Chicken Soup for the Soul Celebrates Teachers Read Free Page A

teachers. It’s the time of day when there is suddenly a hush over the classroom and you sit at your desk looking around the room. The problems of the day don’t seem so large. You begin thinking about what paperwork to take home and what to get ready for the next day. The late afternoon sun was gleaming through the window, and I was surveying Clarissa’s space from where I sat. How does she stand it? I thought.
    As I continued to sit, I came up with an idea—somewhat like the lightbulb coming on, the sun suddenly streaming through the windows, the heavenly choir singing. It was just an idea, but it might work! But what would her classmates think? What would the veteran teachers say? “Mrs. S., you’re going a bit too far. You’ll learn not to baby your students this way. Send her to the office. She needs to get her act together. Call her parents. Throw out her junk—that’ll teach her to mind you.”
    Standing next to the window near my desk was an empty two-drawer filing cabinet. What if Clarissa had her own space— some space that was uniquely her own? Not an old beaten-up desk, but some place really neat.
    I began to work. I moved her desk and all her things (including the tissues, the old snacks, the candy wrappers— candy wrappers? ) near the cabinet. I selected some clean white construction paper and cut out a place card. On it I wrote, “Clarissa’s Space.” I drew some small flowers—wild violets—purple and green with yellow dots in the middle and set it on top of the filing cabinet. I gathered my things together and headed for home.

    Driving to work the next day, I found myself anxious to see her reaction. Would she resent the move? Would she think this plan was stupid? Would it make matters worse? Now she had even more space to mess up.
    The next morning she came in the room in a tizzy as usual, already fussing with a classmate. She spotted her new space almost immediately. She stopped and looked silently for what seemed like a long time. Quietly she asked, “Is this mine?”
    â€œIt’s for your things if you feel like you need it,” I said nonchalantly, busying myself with papers on my desk.
    â€œI like this card, Mrs. S.,” she said, holding it up and turning it over in her hands.
    â€œThank you,” I said. “It’s for you. You can keep it.”
    Clarissa began organizing her things. She opened the drawers and put things away. She opened the drawers again, taking the items out, rearranging and replacing them. She spent the next hour (forget the spelling, language and reading—this time was that “teaching moment” you hear about in college) setting up her “nest.”

    I knew the question would come from her classmates. Sure enough, within only a few minutes a student asked, “How come she gets that?” I had prepared myself for this question.
    â€œBecause she needs it. Would you like to offer to help her with her things?” I asked.
    The student shrugged his shoulders, put his hands in his pockets, stood watching her for a few moments and walked back to his desk. No more was said. No one asked any more questions. No one seemed to resent it.
    Clarissa spent the rest of the year keeping her things together in her space. That was nice. Peace was at hand in our classroom.
    The real benefit of this arrangement came in a beautifully simple way. A beaten-up old filing cabinet and a small note card gave a gift to this child. She experienced a real sense of ownership. It gave her a sense of her special place—a sort of haven from the difficulties of the day, the stresses of her school life and her family life.
    I have since moved and lost contact with Clarissa. Wherever you are, my dear student, I would ask that you pass on this gift, the gift of creating a different path for someone to walk who might be struggling in some way. It will be the gift of giving someone a sense of