Should a teacher cry in front of his or her students?

One of our 7^th grade students, Chris, did something very upsetting to his banzhuren (a kind of homeroom teacher – check out “banzhuren” for more details). His actions prompted the teacher, Miss Cai, to cry in front of many of the students. After she spent time alone in reflection, she used part of her homeroom time to ask students what their thoughts were about the incident. Her questions were: Do you think a teacher should cry in front of students? What do you learn from the teacher when she or he cries?

Although our students are from a rural Yunnan village, I found their answers to be varied, colorful, thoughtful, and not unlike any other 7^th grader trying to grapple with the purpose and meaning behind emotions. Some of their replies focused on practicality, while others focused on crying being a shared emotion. Below is a small selection of some of our students’ replies (I use their English names for confidentiality):

May: Teachers can cry. Everyone has a weak part. Sometimes it’s good to have your tears out and front. I learn from your tears that you are disappointed in the boys and cherish the girls.

Evan: I think teachers shouldn’t cry in front of students because I think that some students will not want to listen to you even more.

Will: Yes. I know that the teacher has done so many things for us. Yesterday, when you asked me to clean the trash, I said “No.” But now, I want to say sorry.

Tony: Teachers shouldn’t cry in front of students. Teachers cry because they care about students.

Flora: Yes, I think so. I learn from your tears that it is very difficult to be a teacher and that you love us.

Viola: No. I learn from your tears that you are very disappointed in us. Don’t cry. We will change our bad habits.

Judy: I think you can cry in front of students because your tears are for us. I know you are crying only because you have no other option. From your tears, I know you are very tired from managing our class. But [because] some students are so loud and act out, you have cried multiple times. You are using your heart to teach us, so I want to say thank you.

Vivian: No because it’s not worth it. From your tears, I know that you love us and care for us more than our relatives. I know that your heart is as soft as mine. You’re not supposed to see the sad things.

Lucas: Sometimes.  You cry because you are too good to us. Teacher, you should ask yourself if you should cry or not. Don’t be sad anymore, okay?

Dragon: No, because when you cry, other classes will come and laugh at us. You cry because of us, because you love us.

Ralph: You shouldn’t cry in front of us. I really can’t stand women crying.

Happy: No. Teachers shouldn’t cry. We shouldn’t make teachers cry over us. I learned from the tears that our teacher cares about us. But we didn’t know that before. Our teacher takes care of each one of us. Her care exceeds my own friends and family.

John: From you, I feel motherly warmth. This is my first time to write about what I really feel. But, can you not ask my parents to come to school when I make mistakes? There is a lot of hard labor and farming for them to do. For me, you can either hit or curse me. But if you call my parents to school, I’d rather be kicked out. Normally, I won’t write something like this. But to tell you the truth, I have cried countless times. But when I cry, it is not the time that my heart hurts the most. My heart hurts the most when I see other people cry.  You ask me if a teacher can cry in front of students or not, and the answer is so obvious. To obey the teacher is a student’s responsibility. To make you cry, I see my life going down.

Mark: Teachers shouldn’t cry in front of students because a teacher is a human being. A teacher has his or her own self-respect. Since I have been a student, you are the only teacher I have seen cry in front of students. When I see you cry, I want to cry too. I know that you are caring for us instead of hurting us.

<End>

About Tony

Tony sitting on the bed that he shares with his grandmother.

This is 续德寿 (Tony). Right now, he is an 8^th grade student at Big Dynasty Mountain Middle School in one of the poorest counties in Yunnan, China. I greatly admire Tony—he has a spirit that contrasts his outward shyness and frail body. Despite his mother’s suicide, his father’s severe alcoholism, his poor household, his lacking Mandarin, and the black coal stove next to the bed he shares with his grandma, Tony works hard every single day for a better future – his better future.

