room of a flustered, inexperienced young educator, perhaps the average distance would be zero, as even the most vigilant students would have nodded off. Or, to address the situation more practically, an observer could divine the percentage of teenagers on their electronic devices. Unfortunately, there still exists a fair amount of error within an experiment such as this. Some cell phone use is covert and stealthy - the guilty users having a future with the NSA, perhaps - while other usage is obnoxiously conspicuous. While I pride myself on my discretion, I have, on occasion, found myself replying to a friend on Facebook right in front of my poor tenth grade history teacher, blissfully oblivious to my contemptible crime. No, the way to accurately measure alertness is in the eyes. Do the lids droop like a wilting water lily? Are the lashes prettily batting in a battle to gain the attention of that charming young man across the classroom? Or do they shudder, thrust open wide with stakes that have been driven into the lids to counteract sleep-deprivation? These classrooms must be worth another look; the students are stock-still, phones firmly tucked into their shallow pockets. The gesticulating orator dominates the room. Their hands draw eyes like moths to a flame. Any sudden movement from the audience - a yawn, a back itch - is rewarded with a ghastly stare. The teacher advances on the helpless miscreant and pounces. The students nearest to the carnage remain on edge, afraid to become the next prey to fall under the professor’s gaze.
When I entered my tenth grade English class, I had a very fixed notion as to what respect was and how to give it to the adult in the room. My peers and I would observe the teacher’s habits: how she entered the room, how effectively she got the class’s attention, and, most importantly, how harshly she punished people. Each and every one of these observations summed to the respect you gave the teacher. My English teacher during the previous year had been respected by all in her class. While young, my English teacher was snappy, cranky, and had a quick trigger finger when it came down to sending kids to the office. She wasn’t the most engaging of speakers, yet we were loathe to open a snapchat under her watchful eye. Most students were fine with this arrangement; you respected the teachers that you were intimidated by and slightly afraid of, and you had ran roughshod over the “fun” teachers who allowed you to crack jokes and to send iMessages as you pleased.
However, my tenth grade English teacher, Mrs. Clayton, immediately corrected my confused, skewed view of respect. She laughed along with my jokes, told self-deprecating anecdotes, and made me look forward to class. We acted out scenes from Macbeth, and I was permitted to do the biggest project of the year, a gargantuan oral presentation, on pirates. Once, I saw her as I was tardily attempting to enter another classroom. She approached me, but instead of lecturing me, she asked a seemingly random question: “Do you know what day it is?”
“No,” I responded, hopeful that my tardiness had been excused.
“It’s Bey Day!” She exclaimed. “You know, Beyonce day, because she’s performing in Boston tonight.”
I was taken aback. A teacher that enjoys Beyonce? Most certainly impossible. But it was possible, and Mrs. Clayton celebrated Queen B’s special day by blasting some of her favorite tunes. It was nothing short of unbelievable.
And yet, we were always very polite around her, careful to disobey our phone-grabbing instincts while she was teaching a lesson. I admired the way that she always held the gaze of the class because the gaze contained excitement and patience. The look that the students gave back was never one of abject fear or drowsy apathy; students were engaged, and happy, god forbid, to be in school. Mrs. Clayton taught me that there is a significant difference between commanding respect in a classroom and commanding fear. My respect for her was rooted in admiration for her personality and teaching ability. On the outside, my level of alertness may have been the same as if I had been taught by a terrifying monster of a professor. On the inside, however, I was now relaxed where I had been frightened. I was willing to suggest bold ideas and draw complex inferences to the texts we read, whereas a year ago I would have scared to offer up any ideas at all to my ninth grade English teacher. If one is to measure respect in this capacity, perhaps ‘measure’ is not the right word to use, as there are no numbers to be analyzed and no figures to be drawn. There is no use in trying to reify respect. To most accurately deduce the level of admiration a class has for a teacher, you must observe the level of engagement or gauge the heartiness of a belly laugh. When a class shows true, fearless respect, you may begin to feel a smile grow on your face, which often happens to me as I walk into Mrs. Clayton’s English classroom.