Tucked away deep in the terraced mountains that line the Lancang River (known to those outside of China as the Mekong River), close to the border of Myanmar, the Big Dynasty Mountain West Town is far away from just about everything. Located three hours away from the nearest city means that the closest bookstore, the nearest eyeglass store, established clothing stores, large-scale restaurants, knick-knack shops, and grocery stores are all also three hours away. Refrigerated milk and yogurt are special treats when families decide to make the long bus ride that twists and turns sharply with the curves around the mountain, which might be as often as two or three times a year. Comparatively, one might say the people in the town are well-off. Tony lives yet another three hour walk up and down a mountain outside of the town, a trek that he makes by himself twice every weekend to leave and arrive at the middle school.

Last fall, I was able to make the hike with his banzhuren, a kind of homeroom teacher whose responsibilities are more akin to a second parent than teacher, to his village.  The purpose of the visit was to better understand Tony’s life at home, the situation of his parents, and to encourage both parties to keep Tony studying past graduation, a result of which over 30% of Big Dynasty Mountain’s students will likely not achieve. Before the visit, the only things I knew about Tony was that his Mandarin was not so fluent, as most people in the village speak only the local dialect, and that I had not seen him wear anything that does not have a hole somewhere or a shirt that isn’t a hand-me-down. The jacket he is wearing in the photo was his father’s and does not fit well—the fabric droops loosely over his small shoulders and stretches down to his knees.

In his first semester of semester of 7^th grade, Tony had a fiercely quiet disposition. He would copy notes, sometimes incorrectly (I later found that his eyesight was not very good), but never answer or ask questions in class. When I called on him, his responses were stuttered and mumbled and would not meet my eyes. His grades in all subjects were in the bottom rung of the class. Still, he tried hard and never acted out in class.

His efforts paid off slowly. First, I noticed a gradual change in his Mandarin, which was helped by some students correcting him in class. Then, I noticed that he raised his hand at least once in every class to answer a question. When I set up an English Club and invited students to submit an application, he was the first in his class to do so. I accepted the application from his hands and heard his strong and resolute voice, saying: “Teacher, this is my application.” At the time, I looked forward to reading it. Near the end of the first semester, Tony had become an active participant and always said his responses with determination. Miss Cai’s and my second purpose of his home visit was to find out how he had come about this change.

Having been to some other students’ homes before Tony’s, I knew to expect his family to speak only the local dialect and to have rustic housing conditions. When Miss Cai and I entered into the courtyard of his residence, we were aghast. The house had paint peeling off, the front entrance was blackened by the coal stove inside the kitchen, chunks of lumber and other farmer’s tools were strewn on the ground, and empty beer bottles lined the perimeter. Tony has no desk, light, or scratch paper. He has no toys and no collections. He doesn’t even have his own room; instead, he sleeps on a hay cot with his grandma next to the burning coal stove in the kitchen. Shocked into silence, I could do nothing but here him recount his family’s story.

When he was young his mother committed suicide and left the house and its up-keep to her husband, as well as her mother and father. Later, they helped Tony’s mute uncle also move into the family so he could be taken care of. Faced by the daunting pressure of the household, Tony’s father started drinking heavily and spent the family’s money on alcohol. When I talked with Tony about this a few days ago, his father had gradually sold of the family’s ten cows for booze and eventually lost his job as a mechanic. While Tony is away at school, his grandmother takes care of the chores. But when Tony returns on the weekend, he cooks food for the entire household. There were more stories to tell, but I asked him curiously what his dream was. He responded while looking me square in the eyes: “I want to leave Yunnan and go to college.”

Tony is special not because he views his education and learning as a “way out” of his dismal situation, but because he knows that the short practice worksheets and answering questions in class are how one takes small steps to reach his goal. Although his favorite subjects are politics and geography, he pays careful attention his more difficult subjects: math and English. He told me that his dream can only be realized if he puts fear aside and seek new ways to learn.

Tony really impressed not just his teachers but also his classmates last spring when he went from being second-to-last in the grade ranking to number four on his English exam. He routinely seeks out Miss Cai and myself to drill off the most important grammar and vocabulary for each unit. If he has a question, I always know that he will never be afraid to ask it. Students seek him out, now, when they have questions. I, myself, am no longer afraid that he will not understand something or he shyly looks down and stutters. However, I worry about the exhausting road ahead of him, which includes extremely difficult entrance exams into high school and, later on, college. Tony’s road in life will stretch beyond the control of Miss Cai’s and my own abilities to help him. Right now, I can only teach Tony of a compassionate world outside Big Dynasty Mountain Middle School. I sincerely hope that this kind of world is real.

 

A Proposal – Part 6 (Final Part)

A Proposal (Part 6 – Final Part)

 

The phone vibrates my hand impatiently. I stare dumbfounded at it. My mind comes up blank when I search for a reason as to why the local police are telephoning me. My hand jiggles again, causing nearby students to throw distracted glances in my direction. I know that if I take the phone call, YQ will surely spot me. I grimace, press the answer button, stand up and then walk out of the classroom.

 

“Hello?” I shade my eyes from the glaring sunlight. My eyes rove and wander until I spot the black outline of YQ near the middle of the courtyard. He’s turned away, looking up at the teacher’s dormitory.

 

“Hello, Du Feilan,” the policeman uses my full Chinese name, “we are calling you because we need you to come in right away. Is it possible for you to come in the next five minutes before we close?” I frown, wondering what the issue they have with me. It isn’t the first time a Chinese government bureau has given me a mysterious request with no time to prepare.

“I am at the school. Before I come and meet you, may I please ask what the matter concerns?” I answer politely, albeit briefly, hoping that YQ doesn’t turn around. I follow his gaze upward, finding another local teacher, a drinking friend of his, chatting on his cellphone.

 

“We have a problem with your visa. Can you come by?” The policeman’s answer is rough and indirect.

 

“Yes, I am happy to stop by. It will take me about twenty minutes to walk there. I can bring my passport. May you—” I pause, breathless. The local teacher is pointing a finger directly at me and YQ has turned to follow his hand signal. Using one hand to shade his eyes from the sun, he uses his other to wave at me.

 

“Du Feilan?” The policeman’s voice jerks my attention back to the unfinished conversation.

 

“May you wait for me? I’ll be leaving right now.” I turn around to the classroom and motion for YXQ to come closer. I can’t see YQ anymore.

 

“Ok.” The policeman hangs up. I quickly brief YXQ on the policeman’s orders and we decide that she should come along as a translator and just in case we bump into YQ.

 

We reach the school’s front gate and take a couple steps outside of the entrance. I look cautiously around. Other than a rusted silver van parked across the street, there is no one walking around. I breathe a quick sigh of relief and we continue walking in the direction of the police station.

 

“Ah-Du! Why didn’t you pick up when I called you? My friends want to meet you.” I spin around and face YQ. The door to the van is open. His breath smells of alcohol and his cheeks are flushed.

 

“Uh, s-s-sorry” I stammer. YQ had caught me by surprise. I swallow and try to regain composure. “I need to go to the police station. I can’t go drinking. I have class tonight.” The second part was a small lie. YXQ must have caught YQ’s look of disbelief as she decides to quickly step into the conversation and boldly add: “They want her to go immediately. It’s regarding her passport.” YQ’s gaze, unsteadily moves back and forth between the two of us, as if to contemplate whether or not we are lying to him. As if suddenly determining whether or not we were lying to him is unimportant, he spits out darkly: “Whatever. Don’t go. You shouldn’t trust the police here. They’re liars and cowards. They’ll just try to cheat you.” I look YQ over. This nearly middle aged man, who has a stable job and family, not to mention time to go drinking and singing with friends on the weekends, certainly is no outlaw. Why would he feel that the local policemen unlawfully mistreat people? I do not trust YQ, but his words seem too bitter to be unreal. Later on, I would find many town citizens to hold similar opinions. I reply to him more kindly this time: “I really need to go. YXQ and I can walk there. If I don’t go, I might not be able to teach anymore.” I hope that my comment reaches YQ. He eyes us again penetratingly, pondering for a moment.

 

“Ok. Then go. Goodbye, Ah-Du!” He walks back to his van. Breathing a huge sigh of relief, YXQ and I start up walking again to the police station.

 

—————————————

 

The police complex is heralded by the same calligraphical font in golden plaque that is used for all government buildings: Yun County Dachaoshan West Town Police Bureau Division. The building is a simple, white concrete edifice that has nothing more than four walls, three floors, a couple windows, and an occasional well-groomed bush spaced equidistantly from the building’s perimeter. We shuffle around on the ground floor, peeking into office rooms. There is no one there. I give the policeman a call back, but he does not pick up. Pocketing my phone, I motion to YXQ to go up the staircase. As we walk up, I hear the light sound of glass hitting glass. The policemen are drinking.

 

YXQ and I stand in the doorframe at the group of police officials, who are sitting on comfortable couches around a nicely polished mahogany wooden table. The room smells of grain alcohol cheap beer and cigarette smoke, and the table is lined with the sources. Every policeman is smoking, puffing out tainted grey smoke and has a glass with the clear grain alcohol poured to the brim. Knowing what is coming next, I think about turning around, not saying a word, and leaving.

 

“Teacher Du! Teacher Yang! Welcome! Come and have a drink with us!” Having lied to YQ about going out, I find it easier to decline and say that I have classes to prepare for. The truth is that I simply don’t want to. I politely venture my main concern: “Is there an issue with my visa?” Another policeman speaks up and I recognize his voice as the one who gave me a phone call.

 

“No, no problem. But I need to take a quick photo so we can put it into the computer database.” He pulls out an expensive looking digital camera and motions for me to turn around and walk in the direction I came in. I look at him blankly. The policeman’s response is both anti-climactic and typical.

 

The photo is taken quickly and my required unsmiling face is uploaded to my digital profile. After another request to go upstairs and drink with the officers and our polite refusal, we are allowed to leave.

 

————————–

 

At roughly nine, the school becomes darker and I have finished preparing for my next day’s classes. My phone buzzes for what seems to be the hundredth time that day. I take a glance and notice that it is a local teacher calling me: Teacher Chen. I pick up:

 

“Hello, Teacher Du! YXQ and I and some other teachers are here having a party. Come join us.” His last part is not a question. It is without any doubt that the teachers are drinking, an activity that I had successfully avoided all day. But before I said “no” my lips and breath formed into an unstoppable “Ok”. Looks like I would be joining the party after all. I turn off my computer and leave.

 

As I look into Teacher Chen’s small concrete room, the familiar smell of cheap beer reaches my nostrils. YXQ is sitting between Teacher Chen and, not to any surprise, YQ. He and two of his friends, including Little Bee, seemed to also have been invited to the party. Open packs of cigarettes lay scattered on the floor beside empty standing bottles of Lancang River beer, the local choice of alcohol. I sit across from YXQ, next to Little Bee.

 

“Ah-Du! Here, have a drink!” A small shot glass of beer is pushed towards me by YQ. We toast and I hope that my polite maneuver will help me leave sooner than the others.

 

“Ah-Du, you…so…beautiful.” YQ uses pidgin English while he sways a little in his seat. Before I can reply, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out something small. He stands up, only to kneel to the ground.  Everyone, including me, looks at him curiously. The room pauses in strangled breath.

 

“Ah-Du. I love you. Please marry me.” He is holding out a ring, which is nothing more than a gum wrapper folded into a circular shape.

I find myself at my patience’s limit. Tired and nauseous from the smell of beer, cigarettes, and sweaty men, I don’t miss a beat in considering his absurd proposal:
“Sorry, I cannot marry a wangba.” Roars of laugher surround YQ, who looks slightly peeved and doesn’t move his eyes from the ground.

 

I stand up with YXQ, we toast everyone goodnight and make our final exit, leaving YQ’s proposal at my back.

 

“A Proposal” – END.